"Daughter of the Sands" is a new nove by Wheldrake that I've just finished editing and publishing. Although much of it is fantasy, as with many novels of BDSM, Femdom, sadism etc., there's something very realistic about the desires and actions of the main character in the book. Her search for a man who can satisfy her particular sadistic desires is, I think, quite unique, yet at the same time it's something that many dominant women may be able to relate to. I've enjoyed reading and editing it more than any I've done for a long time. Anyway, here's an extract that I hope you'll enjoy: Now that she had her boy behind closed doors, she could enjoy him at her leisure. Perhaps she surprised Bakhos by embracing him with ladylike delicacy and treating him to a light, unhurried kiss that contained no trace of the fierce urgency he would remember from the elevator. She drew back, keeping a grip on his shoulders, and looked at him seriously. His short, spiky hair and open-necked dress shirt were all too typical of the young corporate men who had been crowding the dance club, but he had a trim, compact body and there was still a very obvious bulge in the front of his slacks. He would be perfectly acceptable, assuming he could take what she intended to give him. The main thing, she knew from bitter experience, was not to rush him. â€œTell me why you came up here,â€ she said quietly. He gave her a puzzled smile. â€œIsnâ€™t it obvious?â€ â€œTell me anyway, you delightful boy.â€ â€œI came up here to fuck a beautiful woman.â€ Inspiration seemed to strike him. â€œTo give you pleasure.â€ â€œPrecisely what I was hoping youâ€™d say. It would give me a lot of pleasure if you would take your shirt off, Bakhos. Now.â€ He looked at her and swallowed, lips parted, eyes with that melting look of deepened arousal. Yes, he liked being desired; he liked being told what to do by a woman who obviously knew what she wanted from him. He began to undo his buttons with deft fingers, his gaze never leaving her face. Linden leaned casually against the wall and watched her as the vista of his smooth, pale brown skin was revealed to her. He had only a light scattering of hair on his chest, and his nipples were small and dark and very pretty. He dropped the shirt untidily to the floor and stepped hesitantly towards Linden as if he were uncertain whether or not to approach her. He reached with tentative hands for the buttons of her top, a white sleeveless one that suited the weather provided she remembered to put on plenty of sunscreen. She grabbed his wrists, smiling at his startled expression, and she pushed him back towards the bed. â€œIn good time, Bakhos.â€ She loved saying his name, with that throaty Arabic guttural in the middle. â€œRight now I want you over here.â€ He allowed Linden to stretch him out on the yielding softness of the unnecessarily enormous bed they had given her, and to draw his arms up above his head. She leaned down, kneeling beside him as if she were stooping over prey, and she gave him a long, insistent kiss. â€œHave you ever been fucked by a white woman before, Bakhos?â€ â€œYes, plenty,â€ he replied with admirable honesty. â€œBut never one like you.â€ His accent was music to her ears. â€œYouâ€™re going to like it, I promise. Youâ€™re going to like pleasing me.â€ She brought her face close to his. â€œYouâ€™re going to like obeying me.â€ â€œWhat do you mean?â€ he panted. â€œYouâ€™ll see. Let me get something. You stay right there.â€ She slid away from him, noticing with a small thrill of satisfaction that he kept his arms above his head as he watched her with curious, lustful eyes. In the bottom of her closet was small bag of white cloth, one that she had buried in the bottom of her suitcase when she came over from Boston. Linden brought the bag over to the bed but placed it on the floor, out of Bakhosâ€™ line of sight. She unzipped it and fished out a pair of soft leather cuffs connected by a short steel chain. â€œYouâ€™ve been handcuffed before, havenâ€™t you, Bakhos?â€ He laughed nervously. â€œOnly by the police. It was a misunderstanding.â€ â€œIâ€™m sure it was.â€ She reached for his wrist, but he moved it away. â€œYou arenâ€™t going to do anything crazy, are you?â€ She met his eyes. â€œNo, Iâ€™m not going to do anything crazy,â€ she told him. â€œI promise. I just want to cuff you, strip you, play with you a little, and then fuck you.â€ â€œPlay with me?â€ Bakhos almost gasped. She reached out and pinched one of his nipples between her fingertips, hard enough to hurt just a little. â€œMother of God.â€ Bakhos closed his eyes and moved his hands up a bit closer to the brass bars at the head of Lindenâ€™s bed. It was exactly the kind of small, submissive gesture that was guaranteed to make her boil over, not that she had been too far from the boiling point in any case. She snatched his wrist and buckled the leather around it, reminding herself not to pull it too tight. She passed the chain behind two bars of the bed and then cuffed his other wrist, forcing his hands into a position that would become just slightly uncomfortable after a few minutes. Still, the leather was pliable, and she could leave him like that for a good long time if she wanted to. â€œThere, got you,â€ Linden purred, caressing his shoulders and chest with firm, possessive hands. Bakhos opened his eyes and gave a small moan. He pulled experimentally against the cuffs and found himself perfectly helpless. Lindenâ€™s smile widened. Yes, her Bakhos had been a good choice, a wonderful random catch on a hot night in Beirut. She was going to tease him, and hurt him a little, and fuck his brains out. Accepting the invitation to fly up to Lebanon had obviously been the best decision of her life.