Two excerpts, a blurb & some pics from Pink Flamingo Publications.

"Eden cannot contain her unquenchable desire and her need to submit... even when its to a man she despises, the Master she's trying desperately to leave.


Jacob stared in the window at Eden Rose from the patio outside her back door. Her apartment was easily accessible from the street, up the fire escape.

Midnight, Eden was at the piano playing music, looking melancholy. A bottle of scotch sat on the edge of the baby grand, a shot glass beside it. One hand played a melody while the other held her head in her hand. She hummed as she played, words beginning to trip through her brain, but not yet put on paper. She was strangely methodical in her manner of writing music, though it was a method only she understood. It didn’t matter that anyone else did, only that she was getting attention in the music world for what inspired her.

When Jacob slipped into the room through the unlocked door, Eden was so immersed in her work that she didn’t hear the silent footfalls of his approach. Not until he was at her back and she jumped feeling his hands clutching her shoulders did she realize the intruder was there.

“Jacob, no!” she shrieked, but then his hand was over her mouth. She tried to bite his fingers, but he slapped her face and then clamped his hand back over her lips with a bone-crushing tightness.

“Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “Not one word.” To ensure her obedience, he pulled a ball-gag from his pocket and opening her mouth with his fingers pressed it inside. The strap was fixed behind her head. She was at his mercy.

He extinguished the single lamp in the room as he dragged her from the piano bench, her arms flailing as she tried to pull away. But with his large hands and strong grip, the fight was useless. Stripping her of her robe, it was easy work to have her wrists bound behind her. Jacob knew where to find the leather straps and harness, the playthings that would raise her body heat. Pushing her toward her bedroom, he chuckled knowing he had her won. She wasn’t resisting at all. Eden was so easy.

“You think you can get away from me, bitch,” he chortled in her ear as he undid the wrist cuffs from behind and then fastened them to the rod swinging over head. “You are so naïve and foolish.”

He slapped her ass with his hand, then buckled the collar around her neck tightly so she could feel the constriction in her throat. She had to gasp for air.

“Relax, slut, you’ve got a long and welcome night. That Femdom uptown doesn’t hold a candle to me. Why she didn’t even leave marks.”

Eden was sinking into him, intoxicated by words. Dizzy from the constraints, she let the surging in her abdomen turn erotic, her hips undulating against his hand.

“That’s it,” he purred. Pressing his palm over her pubis, he held it tightly in his fist and pulled down. She squirmed and cried with the shot of pain. Fingers in her vagina teased the syrupy concoction of sweat and juice.

A clamp came down on one nipple and the pain sparked. She jerked and he slapped her face. A second clamp on the second nipple, more pain, another jerk and slap. Preordained, ritualized, but yes, very welcome. She didn’t want to tolerate the abuse but the jolts were too severe for her sex to ignore. The wild rush was as sweet as words of love, and she let her head fall back as he began with the whip and crop, one in each hand. She was traveling light-years in seconds, joyriding through a wave of delicious heat and pain. It was exhilarating pain turning her insides out as he turned her outsides into raw, scorched flesh.

The multi-taloned leather whip flailed on her breasts and belly, sensation streaming like ocean swells crashing as breakers on hard sand. The crop cut. He was erratic and sporadic, mocking her as he stalked her quivering body, going eye to eye with her so she could see the vile expression of triumph on his face. The laughter, the scorn, the jubilance of his sadistic mien shot right through her. When she closed her eyes, he slapped her face.

“Don’t do that again. You’ll see me, bitch, and remember who I am. How I’m the champion of your greatest cause—this perpetual sex machine. He gripped her cunt and shook it hard, then fixed a clamp over her clit so she screamed a muffled scream into the gag.

From behind, he let the whip fly fast and hard, not a second between the strikes. On her back, then to her ass, so they were heated and hot. Then the crop again, that horrifying one with the thin end and the little tied tail that bit viciously into roughed-up skin. She’d feel a trickle of blood down her thigh before he finished. A terrifying reason to rejoice.

She was losing it by the time he burnished her thighs and lay into that tenderness creating another horror. Her mind simply vanished and there was nothing but pain, and then nothingness, and then nothing at all … she’d disappeared without a trace … gone … flown away and lost forever.



Eden came back to the room with the feel of Jacob’s hand between her thighs, his fingers pressing her to climax … a long mellow jolt and sensation afterward … softly swooping here and there.

“I’m so good to you, darling Eden. You treat me like shit trying to fend me off. You suppose you’re going to tell your attorney about this little caper? About how easily you give in to me? You going to try and change your name again? Try to hide, maybe? If I didn’t think you were so scrumptious for my own needs, I’d find you pathetic.”

He was undoing her from the bar overhead, but he left her hands manacled together at the wrists. Removing the gag, he pushed her to the floor and pressed her head against the wood with the heel of his boot.

“You look good like that, whore, don’t you?”

She didn’t reply.

“Don’t you?” he pressed harder, angrily.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“And you’re mine, isn’t that so?”

“Forever and always, sir,” she replied without thinking.

“I will always own you,” he swore.

She did not reply.

“I WILL ALWAYS OWN YOU!” He let the crop rip against her upturned bruised butt, the narrow end landing in her ass crack.

“Ah, nooooo!”

“Say it bitch!”

“You’ll always own me, sir,” she spit out loud and clear.

“That’s better. Now suck my dick.”

He helped her to her knees, and pulled her toward a chair where he sat back and she remained between his open thighs. Her hands couldn’t play with him easily, but her lips could and they covered the erect stalk. With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her down on the organ and fucked her mouth. It made her gag, but he made her relax. Opening wide for him, her lips and tongue worked hard bringing him off. Pulling her head back, he shot on her face, on lips and hair and down her chin. The smile on his lips was reminiscent of times before when he was ecstatically jubilant mastering her.

“You fire Adam Cady tomorrow,” he said looking down at her. “Tell him it was a mistake. Don’t tell him you belong to me, just tell him you patched things up. That you love me and that you always will. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go to bed.”

“What about the collar and cuffs?” she asked.

“Wear them to bed. Be glad I don’t chain you to the headboard all night.” He threw her a key to the cuffs. “In case I’m not back to let you go,” he chortled.

Jacob picked her up as he rose from the chair and gave her a mean swat on the behind as she padded off toward the bedroom.

“You won’t spend the night?” she asked him peeking out.

“No, I won’t spend the night. You don’t deserve me.” He was about to leave. “But you will. You’ll be moving into the brownstone with me for a little corrective training. So I can get you back to being the gentle submissive who’s never heard the word rebellion.”

“I want to stay here, Jacob,” she pleaded with him.

“But you won’t. I think I already have someone that will sublease the place. He stared around at her beloved walls. “You did a nice job fixing it up. Too bad you couldn’t behave yourself. Still, some of these things should bring a decent price.”

“You’re going to sell it all?”

“Yes. Like I did before. You’re not going to need it for a long time. And I can’t be bothered with your ballast.”




Melanie remembered her Aunt Daisy serving tea to her garden club, in the once elegant backyard. In her memories, she remembered her Aunt as an older woman, well past the youthful romantic she liked to imagine—the young woman that used to wear the flowing flowered dresses that were packed in her trunks.

Leaning forward in the chair, Melanie pulled her favorite trunk closer to her, and jiggled the familiar latch until it at last gave way. Opening the creaky lid, she gazed admiringly at the dresses inside. Melanie was about to pull out her favorite, when she noticed that the inner lid looked strangely cockeyed. Tapping on the upholstered piece of wood with her hand, she tried to push it back into place; but instead, it suddenly gave way, spilling the contents of a secret compartment onto the dresses below. Melanie’s eyes widened as she discovered a packet of letters and a book. They appeared to her like buried treasure, suddenly unearthed from a different time. The letters had been written on some fine tissue paper stationery, and now tied with a faded blue ribbon, she thought them too fragile to touch, let alone open. The book, on the other hand, was bound with a leather cover, and appeared in good condition. While the inside had yellowed some at the edges, and the paper crackled softly when she turned the pges; it seemed resilient enough to withstand some inspection.



Opening to the first page Melanie read:

Daisy Markham—1939



The words were neatly printed with a fountain pen. A quick look revealed that this was a diary filled beginning to end with Aunt Daisy’s flowing penmanship. From the center of the book dropped a photograph, a black and white on hard cardboard backing, with two young faces staring back at Melanie like ghosts. Melanie recognized Aunt Daisy’s soft blonde curls, neatly tied back with a ribbon. Behind her was a young dashing man with dark eyes and curly black hair, his arms wrapped around her then svelte female frame.

Aunt Daisy’s sailor, Melanie immediately thought, seeing the neat uniform the young man wore. Melanie had heard of her Aunt’s beau, only in whispers and half phrases, the man who’d claimed her heart, and whose mysterious disappearance had haunted her family history for years thereafter. Melanie had only known that her Aunt’s beau had been a sailor; and though she’d gone on to marry another man, she’d secretly pined for the sailor until the day of her death. Melanie often imagined Aunt Daisy thinking of him, when in later years, she found her Aunt gazing off into no where with a winsome smile on her face.

Cautiously turning back to the front page of the diary, Melanie’s hands were actually trembling, thinking of what Aunt Daisy might reveal about her life before Uncle John. Perhaps this book would explain what was behind the hushed gossip about her scandalous past. Melanie felt a little guilty reading the personal words, but then who could it possibly hurt with Aunt Daisy, Uncle John and no doubt the young sailor, long dead.

Excited about what she might discover, Melanie began to read.



I hesitate to even write these things, but I am compelled to do something with the private thoughts I have, especially those I hold of my dear Joseph.



“Ah yes!” Melanie exclaimed aloud. The sailor’s name was Joseph!



How strangely different our friendship is from anything I’ve ever known, or even heard of. Even the magazines I get from the East Coast do not tell of such things, but when I think of the bliss I have with Joey, I cannot imagine life to be any other way. He’s able to make claims on me in ways I never believed possible. Not that I’m such an experienced woman, I am older than so many friends who rushed off to marry after high school. Those high school boys were so silly, with their anxious eyes and easy grins. Oh yes! Some made me blush, especially Victor Hodges, but he’ll never be anything but a farm-boy. I can’t imagine dusting off farm dirt from my shoes all my life!

Joseph is different than all of them, so calm and reasoned. He makes me feel like a woman, like a real woman, not a giddy school girl from a small town—which I fear is exactly what I am. He makes me shiver so when I’m with him.

That first dance, he was the only man I could even look at. He stared at me from across the room. I was laughing so hard at Gracie’s joke, when his eyes caught mine. He made me stop laughing with just that once glance. His broad shoulders, that curly dark hair and his olive skin. It’s because he’s Italian. I’ve never known an Italian man before. He says his parents were born in Italy, that’s so romantic in itself. He’ll take me there some day to ride on the gondolas in Venice. I think of him like a movie star, that’s how different he is from the other boys I know. He’s so worldly, coming from New York; to me that’s like coming from a foreign country.

I felt so foolish when I fell down in my fit of laughter. I really just stumbled over Gracie; but then Joseph was there offering me his hand, as I looked up at him through my giggles. He was so serious, almost like I was a naughty girl having done something terribly wrong.

But then he smiled at me, and I thought the whole wide world was opening. Joseph is always like that, one moment almost threatening, the next surrounding me in his broad arms and smiles. It makes me blush to say how I feel when he holds me. There’s a knot in my stomach, and a sensation that seems very carnal.

But I’m digressing to avoid why I’m really writing. I know I have to tell someone and these blank pages are the only listener I have. It’s such a strange story, I still don’t know what to make of it. I thought that writing it down this way would help me make sense out of this tale.

I suppose this came about with Joseph, because I’m so often stubborn and pigheaded. And of course, I have such a temper, it’s often gotten me in trouble. Daddy’s always said, I would be one miserable handful to any man that would have me.

Anyway, it all started yesterday when Joseph picked me up at the dress shop at 5:00, as he always does. My day had been a hectic one, and I was already out of sorts; though I didn’t realize how much so, until Joseph told me that we were going to his Uncle Zito’s house before we had dinner.

“Oh, please, no,” I whined at him. I couldn’t bear the thought of an evening in that smelly old apartment, with Uncle Zito and his pipe, and his loud voice blaring some stupid thing in my ear.

“Daisy?” Joseph looked at me surprised. I’d never countered him on anything, I’ve never had reason to.

“I don’t want to see your Uncle Zito,” I said, trying not to sound too angry with him.

“Oh? Why not?” he asked.

“I’m just so tired, couldn’t we just have dinner?”

“It won’t take but a minute,” Joseph said, and taking me by the hand we walked in silence the three blocks to his uncle’s apartment.

By the time the “minute” turned into an hour I was fuming. As we were out the door and on the way to the restaurant, I heard Joseph whisper something about not being such a whining brat.

“I am not!” I said, indignantly.

“Oh?” he said, looking at me with one fixed eye. Sometimes Daisy Markham, you act more like a twelve year old than a grown woman.”



Melanie shivered reading those words, as they reminded her of Tony’s accusations about her.



Joseph led me to a small diner just down the street, while I smoldered in my incensed state the whole way. In the restaurant I refused to talk to him, and that only made him look at me all the more irritated.

“Would you settle down, so we can enjoy our dinner,” Joseph said.

“What do you mean settle down, I’m just fine.” There was a very deliberate snarl in my voice. Sometimes I’m so foolish, the little things that bother me end up being so small.

Joseph looked at me as if he didn’t know what to say, he was appalled that I was acting this way with him. Usually my childish moods vanish in a few minutes, but this one was lingering on dangerously.

“Would you please talk to me?” he finally said, when my bristling silence had bothered him enough.

“If you don’t like the way I am,” I said, “then I’ll leave.” I grabbed my purse and started toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Joseph said, pulling me back. “We just ordered dinner. You’re not going anywhere.”

“You think you can treat me like a child,” I said. I was very angry, and my raised voice was beginning to draw attention to our argument.

Joseph flashed those dark eyes at me, and I should have realized how upset he was then, but I HAD to stamp my foot, and pull away from him. I walked out leaving him with two uneaten dinners to pay for. I can see now why he was so upset. Then, I thought I was perfectly justified in my attitude.

When Joseph caught up with me, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly, so there was no way I would get away. He didn’t say a single word, all the way home, but when we got to my bungalow his next measures stopped me cold.

Following me into the house, he stood for some seconds in the midst of the living room.

“Do you have a hairbrush, Daisy?” he asked. His question took me completely by surprise.

I told him yes. Of course I have a hairbrush.

“Go get it,” he said. The tone of voice was so demanding, but I was still too naive to realize what he planned to do with it. I ran off to my room and retrieved my hairbrush, thinking that Joseph simply wanted to brush his hair. But when I handed the black lacquer brush to him, he took it in his hand and walked toward the dining room where he pulled out one of the dining room chairs.

“Come here,” he ordered me.

I was flustered, as it dawned on me what he had in mind. I felt just like a little kid again, as well I should, the way I was acting.

Joseph didn’t wait for me to respond, but closed the several steps between us and pulled me by the arm toward the dining room chair. I’m sure I shrieked out loud, but I remember now so little of what happened. I do remember that Joseph was more serious than I’d ever seen him.

“You behave like a brat with me, I’ll treat you like one,” he said.

I was trembling all over; but it was so strange, I didn’t have the courage to offer a protest. I was simply stunned. No one, not even my father has ever stood up to me this way. I still don’t know what to make of it.

“What are you going to do,” I asked, as if I didn’t know.

“Spank you,” he said quite calmly. His cold strength was so compelling I couldn’t do anything but submit, as he sat down and pulled me over his lap. He immediately administered several hearty smacks across my rear end, the hairbrush giving quite a good sharp smack.

I was so shocked, I didn’t utter a word until the second half dozen smacks. Then with my wits about me, I began to wail like the dickens, kicking and screaming with all my might.

“Joseph, you have to stop this!” I cried.

“I certainly do not!” he insisted. He let that brush land harder still.

“Stop it now!” I tried again.

“Hush!” he blared at me, as he continued to lay the horrible thing on my bottom.

I quieted at least for a moment, though I continued to try wiggling away from him. That only made Joseph spank me harder. And with his free arm clamping itself about my waist, my furious struggles were all the more pointless.

The brush came down with such fury that I thought he’d never stop. Before long, my bottom seemed to burn, each new smack just adding to the ever growing warmth in my rear. I was so humiliated, I was no doubt blushing, though neither of us would know that right then, since my face was nearly on the floor.

I couldn’t believe how much this hurt. I imagined my poor bottom glowing rosy red under my skirt.

“Joseph, please,” I wailed, very loudly.

“If you don’t be quiet my love, I’ll pull up your skirt and get a little closer to your bare skin!” he informed me.

That quieted me altogether, I couldn’t imagine anything more horrible, or more improper; though I have to admit that there was a certain fascination with the possibility.

The hairbrush continued with an amazing steadiness, until I thought I could stand no more. And just as I was about to squeal loudly again, Joseph stopped.

“Now,” he said, as he pushed me back to my feet. I was about to run bawling to my bedroom, but his voice leapt out at me and hauled me back.

“Don’t you go anywhere,” he said, very sternly.

I shrank back, embarrassed to let him see my tears and my red nose, rubbing my poor wounded rear. It still felt mighty sore, though the burn was beginning to subside, leaving me with the most lovely warm feeling on my punished rear cheeks.

“Don’t you ever pull a silly stunt like that again. Do you understand?”

“Stunt?” I questioned him foolishly.

“Making a scene in the restaurant, and walking out on dinner,” he reminded me. “You’re much too old to act like that.”

He was completely right, I know, but there was just enough defiance left in me to scowl at him nastily.

“I’d better get an apology Daisy, or I’ll start again.” He waved the hairbrush in his hand. I knew he wasn’t kidding.

“I’m sorry,” I said at last. “You were right.” I believed every word I said, and I hoped he heard the sincerity in my voice. I guess I was still so stunned by the whole thing, that I couldn’t believe it had happened. Even today, I still don’t know exactly what to make of the amazing incident, or my dear Joseph, but strange as it seems, it’s only made me love him all the more.

After my apology, Joseph came to me and put his arms about me and held me. I didn’t say a word, and neither did he. Explanations were unnecessary, as if the treatment was normal and perfectly appropriate for a courtship like ours.

When he finally spoke, he was as loving and tender as he’d always been. All the horrible irritation and anger had vanished, and I could only remember the sweet things about our time together.

I cooked him scrambled eggs and potatoes, and he said it was the best meal he’d ever had. I don’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but it didn’t seem like honesty was quite as important right then, as the quality of affection we had for each other. And mine, as bizarre as it may seem, has risen by leaps and bounds, in this short time.




The Milk Bitch Trilogy by Frances Gaines Bennett

During lunch at a DC power restaurant, the striking brunette journalist Gina can't take her eyes off a ruggedly handsome man on the other side of the dining room. An advance on him is rebuffed by the maitre'd, but that doesn't stop Gina from trading a night of sex with the restaurant owner for information on her mystery man. Before that night is over Gina will be drugged and later wake up in a warehouse, where sees shocking scenes of young women being examined, sold, crated and wheeled away. She listens in horror as her mystery man, Ward, and a powerful Sheikh make a deal that will turn Gina into Ward's property.

Though Gina finally lands safely back at home, her world has been upended...even her sister and good friend are in the clutches of this slave trade... and some of the powerful in Washington are in on this shocking commerce in women. Gina is now at Ward's beck and call as he tortures, ass rapes and humiliatingly degrades her in acts that bring her to intensely powerful orgasms.

She'll be subjected to a systematic program of sexual breeding and forced lactation. In a diabolical research lab, under the direction of Dr. Roland, her breasts are ballooned to an extraordinary degree, an activity that becomes highly orgasmic for the slavishly submitting Gina. To perfect the alternations, she's left at the doctor's farm where she and the other girls are kept in stalls like cattle. Once Gina returns to DC, her bulbous milk-filled breasts become the object of much attention. She's routinely milked and fed special diets that will alter her milk in order to please the men to whom she's given. Her transformation from DC journalist to Ward's Milk Bitch is now complete.

More brutal subjugation follows, as Gina's story continues in Milk Bitch Lost. She's taken to the Sheikh's home where Ward shows off her special milking talents and arranges to transform other females who will serve the Sheikh in the same manner. While there, Gina is kidnapped by Amani, a powerful priest with mystical powers, and a complicated plot must be devised to save her. Finally in book three, Milk Bitch Pawn, Gina is back in the US where she's again forced into more dehumanizing scenes of abject submission, and becomes a integral part of her 'Daddy' Ward's scheme to blackmail a former US Vice President and his son.

The stories of Gina and her fellow milk bitch slaves are told in a beautifully written masterpiece of S&M perversion, with graphic depictions woven though suspenseful plots that will keep readers turning pages until the very end. While content centers on sexual submission and lactation, also included are body modification, suspension and Shibari bondage, stringent corsetting, slave autions, pain, punishment, whipping, pony girls, piercing, piss drinking and slave auctions.