The Watcher by Tara Crescent
Source: Review by Request
Author Provided ARC
My Rating: 5 of 5 stars
Her mother is seriously ill. Her job is tiring and stressful. There is darkness within her, a craving for pain and raw, hard sex. The mysterious Club Phoenix offers Kelly Mitchell all these things.
But surrendering control at the doors of the dungeon is an addictive feeling and with each visit, she fall further and further into oblivion.
All she has to protect her are her safe words and the carefully intent eyes of the Watcher. He is Kelly’s lifeline. But will he catch her before she loses herself completely? Will he keep her safe?
Will she even want him to?
Note: This is a dark read. Happy endings are optional. While all scenes are consensual, they are filled with harsh sadomasochism, anal play and humiliation..
Buy This Book:
Sometimes you have to be tipped completely off balance if you ever want to find your center…
“Fear for your physical safety – That comes of watching too much TV. Physical violence isn’t the biggest risk.” He leaned forward, pinning me in place with his intent gaze. “The real danger is that once you take a step on this path, you might not want to return.”
I’d like to sit here and warn you that this book might be a little darker than the average BDSM Erotic Romance reader might enjoy… But that simply isn’t true.
Is this a dark read?
Not so much…
I mean, it’s certainly darker than I’ve come to expect from Tara Crescent.
But the story itself? Not dark…
Both sexually and emotionally.
There were some brutal moments – the MC is a masochist, and is given the opportunity to indulge in her darkest desires inside the Phoenix Club – an exclusive sex club catering to America’s most affluent.
Brief Inventory of Kink:
Yeah… just go ahead and add the words “intense” or “extreme” to each one of those because no scene is half-assed or fluffy in the club Kelly finds her bliss in.
Perhaps that’s why I can’t commit to calling this a dark read.
Kelly’s personal life is spinning out of control, and in the midst of this seemingly endless heartache, she’s given the opportunity to surrender herself to every base desire she’s kept hidden.. and surrender SAFELY…
Under the protective gaze of her Watcher…
Her silent protector…
Her childhood friend…
The last man she ever thought she’d find in a sex club…
Surrender becomes addictive when the alternative is facing a harsh reality, and Kelly’s reality is truly fucking heartbreaking. The entire story is told from her POV, and the reader has an intimate front-row seat to her swift tumble down the rabbit hole.
& completely worth your time.
I’ve always appreciated the characters Tara Crescent crafts in her stories. They’re wonderfully three-dimensional and relatable. Mature even when they’re running a little wild.
I was quite curious to see what she could do with a more intense, slightly twisted story-line… And let me tell you what…
This book includes a “choose your own Epilogue” feature, because not all stories get a happily ever after… But some do…
Well played, Tara…
Well played 🙂
Do you know that scene in Inception, the one where the top spins so that Cobb can tell whether he’s in a dream or not? If the top keeps spinning, he’s still trapped in his dreams. If it stops, he’s drowning in reality.
I have my own version of this.
In the real world, I’m an aspiring young fashion designer who lives in New York and revels in every pulse-beat of the city that never sleeps. I never knew my father and my mother has early onset Alzheimer’s. She’s only fifty-three, goddammit. I can never say those words out aloud without being physically angry at how fucking unfair life is.
She lives in a nursing home in my hometown, Akron, Ohio. I visit her religiously every other weekend, even though I have precious little money for the airfare and even though she doesn’t recognize her own daughter.
When Alzheimer’s strikes in a person as young as my mother, you know what they tell the children? Get tested. Alzheimer’s has a genetic component. This could be me. My mom’s memory started fragmenting when she was in her thirties. I have two years to go. So I bury myself in work, indulge in transient pleasure and don’t allow myself things like love. Because when your mother doesn’t remember her only child’s name, you are given an object lesson in how fleeting love is. How ephemeral. Filled with the potential to slash open your heart and expose your soul to the icy wind.
To dwell on it would be to break under the weight of the pressure. Instead, I seek refuge in the other world I live in. A shadowy world. One with the dank brick walls of a dimly lit dungeon, the muffled clanking of rusty chains and the drip of a leaking tap in the corner. A world in which strange men use me for their pleasure, indifferent to my own desires. Yet I permit the violations each and every time. This world frightens me and arouses me and I can’t tell which emotion is the predominant one.
These are my two worlds; my two divergent paths.
I am clad in a black leather bra and black lace panties and I’m fairly confident neither garment is going to stay on for very long.
Out of the shadows, two men emerge and move towards me. They are shirtless. They wear pants, though their flies are open, and their cocks stick out, erect, engorged and ready. Cruel lust gleams in their cold gazes. These men are perfect strangers, yet for the next two hours they have the right to use me as they will.
My only safety comes from my own safe words and the ever-intent green eyes of the Watcher. He looks at me now as I fight the urge to panic and flee. Soon, I tell myself, the pain will turn to pleasure.
That’s not perfectly true. Not anymore. The pain doesn’t turn into pleasure. It turns into numbness. My body responds to the stimulus, but my mind stays blank.
“Do you submit?” The Watcher speaks the ritual words that will indicate my willingness to continue with the session.
The top starts spinning.
I kneel on the floor and lower my head, holding out my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I submit.”
“Good.” This is the leaner of the two men. He has dark hair, and his face is covered with stubble. His voice is tinged with an Irish accent. “Let’s get you ready then, love.”
The other man, the one with the short blond hair, doesn’t speak. He is broader and his physique is a lot more intimidating, all hard, bulging muscle. In his hands he holds a coil of black rope. The first man lifts me up easily, as if I were weightless, and sets me down on a vinyl-covered bench. A pair of scissors appear in one of their hands and both bra and panty are snipped away, the scraps of fabric tumbling to the floor.
The men begin to wind the rope above and below my breasts, so that my flesh reddens and bulges towards them. My hands are tightly tied behind my back, my wrists somehow fastened together so I can’t pull them forward. A bright red ball gag is dangled near my lips and my mouth falls open automatically. I am so well-behaved.
In his corner, the Watcher watches. When I can’t speak my safe words clearly, I can mumble them through the gag, and he will hear them. Or I will shake my head vigorously from side to side and that’ll serve as my safety signal.
I’ve never yet used a safe word. I’ve wanted to, but something has always kept me silent. Perhaps I keep quiet because I know the Watcher is watching. Perhaps I want to put on a show for him. Perhaps I want him to be as aroused by me as I am by him.
The top keeps spinning.
Once my breasts and arms are tied to his satisfaction, the blond man turns his attention to my legs. I’m kneeling with my ass resting on my heels and the blond man nudges my knees open till I’m spread wide, displayed for their pleasure.
The two men crowd around me. The guy with black hair stands behind me and I feel the cold metal of his belt buckle at my right shoulder, an icy contrast to the heat that radiates from the erect cock grazing my neck. . His hand closes around my right breast, squeezing the orb and pinching the engorged nipple. His fingers trail down my abs, then find my pussy lips. His touch is sure and intent as he cups my mound.
Behind the ball-gag I fight to quiet my moans.
The blond guy is directly behind me. I can feel the heat emanate from his body as he grinds his cock against my back. Out of the corner of my eye I see a shiny chrome anal hook dangling from his fingers. The ball at the tip of the hook is the size of a table-tennis ball.
I can’t help myself. I moan in anticipation.
“You are such a little slut,” the man with the black hair says. “Aren’t you?”
I don’t look at the Watcher; I nod my head at the man who has spoken. He’s right. I am a slut. I get off on being treated like a sex toy for the pleasure of these men. Already my body is betraying me. My pussy is slippery and wet with desire, and my nipples are erect nubs, begging to be played with and bitten.
The fat head of a cock rubs on my nipples and precum trails from its tip onto my breasts. I can see the liquid glisten under the lights. I am so aroused by the idea of these men rubbing their precum into my skin.
The man with the dark hair reaches out and his hand encircles the back of my neck. He pushes me onto his cock and I start to tip and fall forward. His hands are quickly around my shoulders, partly to steady me and partly to position me to his satisfaction. I am still balancing on my knees, but my shoulders make contact with the bench, and the vinyl is cool against my cheek.
This is the moment the blond man has been waiting for. I feel the ball of the anal hook press firmly against my asshole. He just holds it in place and pushes and my sphincter, which has seen plenty of training in the last few months, opens up on cue and swallows the ball. It nestles in me and each time I twitch, I can feel it move inside my body.
I am almost feverish with arousal.
The top keeps spinning.
About the Author:
Hello, I’m Tara Crescent. By day, I’m a mild-mannered corporate drone in Toronto, but by night, I’m limited only by my imagination; I sit and I type, and I am a daring writer of BDSM, erotica and romance.
I’m a huge believer in happily-ever-after, but tempered by real life, where happily-ever-after is possible, but takes work. My favorite kind of romance stories are ones that are somewhat believable; I like strong men and women who know what they want out of life, and are driven to get it.
In my spare time, I write of course. I also read, garden, travel, cook, and almost never clean. I just started watching Walking Dead on Netflix (zombie erotica, anyone?), and I’m impatiently awaiting the next episode of Doctor Who. (I would kill for a TARDIS.)
From time to time, I blog about what I’m writing at my blog. The blog is also where I post book excerpts; highlight information about upcoming promotions, and so on and so forth. Follow me there to keep up with all the fun! (Oh, and sign up for my mailing list – I send out free stories every month or so.