Dominating Anna: A Fantasy Fulfilled Novella

TABLE
OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

About the Author

Chapter One

Anna was doing it. She
was really
doing
it. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she was
awake, but the feeling of his eyes on her told her that yes, she was really
standing in an abandoned storefront window in the middle of the afternoon,
about to strip because a man—a stranger—told her to.

Her fingers fluttered
to the wide belt of her dress. Would he—

“No. Did I tell you to
do that?” The man’s deep accented voice filled the room just as his shoulders
had filled the doorway as he’d entered ten minutes before. Wider than a
linebacker, he had a chest as broad as a refrigerator. At least a foot taller
than she was at five foot five, she’d expected him to speak
more...inarticulately. She’d expected him to grunt, perhaps. He was a goon
she’d hired to hurt her. Even the forbidden thought made the vee at her thighs
damp.

But this guy spoke in
full sentences. Although his eyes looked like he didn’t give a damn about
anything, including her, he’d been well-spoken when they’d shaken hands at the
entrance to the building.

Corinne, the Fantasy
Fulfilled assistant who’d interviewed her had been in the back alley when Anna
had arrived on foot. “Anna, this is Zee. He’ll be your operator.”

Her operator
. Her nerves drew together tightly, already
worried she was doing the wrong thing.

No. She could do this.

Zee. What kind of a
name was that? Probably just something he chose trying to be tough. His real
name was something soft like Zach. Or maybe it stood for something outlandish
like Zebediah, a name he’d be too embarrassed to tell his motorcycle friends.
Because of course the man had roared up on a Harley with a rumble like leaden
thunder, his leathers creaking as he’d dismounted the bike in the back alley.
He’d stomped through the slushy puddles as if he didn’t give a shit about his
heavy boots.

“Nice to meet you,”
she’d said as politely as if they were meeting on a blind date. Which, she had
to admit, they kind of were.

Zee nodded his head,
shook her hand—Jesus Christ, the man was huge all over—and brushed
by her. “You got it set up yet, Corinne?” He had a thick accent that Anna
couldn’t quite place. Eastern European of some sort? But as he spoke to
Corinne, ignoring Anna, she noted his English was flawless, as if he’d been
here a long time.

He moved ahead of
them, flicking on the lights just inside the door. Just a man, going to his
job. She was embarrassed to realize that
she
was the job. What was he
thinking now? He was probably worried she’d bolt.
What’s with the pale
mouse? Will she scurry away before I get paid?
Anna hunched her shoulders
and followed them through the rear door.

It looked like it had
been a small grocery shop at some point, high shelves running the length of the
long, narrow room, but it was obvious the space was serving a different purpose
now. Illuminated by the large plate glass window at the front, light trickled
reluctantly to the back of the space. The architect in Anna noted that the
space could be easily transformed—all it would take was knocking out the
side wall (certainly not load-bearing) that must hide a cheap storage area and
redoing the wood floors. It didn’t even need new ones—the grain of the
wood under her heels was fine, probably heart pine from the turn of the last
century. Someone could bring them back to a high gloss and remove those awful
pressboard shelves, and this would make a perfect space for an art gallery.

In the middle of a
forgotten part of Brooklyn. Maybe not.

Dust motes drifted
through the air, dancing around the low, dangling hook in the middle of the
ceiling.

Anna bit her lip at
the sight. Then her feet stopped moving as she noticed the small collection of
cheap folding chairs, set up as if for a poetry reading.

She couldn’t,
no...this wasn’t going to—

“No one but us today,”
said Corinne. She smiled at Anna as if she knew what she was going through. And
maybe she did. Had
she
ever been through this? Or was this just her job?
Weirder than barista, not as weird as ferret trainer. Or so Anna assumed. Maybe
ferret training was a yawn.

Corinne had told Anna
in the interview that she’d be close by, all the time, in case she needed
anything, and truthfully, knowing the sweet-looking brunette wasn’t going
anywhere made Anna feel better when she thought about being in the presence of
Zee, who was currently stomping around in the storage room and cursing under
his breath.

Anna scrunched her
shoulders tighter. Was he upset he had to be here? With her? Was he
disappointed?

“It’s okay,” said
Corinne in a soothing voice. “He’s always like this before a scene.”

A scene.
This was what she’d wanted.

Why, then, did she
feel like running?

Zee was curt to the
point of rudeness when Corinne said their time had started. “Stand there.” He
pointed to a low platform in front of the plate glass window. Corinne retreated
to the back of the store and turned on a small space heater that clicked as it
started to glow. The heat would never reach the front of the store where Anna
was, and she resigned herself to the low-level shaking she was doing.

Anna’s heart beating
so loudly she was sure he could hear it, she made it up the two shallow steps.
She was wearing the only pair of black strappy heels she owned. Not exactly
fuck-me pump, they were chunky, more sturdy than sexy. She’d thought they were
retro when she bought them. Now she wished in vain for stilettos,
something—anything—to make her feel a little more confident.

Adjusting her dress so
that it didn’t creep up her thighs, she turned to face Zee. “Here?”

He didn’t even look
up. He had his
cell
phone
in his hand. Did she matter at all? She
was paying to be the target, right? In her interview, that’s what Corinne had
promised she would be.

The target of a man’s
attention, a man who wanted to hurt her. That was the whole point.

Not to be ignored by a
man who had more interest in his emails. She wondered what the scar on his
cheek was from, the one that pulled his lip up into a permanent sneer. It
should have made him ugly and frightening.

Well. He wasn’t the
former, anyway.

Anna cleared her
throat.

Nothing. He swiped his
thumb across the black phone.

Anna’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Damn it.
She dug her fingers into her palms and
finally managed to croak, “Excuse me?”

Zee didn’t even glance
up.

“Hey. Am I paying you
or what?” There. That was daring. Anna stood straighter.

Slowly, Zee raised his
eyes, raking his gaze over her body inch by inch. He barely paused at her
heels—he’d probably seen a million spiked stilettos in his time. Nor did
he waste time looking at her woolen red and black striped tights. She’d thought
they were slightly punk when she’d pulled them up this morning, but now she
felt incredibly young in them. They weren’t sexy. They were just itchy.

His eyes
did
pause at her waist where the red belt pulled in the black shirtdress, and the
place where the top of her breasts met the vee at the upper button. She might
be plain—her father hadn’t called her
Mouse
a million times for no
reason—but she knew she had a respectable rack. Predictably, he skipped
her eyes and looked at her hair. Long and red, Anna considered it her one other
good feature. Would he ask if the carpets matched the drapes like most men in
bars did?

“You aren’t paying
me,” he said. “You pay Fantasy Fulfilled. They pay me to be in charge.” He
seemed to grind his teeth for a moment. Was he
that
disappointed to be
working with her? “That means I’m in charge as of three minutes ago, and you
don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

Anna felt her
shoulders pull forward again and made a Herculean effort to push them back.

“Take off those silly
stockings. Then put the shoes back on.” He pronounced stockings like
schtockeengs
,
and it took a moment for Anna to figure out what he meant.

“Did you hear me?”

Anna nodded quickly.
Though Zee’s voice was forceful, he still seemed bored. Fantastic. This was
going to end up being the very worst of her bad ideas. Too bad she’d paid for
the three sessions up front. They’d been pretty darn clear about their
no-refund policy.

At least she’d have
something to talk about in therapy.

The stockings were the
most ridiculous things he’d ever seen, and Zee had seen a lot of things in his
time. There were, of course, always the girls who loved the little kid stuff,
the Harajuku girls, the girls who wore Hello Kitty bracelets and carried purses
that looked like baby sloths, but this woman wasn’t one of them. He had no idea
why she’d decided that thick stockings (his grandmother had had a black and
gray pair almost identical) stuffed into wide black heels would be a good idea,
but they did nothing for those legs of hers.

He watched, eyes
slitted, as she wobbled while taking off her shoes.

It seemed Anna
couldn’t figure out how she wanted to get them off. First she bent over at the
waist to touch the silver buckle, which made a very pretty line, indeed. But
she must have figured out that while in that position, he was able to look
straight down her cleavage, also very nice. She stood back up, ankle straps
still in place. Then she knelt awkwardly, fumbling at the side of the shoe. She
obviously didn’t know that because she was on the riser in that short dress,
she was now flashing him. Her panties were bright purple. Huh. He wouldn’t have
guessed that. He’d have thought she’d be the kind of girl who favored good
old-fashioned black underwear. Or even white. She could rock a virginal white
bra and panty, what with that glorious mane of red hair that fell straight and
thick, almost to her waist.

But instead, purple.
It clashed with the red of her belt, with the red of her tights, with the red
of her hair.

It made her more real
to him.

Shit. That wouldn’t
do.
 
 

“Hurry up.” His voice
was louder than he’d meant it to be, and she jumped, almost falling over.

Nervous. Good. She
should be.

One shoe finally
tumbled off, then the other. She stood and wriggled, still awkward, fumbling to
roll down the stockings (real ones, he was pleased to note, not the tights all
the girls wore now). Her pale legs were even paler when they were back in the
shoes. She didn’t bend to fix the straps again, and he didn’t mind. She’d be out
of them soon enough.

He checked his cell
phone one more time. Not like he’d gotten anything except for a spam
advertisement from a glass dildo manufacturer he didn’t care for, but he made
sure he read it intently. Ignoring her was making her
crazy
. The first
step.

A long moment later,
he looked up. She’d raised her eyes from him and was staring at the hook
hanging over his head. Of course she was.

Predictable. They all
were.

“Now turn around.
Hands up, on the glass.”