New Release: Spyder’s Trouble: BDSM Space Opera by Korin I. Dushayl

Spyders_Trouble_Cover_cover_iconsizeSpyder’s Trouble
by Korin I. Dushayl
$5.99 ebook
ISBN 978-1-61390-124-3

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The ebook edition is also available at: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo & AllRomanceEbooks.

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As the shadow of a repressive piety movement spreads across the system’s free worlds, the Lady Cassandra and her slaves must flee home. The Dominatrix persuades her loyal clients to smuggle her out of the city where she lives. Exiled to the desert, she contacts Spyder, captain of the spaceship Trouble, who offers her only hope for salvation.

When he rushes to her aid, Spyder’s troubles follow him. The delay caused by Lady Cassandra’s rescue angers the influential and overdue government official on board and infuriates Creeper, the powerful criminal who owns the cargo in Trouble’s hold. Spyder struggles to make up time and meet his commitments, but Creeper accepts no excuses and suffers no delays. He sets a reward for his illicit shipment’s return and bounty hunters chase the ship from one end of the system to another. When rumors of the stolen cargo reach the authorities, they join the hunt for Trouble as well.

Pursued both by the law and the lawless, Spyder and his navigator exploit every evasive maneuver and smuggler’s trick they know. But, Spyder’s troubles find the ship’s location with uncanny precision. With a price on his head and his ship, Spyder sets Trouble’s course for the only planet in the system out of reach of criminals and cops alike. There one crew member’s past catches up to her. When another disappears, Spyder learns the true meaning of trouble.

About the Author: I.G. Frederick trades words for cash, specializing in erotic and transgressive fiction and poetry since 2001. Her erotic short stories appear in Hustler Fantasies, Forum, Foreplay, and Desire Presents, as well as electronic, audio, and print anthologies. Her novels receive high praise from readers, critics, and other authors. Ms. Frederick writes about finding love in BDSM relationships from the authority of one enjoying that for almost a decade. As an observer, she also sees the many ways BDSM turns ugly. She writes about abusive and tragic interactions as Korin I. Dushayl.

Excerpt under the cut!

Spyder pushed through the airlock and the heat almost knocked him over. Sand still swirled around the ship’s struts. He pulled a bandana from his pocket and tied it over his mouth and nose, securing the edge under his goggles, before striding down the gangway. Turning when he cleared it, he stared at Tamara, who had followed him out of the hatch, her face covered in a breather.

“That’s far enough.”

“Surely, you don’t mean to venture into hostile territory without an escort?” She rested her hand on the hilt of the cylinder gun in the holster on her left hip.

“This is personal.”

She put both hands on her narrow hips. “You dragged the ship, your entire crew, Creeper’s cargo, and a spittingly angry prefect halfway across the system for something personal?” Tamara sighed loud enough to be heard through the breather, but didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she turned toward the thruster bay, extracting the ever-present spanner from her coverall’s thigh pocket as she stepped off the gangway.

Spyder marched across the desolate landscape, his boots crunching on the gritty surface and kicking up more sand, toward the crimson and purple tent covering a ten-meter-square clearing. A tall, muscular man–naked except for an engraved steel collar, a heavy metal chastity tube imprisoning his cock, and a belt with two holstered pistols–guarded the entrance. White scars crisscrossed the ebony skin on his back, chest, and upper arms, and the Lady’s mark emblazoned his right shoulder.

Unzipping his coveralls, Spyder pulled them and his shirt off his own shoulder to show the same mark, faded but still raised on his flesh. The guard nodded and pulled aside the heavy goat-hair flap covering the entrance. Spyder ducked inside, pulled the bandana down under his chin, and shoved the goggles on top of his head. He balanced on one foot at a time to pull off his boots, and dropped to his hands and knees.

The Lady lounged on silk-covered pillows in one of the sections created by heavy tapestries attached to the tent’s roof. Two additional slaves attended her, one squat and brawny with hair pulled into a braid that brushed the top of his arse, the other wiry but muscular, shiny dark hair skimming his shoulders. Both wore the Lady’s brand and collar, and her required chastity devices. A fourth knelt in front of a cookstove in another section of the tent, stirring the contents of an iron pot from which emanated the scent of mint, turmeric, and cloves.

Spyder crawled through the tent to the beautiful Lady Cassandra, her dark, luscious curves covered in layered silk. He threw himself face down onto the soft wool of the blood-red carpet. “My Lady, thank you for calling on your humble slave. How may I be of service?”

Cassandra pulled her feet away from the mouth of the smaller slave kneeling in front of her. “Start packing, boys, our transport’s arrived.”

The two men extracted copper-staved wooden chests from under purple blankets and flung them open. Pulling out sturdy canvas bags from inside, they set about stuffing clothing and tapestries in the bags and securing the Lady’s tools in the chests.

She raised her voice to be heard over the clatter. “Pig, serve whatever you’ve cooked and put out that fire so the stove cools enough to pack.”

The dark-skinned man had several kanji branded on his biceps in addition to the Lady’s mark, and black tattoos covering his bald head. He spooned a yellowish stew into a silver bowl and presented it to the Lady. Then he poured the rest of his creation into polymer bowls, setting one near Spyder’s head and handing one to each of the other slaves. All waited until the Lady lifted a silver spoonful, blew on it with her delicate, blue-painted lips, and tasted a morsel.

Spyder pushed himself up and sat back on his heels. Lifting the bowl to his lips, he tilted his head back to let some of the protein, tubers, and sauce slide into his mouth, chewing it until he could swallow. The spices infused in the unidentifiable meat made it the best meal he’d eaten since the food dispenser fritzed out after they loaded Creeper’s cargo into Trouble‘s bays on Terranon.

He canted his head to one side. “Am I permitted to ask my Lady where she would like me to transport her and her other slaves to?” Mentally he calculated whether he had enough fuel to get the weight of five additional passengers, as well as the Lady’s tent and belongings, off the planet or if he needed to fly to the capital to refuel.

The Lady shook her head, the gemstones and beads woven into her long, black braids jangling. “Just get me off this abandoned excuse for a planet, boy. The phalatu hypocritical Pietist Party bought the last election and issued a series of Decency Decrees before even taking office.” She leaned forward and he detected a hint of leather above the scent of curry. “I’ve threatened my clients with blackmail, but they claim they have no power against this regime. The best they could do was help me get out of the capital with most of what I own, plus this.” She waved a plump arm upward, the diaphanous silk of her garments fluttering about her ample figure. “A gift from an admirer.”

Spyder took a deep breath. Could he bring the Lady aboard his spaceship without losing control of his crew or himself? He remembered only too well the softness of the Lady’s dusky skin, now hidden by pale green, blue, and lilac silks patterned with gold thread. He stared at her bare toes, a gemstone ring sparkling from each one, and recalled how delicious they felt against his tongue.

He swallowed. “Whatever my Lady requires, this slave will try his very best to provide. How soon can your boys have you packed and ready to load Trouble?”

She shrugged. “Couple of hours at most, I imagine. They didn’t unpack everything when we set up camp here. Just what I needed until you arrived.”

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “May I humbly request that you keep them clothed aboard the ship?”

The tinkle of her laughter made him remember the feel of cold metal against a restrained cock, and he grimaced. “Of course, boy. I assume you don’t take issue with them naked in the privacy of my quarters?”

Spyder cleared his throat. “My Lady, while I’m more than happy to turn my own cabin over to you, it’s rather tiny, barely big enough for yourself. Your boys will have to bunk in the crew’s quarters which are even smaller.” He dared not relocate Prefect Frazel, who had only accepted getting dragged to the other side of the system because Spyder promised him free passage and assured him it was a diplomatic matter of utmost urgency. At any rate, his quarters were almost as big as the passenger cabin and closer to where he would have to bunk her boys.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the minted perfume of her breath evoking intoxicating memories. “I guess I’m in no position to be finicky. And if you’re worried about weight, we can leave the tent. I can’t imagine finding it of use anywhere you might take me.”

“Thank you, my Lady. That would be helpful. If I may excuse myself, I’ll go prepare my ship to accommodate you and your possessions.”

She nodded and he crawled backwards toward the entrance flap, stopping when his knees hit sand. The slaves had already stacked a dozen stuffed bags and several chests to one side, along with rolls of carpet. The tapestries had disappeared and the desert floor was exposed everywhere in the tent except under Cassandra’s cushions. Turning to sit on his arse, Spyder accepted his boots from Pig and pulled them on. He rose and brushed sand off his coveralls, and facing Cassandra he bowed his way backward toward the tent flap.

Once outside, he repositioned his goggles and bandana, shoved his hands into his pockets, and trudged back to the ship. Only Tamara’s legs were visible outside the thruster bay. He tugged on her ankle and she jerked with the disconcerting ring of human skull thumping against metal.

Sliding out, she landed on her feet next to him. “You frightened the breath out of me.”

“We need to lift off as soon as we get our five passengers and their cargo loaded. Do we have enough fuel to bolt the atmosphere with that much extra weight?”

She stared at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. “Sir? Five? And how much cargo?”

“Lady Cassandra doesn’t travel light. But, she’ll leave the tent behind–that probably weighs as much as everything else.” Spyder turned on his heel and headed back to the gangplank.

Read the rest in Spyder’s Trouble!

Spyder's Trouble by Korin I. Dushayl
An erotic space opera. Spyder, captain of the spaceship Trouble, ignores threats from the owner of his cargo and the anger of his influential and overdue passenger, to rescue the Dominatrix Lady Cassandra and her slaves from the threat of a repressive piety movement. The delay forces him to risk Trouble, his life, and his crew when a notorious criminal chases the ship from one end of the system to another.
Also available in paperback!

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