Authors: Ann Mayburn
By Ann Mayburn
Copyright 2013 by Ann Mayburn
Published by Honey Mountain Publishing
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
**DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, BDSM or otherwise, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Ann Mayburn will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.**
Table of Contents
Emma Simonov stared at her best friend and boss, Moira, then did the slow blink of disbelief. She knew she had to look odd when she did it, because Moira snickered at her. They were lounging in what counted as the office of Moira’s pro-Domme business, Kiss of Blue, on the outskirts of Detroit. Moira’s office space was a large, bright room with pale cream sofas, modern art on the walls, and feminine touches of color here and there. No one would have any idea that this elegant space belonged to a Dominatrix. That is, until they noticed the brick wall on one side of the room with a variety of shackles and restraint devices attached to it, the ball gag being used as a paper weight, and the restraints on the coffee table, desk, chairs, and the support beam in the center of the room with gleaming stainless steel O-rings.
Currently, the wall shackles and restraints were empty. The doors to the dungeon wouldn’t open for another five hours, but Moira had called Emma in early and said she had a great opportunity to discuss with her. Translation: Emma was going to hate whatever Moira wanted to do, but Moira wanted a chance to talk her into it. Emma had dragged herself out of bed on the promise of coffee and croissants from her favorite bakery, and now she waited for Moira to try to finagle her into doing what she wanted. Damn manipulative Dominatrix, Moira knew just how to make any crazy idea sound good. And since they’d been best friends for the past six years, the other woman knew exactly how to manipulate Emma.
Twirling a hand through her fiery red curls, Moira batted her lashes at Emma and gave her the smile that made men want to do anything to please her. Instead of being charmed, Emma gave her friend a narrow-eyed look. “You want me to do what?”
Moira blinked a couple times at Emma’s angry tone, then her smile slid back into place. “Just hear me out. This guy is willing to do anything you could possibly wish to get you to take him on as a client. He just wants you to come do private sessions with him at his house rather than here at the dungeon.”
“I don’t know why I’m even here.” Emma went to stand but Moira gently pushed her back into her seat.
“You’re here because he’s offering an obscene amount of money. More than enough to get you back into school and help your parents out with their bills. Shit, you could even pay off both of their mortgages if you managed to land him as a long term client.”
Emma sat forward and clasped her hands together. Damn it, this was exactly the kind of temptation that would make her break her own personal rules about never pro-Domming outside of the dungeon. Satan could learn a thing or two about temptation from Moira. The thought of being able to take the stress of bill collectors off her parents’ shoulders was even more tempting than the ability to go back to school. The job market in Michigan was terrible and her parents had been unemployed for more than two years now. Though they never asked for her help, she owed them for paying for her college. Right now her mom and dad had a part time job cleaning the homes of their friends and Emma knew it was not only physically demanding work, but also emotionally hard on her. Her parents were in their late sixties and it killed her to watch them struggle.
Emma narrowed her eyes at Moira. “I would consider him as a client, here at our dungeon, but I never do house calls. You know this.”
“He’s offering three thousand a session.”
Emma did the slow blink once again, trying to hide her shock. Holy shit, that was a lot of money. More than enough to give her what she needed to pay for getting her Master’s Degree in Education and take care of her parents. She might even have enough to move out of the cramped apartment she was renting that smelled like curry no matter how many times she steam cleaned the carpets. Still, everything has a price and she wasn’t sure she’d be willing to do what the client expected.
No amount of money was worth losing her self-respect.
“Does he know I won’t have sex with him?”
“Absolutely. And he has promised to obey you in every way.”
For a moment she considered it - the money was tempting - then shook her head. No way, this was dangerous. If she died from some psycho killing her during a BDSM session, her parents would be devastated. “I can’t, Moira. Not even for you. Going to some stranger’s house is just too risky. I know you do house calls with a couple of your regulars, but I can’t.”
“He thought you might say that. He’s offered to come here for a few sessions first. If you don’t feel like you can trust him by the end of those sessions, he’s willing to admit defeat and commit Hari Krishna.”
“You mean Hara-kiri?”
“So if I say no, this guy is going to disembowel himself with a sword?”
“Maybe I’m being a little overdramatic, but not much.” Moira’s lips twitched. “Girlfriend, he has it bad for you.”
“Do I know him?”
“Nope. He was here two weeks ago to do a tour before he bought his membership. He saw you walking down the hall looking all bad ass in your black latex with the flame stitching and that was it. He wanted you. I’ve never seen a man go from normal to super horny so fast. The way he was looking at you…whew. Anyways, his background check is clean, and as far as I can tell, he’s a pretty decent guy. Rich, not handsome but hot if you like the rugged type, and well-educated. No convictions, no missing ex-wives, and he’s only been in the Lifestyle for about a year as far as I can tell. I can give you the name and number of the Domme who trained him, if you like.”
The picture Moira was painting of this man was too good to be true. After taking a bite of her croissant and drinking some coffee to give herself some time to think, Emma decided to cut through the bullshit. “What aren’t you telling me? Does he have some fetish for making lampshades out of human skin or something? Does he have some crazy dangerous kink that could get me arrested or put him in the hospital? Why does this man need to pay me three grand when he could have any other Domme here do a session for less?”
“God, you’re so dramatic.”
“He saw me once and wants me enough to pay three thousand dollars
for me to Top him? That doesn’t make sense. It’s not logical.”
“Who knows why men like the things they do. It’s not like it’ll be a hardship. He’s into worship and you’ll be treated like a queen. And he’s built. I know how you like your muscular men, those bad ass boys that you have to fight to tame.” Moira bit her lower lip, a tell that she was hiding something.
“What else is he into?”
“He said that he will treat you like a goddess, but that he’s a high-power submissive.”
“Just your type.”
Frowning, Emma tapped her gold-painted nails against the arm of the couch. She kept them a little longer than normal, and had the tips filed to almost points. The perfect shape for running down a submissive’s back. A shiver of heat that she tried to ignore stirred in her belly. While getting turned on by a client was nice, and she’d let a submissive give her oral sex once in a while during a session, she normally didn’t feel this heat until she was deep into a scene. Yet, she couldn’t deny how tempting the idea of a high-power sub was. She loved a challenge and was actually disappointed when her clients were the “roll over and show their belly” type.
Fuck, what was she doing even considering this?
A silver cuff gleamed on her right wrist with the inscription
‘One should not regret the past. One should not worry about the future. Wise men act in the present time.’
written on it in Sanskrit. This was a phrase she often meditated on and seeing it immediately allowed her to take a deep breath and focus. Okay, she needed to be objective, to think about this from a business standpoint. Two sessions would pay off one of her parents’ insanely high interest rate credit cards and get her new tires for her car. She could do two sessions…maybe.
“I want to talk to him before I do anything.”
“Awesome.” Moira stood and beamed down at her. “He’s on Skype waiting for you.”
“Well, he was pretty sure you’d say no so he wanted a chance to ask you himself.”
“Has he been listening to us? Shit.”
“No, you’re fine. I turned off the sound.”
“Fuck.” Emma abruptly stood and pulled her dark blonde hair out of its ponytail, vainly trying to finger comb her waves into something that looked somewhat professional. “Look at me! He can’t see me like this.”
“What? So you’re wearing a sweater and yoga pants. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. No one expects you to be in latex at this hour.”
“But I’m not wearing makeup. I look like I’m fourteen.”
Moira rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a girl. Besides, what do you care what he thinks? You’ve already labeled him as a serial killer in your mind.”
Smoothing her hair back again, Emma glanced down at her comfortable cream cable sweater and yoga pants. While she had to admit she had a nice, if big, ass in yoga pants, the loose sweater combined with her large breasts made her body look shapeless instead of showcasing her hourglass figure. Starting out a first meeting with a potential sub dressed like this wasn’t a good idea. She needed to project strength and authority, which wasn’t going to happen if he saw the coffee stain on the sleeve of her sweater.
Being a pro-Domme was her current profession, and she took it very seriously. With Michigan’s shitty economy, every job was fought over. It had been close to three years since she’d graduated and she still didn’t have a job. While she wasn’t exactly up front about what she did, her parents knew she worked with Moira and were aware of Moira’s business. Emma was sure they’d be much happier if she had steady work as a teacher, but they were realistic enough to know that they would be either homeless or living with Emma without her financial help. Shit, she’d rather be working as a teacher, but despite dozens of interviews she never got one of the few coveted teaching positions at schools where she could actually see herself being happy. If she had to choose between being a pro-Domme or working and living in the ghetto she’d stick to beating men’s asses for a living.
Still, her paranoia was ramping up as she stared at Moira’s computer and debated taking this any further.
Moira must have seen her doubt, because she dragged Emma over to the leather computer chair and shoved her down in it. The moment Emma looked up at the screen her heart rate tripled and her mouth went dry as her body clenched with a surprising rush of desire. He was everything she found attractive in a man. Bald, with thick gold spacers in his ears and deep, dark eyes beneath well shaped brows with the slightest hint of an arch, which gave him a sinister air. Not classically handsome - the angles of his face were too sharp and his nose a bit too big - but it worked for him. His Middle Eastern heritage was evident in the beautiful deep tan that gave him an exotic look. In a way, he reminded her of Yul Brenner in
The King and I