Wickedly Ever After

by Evans, Anna J.

  Wickedly Ever After

  Wickedly Ever After Book 1

  By Anna J. Evans

  The Wicked Stepmother gets a lesson in submission…

  Edna Emily Rella runs the Wicked Stepmother and her Stepsisters S&M parlor in Kingdom City, but she has a secret. She's not so wicked. A dominatrix by necessity, rather than calling, she does her best to capitalize on her naughty reputation. After the smear campaign waged by her stepdaughter, Cynthia, there aren't many other employment options.

  Frank, the Captain of the Queen's Guard, has been sent to protect Edna from the stalker threatening her life. Posing as a client, this dominant male soon realizes he's in for more trouble than he bargained for. Because Edna is a born submissive, and Frank can't resist the urge to show her what she's been missing on the Mistress side of the fence.

  A BDSM romp with a fairy tale twist, “Wickedly Ever After,” will please fairy tale, romance, and erotica fans alike.

  Wickedly Ever After

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Main Attraction Copyright © 2007 Anna J. Evans

  Wickedly Ever After Copyright © 2013 Anna J. Evans

  Original Electronic book Publication: April 2007

  Revised Electronic book Publication: October 2013

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author, Anna J. Evans. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Stock photo by conrado for Shutterstock. Cover Design by Bootstrap Designs.

  Other Books By Anna J. Evans

  Sweetly Ever After (Wickedly Ever After 2)

  Sinfully Ever After (Wickedly Ever After 3)

  Sea Swept

  Death by Seduction (Immortal Ops 1)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter One

  “Down on your belly!” Edna demanded, snapping her whip with a practiced flick of the wrist and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t way out of her league.

  “Make me.” The man who knelt before her whispered the words, but that didn’t make them any less menacing. Even at a low volume his voice was daunting. It smoothed over her skin and made her shiver.

  The voice alone would have been enough to make her sweat this job, even if the rest of this guy weren’t completely intimidating. Which it was, every enormous inch, from his bald head to the tips of his toes. Sweat rolled off his bare shoulders—his broad, muscled, dominant-looking shoulders. His were deltoids that never should have seen the inside of a BDSM club, at least not from the submissive side of the fence. He looked powerful enough to pick her up and snap her spine like a twig, and mean enough to enjoy it.

  Edna swallowed and tried to remember that domination was at least seventy-five percent mental.

  Too bad something about this man made her mind feel about as wimpy as her decidedly un-buff biceps.

  Pull yourself together, woman, and give the man what he came for. You’re The Wicked Stepmother. Start acting like it.

  “Don’t cross me, slave,” Edna said, her voice dripping venom. Each word was a warning to her submissive: he would abandon control now, or spend eternity suffering her wrath.

  Or at least the next fifty minutes.

  He had paid for the hour, and Edna didn’t believe in cheating her customers. She might be The Wicked Stepmother, but she had a business to run, and a business didn’t thrive on unsatisfied clients. Still, she wished she could let this one go, simply send him on his merry way without a spanking or nipple torture or a hot wax treatment or whatever else he’d had in mind.

  God, she was sick of all of it, every last bit of kink, and even sicker of the whiny, clingy men who made use of her unique services. Still, the man in front of her had her wishing for the usual obedient, boot-licking client. She was a dominatrix by necessity, not by calling, and had never felt like more of a fraud than she did tonight.

  “I’d rather not,” Baldy said in that voice that dared her to show him what she was made of.

  “Shut your mouth, and start groveling before you piss me off.”

  There, that had sounded intimidating.

  “Piss you off?” He grunted then, just once, and a smile quirked at the edges of his full mouth.

  What was that grunt supposed to mean? And the smile?

  What was she going to do with this man, this giant who seemed to see right through her façade like a pair of see-through panties? From the second he had entered the room, he’d assessed her and found her lacking. It was as if he could sense her fear. Even worse, those blue eyes that roved brazenly over her body seemed to recognize that he affected her in other, more primal ways.

  Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and each breath was more shallow than the last.

  She bit her lip. She wasn’t aroused by this man, she couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. She did not feel a tightening low in her belly, and her panties weren’t getting suspiciously damp.

  “So what happens when you get pissed off?” he asked, his eyes flicking from her breasts to her eyes and back to her breasts with an air of complete ownership.

  Damn.

  Who was she kidding? Her panties were drenched. She hadn’t been this hot for a man for longer than she could remember, and her sex-starved body screamed for satisfaction, preferably from this man’s thick cock.

  “On your belly. Last chance, slave,” Edna demanded, willing her voice to stop its quivering, and her thighs as well. She wasn’t a trembling virgin, for god’s sake, her thighs hadn’t quivered for over a decade. It was embarrassing.

  And completely exciting. She’d never before felt the urge to play the submissive role, but she couldn’t deny the thought of this stranger overpowering her aroused as much as it alarmed. What would it feel like to have those large, calloused hands on her body, demanding that she bend to his will or suffer the erotic consequences?

  Would he kiss her? Stroke her? Or simply bend her over the side of the couch and ram into her from behind? If he were as well endowed as he looked in his slave’s loincloth, it would hurt to be penetrated without any foreplay, make her pussy sting and burn as she climaxed with a ferocity that made her vision blur. She had no doubt her cunt would be dripping by the time he finished his relentless assault on her body, her body weeping for more sweet, sensual pain.

  Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Edna?

  Edna struggled to listen to her outraged inner voice, to remember that she didn’t like pain with her pleasure. She ignored both the fresh rush of heat between her legs and the way her already sensitized nipples tightened until it was torture to feel them brush against the leather of her corset.

  “You’re shaking,” her client said, his voice soft and husky, almost inviting, as if he knew where her thoughts had been a moment before. “Are you all right?”

  Was she all right? God no, she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t going to be all right until she was naked, pinned beneath his body. His voice seemed to offer that relief, if only she would break for him, show him the real woman behind The Wicked Stepmother.

  Never, not in a million years.

  The real Edna never showed her face at work, and she wasn’t about to start now, not for a cocky man without the sense to play by the rules. He should never have come in here, not with his obvious contempt for a female Domme. She’d give him one last chance to play nice, and then she was finished with him. This was her place of business and
she called the shots.

  “Silence. Now.”

  “I’ll say it again—make me.”

  She threw up her hands. “That’s it. We’re finished here. I won’t tolerate a slave who doesn’t know his place.” She turned to leave—a part of her relieved to have an easy out—but was stopped by an impossibly large hand closing around her wrist.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Get your hands off me,” she demanded. Her arm looked absurdly tiny when engulfed by his fist, but his touch didn’t frighten her. No, it didn’t scare her, it sent a sharp bolt of desire sweeping over her skin and zinging straight to her clit.

  Fuck, yes. This was what she wanted. She wanted him to grab her, take her, force her to succumb to the raw need that filled her. She wanted to know what it felt like to have her clothes ripped from her body until she was laid bare, completely exposed to the man who would conquer her. A mental image of herself, tied to her four-poster bed, her legs spread wide for him to see her shamefully wet pussy, flew through Edna’s mind.

  She fought to suppress the moan that the vision engendered, and wrenched at her wrist again. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t stay in the same room with this man for another minute. He was making her want things, crave things that she’d never even imagined, and it was starting to seriously mess with her mind.

  “You have to stay.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, I’m the Mistress here, and—”

  “Then show me. Show me, Edna.”

  Edna’s jaw dropped open, the shock of hearing him use her real name finally bringing her to her senses. He wasn’t even pretending to play by the rules anymore. In light of current events, it was madness to stay here a second longer.

  “Let me go, now!” She brought her whip down on his arm, hard, but the damn man didn’t even blink.

  Fear conquering all other emotion, Edna brought the whip down again and again, finally landing a blow to the giant’s shoulder that made him hiss and release her wrist. She was free, and she knew she should run, but she was paralyzed by the sight of blood welling in the cut she had made. She’d never cut anyone, never drawn blood before—ever. It only made it worse that he hadn’t fought back. Sure, he’d held onto her arm, but he hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t even tried to block her blows.

  Edna suddenly felt sick, and her stomach roiled inside her leather corset.

  “Are you finished?” The words were tight and controlled, the voice of a true Master. He hadn’t flinched when she struck him and now, as the cut on the top of his shoulder began to ooze, he remained calm and still, in total possession of himself.

  Edna, however, watched with mounting panic as a single drop of red hit the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I am.”

  “I…hurt you.” Her throat went tight and her stupid thighs started to shake in earnest as she watched another droplet join the first on the white carpet.

  “You didn’t intend to bleed me?” he asked, almost casually.

  “No.”

  “You lost control.” The words were soft, offering some sort of escape that Edna couldn’t begin to understand.

  “No, I…” She let her words trail off, unable to tear her eyes away from the blood.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen, she wasn’t really supposed to hurt people. It was a game, a farce, an elaborate way to capitalize on a reputation that she hated.

  But that… That was real blood. It sickened her all the way down to the tips of her six- inch spiked heels. It was proof of what she feared most, that Edna Emily Argent Rella was getting lost inside the Wicked Stepmother role she played four days and five nights a week. The woman she’d been, the woman she wanted to be, both were becoming irrevocably changed and she hated it, more than she hated anything.

  Even being poor as a church mouse.

  “I’m sorry. Get up,” she whispered, her voice trembling along with the rest of her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Get up! And…please leave.” Her voice was thick with emotion and the beginnings of tears.

  Shit, she was losing it, really losing it.

  Edna let the whip slip from her hands and crossed to the window that looked out on a sea of city lights and a castle far in the distance. There, the girl responsible for her misery had set herself up as the new queen. For the hundredth time, the unfairness of it washed over Edna, a thick wave of bitterness she feared she might eventually drown in.

  She covered her face with her hands and struggled to draw long, even breaths, to surface from the despair that threatened to level her where she stood.

  “It’s only been ten minutes,” the man said. She heard him rising to his feet, could feel the surge of energy as he let his powerful presence fill the room.

  “Please, you need to leave,” she whispered again, keeping her back to him, not trusting her voice or her face not to give her away. She felt about ten seconds from an emotional breakdown and she couldn’t allow that to happen in front of a client.

  Business was already slow. If word got out that the Wicked Stepmother had broken down and cried like a baby after failing to dominate a submissive…

  Well, she could handle being poor, but jail was not an appealing destination, especially not the jail that Cindy would no doubt find for her.

  The second Edna failed to make one of her restitution payments, her dear stepdaughter would throw her in the deepest, darkest prison in the entire kingdom. Edna had barely met last month’s deadline and was still five hundred dollars short this month. She had to keep it together and make sure her regular slaves kept coming to visit, bringing their money with them.

  “If you stop by the front desk,” she said. “I’ll make sure they refund your donation.”

  “Listen, you don’t have to do that. I think we can still—”

  “No, we can’t. It didn’t work out, it happens. Just take your money and go.”

  “I thought you could use the business,” he said.

  “I don’t care about the business. I need you to go. Now.”

  Edna tried to make her voice icy, distant, and struggled to conceal the panic that made it increasingly harder to breathe. She had dropped her persona and now she didn’t know if she could get it back. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her barely there leather hot pants. She needed him to leave, needed some time alone to rebuild the Wicked Stepmother from the ground up before her midnight appointment.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said stubbornly.

  “Please,” she begged, tears sliding down her cheeks, though she willed her shoulders not to shake. “Just go.”

  “Throw me out,” he said. “Come on, Edna, you’ve got a reputation for eating men alive.”

  She didn’t say anything in response, just squeezed her eyes closed and silently begged for him to leave, or for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Either one would satisfy at this point.

  “But maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” he added, the slight taunt in his voice finally pushing her over the edge.

  “You’re right, I have. Is that what you want to hear? Is that what it will take for you to leave?” Edna spun to face him, ashamed and defeated, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that were no doubt making long black trails down her face. She never wore waterproof mascara, didn’t believe in it. She was the Wicked Stepmother. She had a heart of stone, didn’t even know how to cry. The only time water ran down her face was in the shower.

  A strangled laugh escaped between her sobs as she looked at the man in front of her. If she had to lose it in front of someone, at least it was a guy like this. People might cut her a little slack. It would take a hell of a dominatrix to take care of Big Baldy, as she’d dubbed him when he first walked in the door. She had hoped the nickname would help her take him a little less seriously.

  No such luck.

  Seeing him standing, she’d guess he was at least six-foot-four and weighed in at double her own weight. His
head was completely shaved, but his impressively muscled chest and tree trunk legs sported a healthy growth of coarse, reddish-brown hair, a testament to the testosterone no doubt surging through his body. Big Baldy was imposing all the way around, from his huge hands to his ice-blue eyes to the way his bare toes curled into the carpet. Even the cream loincloth the girls at the front desk had given him couldn’t make him look the slightest bit ridiculous.

  Instead, the damn thing just allowed him to showcase the perfection of his body. He was composed of pure muscle, with a chiseled face as striking as the rest of him. He was a damn attractive man, more attractive than any lover she’d ever had. He probably had a different woman in his bed every night, all more than willing to fulfill his desires free of charge.

  But it wasn’t his physical presence or stud factor alone that cowed her. She knew better than that. It was the commanding air that filled his voice, and radiated all around him. It had intimidated and aroused her from the second she met his eyes. He was the only true dominant in this room, and they both knew it. What’s worse, she wanted him, and they both knew that too. Her own traitorous libido had worked against her as much as his reluctance to take her attempts at control seriously.

  She was an idiot to have thought she could top him, to even have had the guts to try.

  “Listen, I—”

  “You’re crying,” Baldy said, his voice and eyes as soft as the rest of him was imposing.

  His unexpected compassion only made her want to sob harder.

  Goddamn Baldy, why did he have to choose this moment to play nice? Niceness got to her like nothing else. It was so much easier to keep up her tough girl act when the man she was dominating treated her like an object. When she was just a woman with a dangerous reputation who her client would have liked to fuck if she allowed the Mistress role to go that far.

  Compassion was the one emotion she’d never seen on a client’s face, and it made her want to run to Baldy and fall into his arms, to take comfort in his strength. She would gladly take whatever punishment, sensual or otherwise, he would dish out if he would hold her afterwards. In fact, her fantasy of being bent over and fucked from behind only became more attractive when she imagined him cradling her in his lap after they were done, kissing away her tears as she sobbed into his chest.