Other Books in This Series:
Carlotta's Revenge (In Progress)
The Unbroken

Sentence:
When a man goes to battle with the erotic forces threatening to consume him, he must summon up all of his innermost strengths; when those forces take the form of Mistress Carlotta, he must call upon the Devil, himself.

Blurb/Logline:
When Dean Janus stumbles across an Internet promotion for a professional Domme, his curiosity is piqued.  By the time he decides to check it out, he is already ensnared in an ever-widening web of drugs, money laundering, BDSM, and murder.  Only the tenacious love of a woman nearly ten years younger can save him.  But is that love strong enough to go head-to-head with Mistress Carlotta?  And can Dean overcome the prejudice he has against his young, headstrong lover?  His very life may depend on it!

Synopsis:

Driving down the highway late at night, Dean hit something—a deer?  It looked more like a body bent over in the snow-and-sleet-filled darkness.  He went back to search but found nothing.  At home, the local police, acting on a tip, showed up to investigate.

They, too, came up empty-handed, although Dean knew that the inspector suspected something.Dean met Lynne on the Internet and began a flirtatious e-lationship.  Before long, he feared he was falling in love with her.  He wouldn't have worried--in fact, he would have been elated--except for the fact that she was ten years younger than he.  Still, he succumbed to his own desires and invited her to his home for dinner.Later, while surfing the Internet for a florist, he stumbled across a Web page for Dominatrix Mistress Carlotta.  Her image loomed large across the screen--massive breasts and an angelic face, a body clad in leather and chains.  She commanded him to contact her for a 24/7 slave/mistress relationship.  Intrigued and amused, he had little problem resisting the invitation.  He had heard of BDSM, of course, but always thought it too “fringe” for him.As time passed, Dean found himself growing more and more fascinated with Lynne. 

He had never known anyone--at any age--to be more perceptive or intuitive, more loving.  But in one of their hot late-night sessions, he found himself unable to concentrate—or achieve orgasm.  He envisioned he was making love to Mistress Carlotta.  Lynne, confused and hurt, left.

Dean was angry with himself.  He considered begging Lynne to forgive him and went to his computer to e-mail her.  There, he once again ran across the Web site for “Dominatrix Mistress Carlotta, your mistress.”  Torn between two worlds, he decided to meet her on line.  What was this fire burning within?  Could he be submissive?  A closet sub all these years?  As the time grew close, he went on line but she failed to show.  A message ordered him to meet her on-line at 2 a.m., but once again she failed to show.

After a sleepless night and desperate for help, Dean called Lynne.  Near tears, he apologized to her, begging her forgiveness.  He asked her to come over, and she finally agreed.  Later that night, with Lynne asleep, he wandered into his office, where his computer screen glowered: “Contact me immediately!”  He paused, then sat behind the desk and connected to the Web.  Carlotta told him that he had been bad and must be punished, then e-mailed him further instructions.  He quickly pulled up his mail to find a short note from M.C.: You saw me at the University the other day and recognized me; you were wrong to divulge that recognition.  You were bad not to contact me immediately, as I requested yesterday.  If you wish to be forgiven, be at 334 State Street, second floor apartment, at 4:45 P.M. sharp!”  Lynne walked in on him, saw a woman's erotic image on the screen, and assumed he was having a cyber affair.  She told him that she was leaving him for good.

The next day, Dean raced to town to meet Carlotta.  She led him to her basement, littered with SM objects, and proceeded to begin his inauguration into the erotic world of BDSM.

The next day, Dean was miserable.  He tried contacting M.C. by e-mail but failed.  He went to the Web site, but it had disappeared.  He tried pulling up old e-mails from her only to find that they, too, had vanished.  In fact, his entire computer had been stripped of documents, e-mails, everything.  Carlotta!  He sat in near hysteria, trying to decide what to do, when suddenly M.C.'s site popped onto the screen.  There he found a photograph of a naked woman in chains and gag, looking helplessly off to one side.  The copy on the screen was a threat from M.C.—either he had to surrender to her completely or bear the consequences.  In agony, he called Lynne one last time.

Armed with all of the gory details, Lynne convinced Dean to see a counselor she knew.  The counselor explained to him about the strange allure of power play and Dominance/submission.  Dean returned home and learned that Lynne had been attacked and brutally beaten.  He knew instinctively who was to blame.  He knocked on M.C.’s door, allowed her to take him once again to the dungeon, then suddenly turned on her.  After grappling for several minutes, he managed to overpower her and bind her to her own rack.  He left.

Dean finished his cognac and threw another log on the fire, then went to his computer to check his mailbox.  He found one message, from Carlotta: “A few days ago, you killed a woman, ran her over in the middle of the road, and left the scene of the accident.  You escaped the police then. Let’s see if you can do it again … after they have discovered the body…” 

Fear sliced through Dean.  He forced it down, then disconnected from the Web before picking up the telephone and dialing. 

“It’s me,” he said.  “She’s struck.” 

Dean waited patiently in his living room well into the evening.  Finally, Carlotta showed up and told him that, for betraying her, he will pay the price.  She has spattered blood—blood taken from his girlfriend, Lynne, when she had been attacked—all over the front of his car … but only after she kicked in the bumper to make it look as though he had hit something.  But, he asked when Carlotta confronted him, what was it that he was supposed to have hit?  She replied, “Your girlfriend.” 

“And what about a body?  The police never found any sign ...” 

Carlotta smiled.  “Probably lying down in the field next to the road, where you left her.” 

Dean got up as though to go out.  “Don’t bother,” she said.  “The police are there by now.  I expect they’ll be calling on you any moment.” 

And how did the police find out about the accident, he asked.  “Oh, probably some busybody with an anonymous tip.  You know the type.”  Yes, he said, he knew.

Just then, several cars pulled into the driveway.  The police entered the house.  As Carlotta waited for them to arrest Dean, they slapped the cuffs on her.  When she protested, they told her that they had learned from an anonymous source that Lynne had been in danger, that Carlotta had planned on having her killed.  They went to Carlotta’s home, found her torture chamber, and shortly thereafter apprehended her two “pet subs” trying to break into Lynne’s house.  In their possession was a vial of Lynne’s blood, taken from her after their earlier assault on her.  Between that, the records the police had taken from Dean’s computer, and the blood on the bumper of Dean’s car (the same blood that was on the blood-stained rag they found in the back seat of Carlotta’s car), they were sure they had a solid case. 

"Oh, yes, and one more thing," the inspector told her, showing her the pictures she had taken of Dean in shackles.  "Your computer log of e-mails and html messages?  They're gonna hang you."

As the police escorted Carlotta out, Lynne passed her on the way in.  Carlotta scowled at her: “Your day will come.”  Lynne smiled back.  "It already has." 

Lynne embraced Dean, the two locking lips in front of the fireplace.  “You know,” she said, “Carlotta wasn't completely wrong.  Not about everything."  Dean turned to her.  "What do you mean?"  Lynne smiled as she pulled a pair of steel cuffs from her pocket.  He took the cuffs and dangled them in front of her, saying, “You know, you just might have something here.  But I’m through with all this Dominatrix business.”  “You are?” she asked, surprised.  He grinned.  “But I know someone else who would look awfully good in these tonight.”  He motioned toward the stairway leading to the bedroom.  “Shall we dance?”

Lynne started up the stairs, then paused.  "I love to dance," she whispered.  "But I'll lead."

Bio:
D. J. Herda is the award-winning author of more than 80 conventionally published books and several hundred thousand short stories, articles, columns, and scripts.  He received his degree from Columbia College and taught Creative Writing Workshop in Chicago.  President of the American Society of Authors and Writers and member of several other writing and literary societies, he writes in virtually all genres and a few only he knows exist.  He has ghostwritten for several Hollywood luminaries, including Ronnie Schell, Art Linkletter, Lawrence Welk, and Sammy Davis Jr., for whom he has also ghost-photographed.

Film: 
This book was written visually, with strong character development and scene elements.  Each chapter ends on a hook.  The dialogue is crisp, pointed, quirky, and believable, and the scenes contain good descriptive passages for visualization purposes.  Several producers have expressed interest in seeing the book, but it has not yet been shopped around.

Additional:
D. J. Herda is one of the best fiction writers working today.