Justine Elyot’s World of Submission

Out In The Open

Hello, readers, and thank you to Sallyanne for giving me this platform to talk about my new book, the third and final instalment of the His House of Submission trilogy.

One of the themes of Her World of Submission is the repercussions of being ‘outed’ as kinky. It seems rather timely, in a week when a woman lost her job as administrator of a childcare centre in Kent, for having written an erotic novel. Do we dare to admit anything so intimate to a judgemental world? And what happens if we do?

Her world of submission

Jasper Jay and Sarah Wells have their relationship flaunted in the national press, after a rather indiscreet episode in a public square in London. For Jasper, it’s water off a duck’s back. He works for himself, in an industry where attention-seeking of all kinds is endemic. He knows he will get away with it – and will even be admired for his prowess.

For Sarah, it’s more complicated. She has no problem with being Jasper’s acknowledged partner. But the nature of their D/s relationship is something she had hoped to keep private. Her employers – the trustees of a museum – may well be less impressed by her flaunting of herself in public.

She is nervous of contacting old friends, for fear of what they will think of her. But she is lucky enough to have one very sympathetic friend – sympathetic because she is in a similar relationship of her own. In fact, Sarah’s friend is Rosie from Kinky, and when the two friends and their masterful lovers spend some time together, Sarah’s dread of her outed future begins to recede…

Here’s an excerpt:


I pulled my suitcase on to the parquet and shut the door behind me.


Perhaps he was out. But his car was in the drive and he wouldn’t leave lights on in the house before leaving – it was just such an un-Jasper thing to do. Maybe he was chopping wood in the kitchen yard? Now that I’d like to see…

My mouth already watering, I passed through the back kitchen and looked hopefully into the yard, but there was no strapping axe-wielding man to be seen with shirtsleeves pushed up his arm and an honest sweat gathering on his brow. Worse luck.

I returned to the Hall and called out again, but without much hope of a response. As I did so, something glittering under the tree caught my eye and I noticed a parcel in holographic wrapping paper lying there.

Was this my Christmas present?

I knew I should wait until he was around to share the exchange of gifts, but I was too intrigued not to pick the box up and take a closer look.

There was a card on it. I looked for Jasper’s writing, expecting it to have the conventional ‘To Sarah, Merry Christmas, love Jasper’ format on it, but it didn’t. It said, ‘Open me now. Don’t wait.’


I looked around, convinced now that I must be being watched. Would Jasper have put a hidden camera somewhere? On the stairs, on the wall, in the tree?

I obeyed the directive on the tag and began to unwrap the parcel. Inside the paper was a box and the box contained a pair of brown leather cuffs with buckles and rings. Slightly disappointing, as Christmas presents go, but there was another card inside and I picked it up, my heart skippy with excitement.

‘Put on the cuffs. Find your next gift in the drawing room.’

I buckled up the new cuffs around my wrists – they were comfortable and felt luxurious; obviously the best quality, which was typical of Jasper.

In the drawing room, there was still no sign of the man himself but I soon found the next box, a flat rectangular number that took up most of the chaise longue it had been placed upon.

Inside it, wrapped in layers of silver tissue paper, was a tiny filmy black lace babydoll nightdress, more like gossamer than lace in fact. It came with a pair of hold-up stockings and a frilly garter but nothing else. A card fluttered out when I unfolded it.

‘Put these on. Come to the office.’

Surely he had to be watching? I felt intensely self-conscious, despite the silent stillness of the room, as I pulled off my boots, stepped out of my jeans, unbuttoned my shirt. I was strongly conscious of undressing for someone, even though there was nobody there. I tried to be graceful and seductive instead of taking it quickly, imagining Jasper’s eye, his face, his intent concentration at all times.

The babydoll was barely there against my skin, just a little gauzy web over my breasts and belly, so short that it left the lower half of my pubic triangle exposed.

I tried to smooth it down so it might cover more, but there was no use. It was supposed to be this short. I sat on a buttoned velvet stool and eased on the stockings – carefully, because they were so sheer a sharp look would probably ladder them.

Dressed and ready for action – but not the kind of action in an action movie – I tiptoed on my stockinged feet over to the office.

I felt so sure that Jasper would be in there that I knocked first.

No direction to enter, or to wait, followed. I knocked again, then turned the handle.

No, he was not there.

On his leather swivel chair was another box, of a stout, square variety.

This one proved to contain a little silk-embroidered case inside which lay a pair of shining silver balls. They jingled when I took them out. Of course, I knew what they were. I hadn’t studied the historical evolution of sex toys for nothing. But, strangely perhaps, given our no-holds-barred relationship, I’d never yet experienced them in play.

A label was stuck to the inner lid of the case.

‘Insert them,’ it said. ‘And walk (carefully) up the stairs to the master bathroom.’


The book is available now from various outlets, including the HarperCollins website (and apparently I get higher royalties if you order it from here, but don’t let me twist your arm…): http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/9780007579488/her-world-of-submission


To start the trilogy at the beginning, go to His House of Submission: http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/9780007491599/his-house-of-submission


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