by Jasmine Hill
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
From Leather to Lace
ISBN # 978-1-78184-425-0
©Copyright Jasmine Hill 2013
Cover Art by Oliver Bennett ©Copyright July 2013
Edited by Eleanor Boyall
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 3.
This story contains 101 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 9 pages.
FROM LEATHER TO LACE
Jasmine Hill
Sarah Maddox has a secret—she is a Dominatrix. Will her deception threaten her first chance at love?
Sarah Maddox is a beautiful, intelligent and sexy journalism graduate—she is also Mistress Kitty the Dominatrix. Sarah loves her Dominatrix role at Fantasy—the exclusive Sydney BDSM club. Only her best friend knows what she really does each evening and her secret is safe until she meets the charming, handsome and successful Maxwell McIver who turns her world upside down. He has Sarah questioning her priorities and wondering—has she finally met the man for whom she would be willing to compromise?
Handsome Maxwell McIver at thirty-five is one of the richest men in the country. Sophisticated and powerful, Maxwell is accustomed to getting what he wants and after meeting Sarah at a party, he decides that he wants her. He has always avoided serious relationships but Sarah has captivated him and once their romance starts to heat up he decides that he doesn’t want to let her go. But like Sarah, Maxwell is also hiding something, a secret that will threaten their newfound relationship and have Sarah reeling with indecision and uncertainty.
Dedication
To my husband—a constant source of inspiration.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Armani: Giorgio Armani S.p.A.
BMW: BMW AG
Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Jaguar XK: Jaguar Cars Ltd
Louboutin: Louboutin
Mercedes: Daimler AG
VW Golf: Volkswagen Group
Chapter One
Sarah Maddox zipped up her thigh-length stiletto boot and stepped back to study her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She looked pretty damn good. She had piled her dark hair on top of her head and the eye mask she wore made her look almost cat-like, her full scarlet lips a startling contrast. A leather choker was around her neck. Below the choker her cleavage spilled out of a corset tied gaspingly tight. The black leather mini she wore barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Two inches below started her stiletto boots.
“Perrrfect,” she purred. “Goodbye, Sarah. Hello, Mistress Kitty,” she said to her reflection.
She removed her mask and tucked it into her handbag and after donning a full-length black coat she left her apartment. When she arrived downstairs the car was already waiting.
“Hello, Monty,” she greeted the driver as she slid into the back seat.
“Good evening, Mistress,” he replied as he pulled away from the kerb and smoothly merged with the traffic.
Her place of work was normally only a ten-minute drive from her apartment if the traffic was light, and about eleven minutes later Monty pulled to a stop in front of an understated multi-storey building. After parking, he made his way to the back door and assisted her out of the car.
Kitty thanked him, punched in the security code and entered the building through a discreet doorway. As she did so, she stepped into Fantasy.
From the outside the building looked identical to many others and could have been a typical office complex but on the inside it looked magical. Glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, the walls were adorned with mirrors and expensive pieces of erotic art, plush lounge suites were expertly scattered to ensure privacy, and crystal glasses and expensive bottles of champagne and liqueurs adorned mirrored tables to be enjoyed with caviar and oysters. A selection of Venetian-style masks was also provided in which the clients could relax anonymously. Music was piped in through discreetly hidden speakers—never obtrusive, the music was selected for its mood-enhancing qualities.
Another very important detail about Fantasy was that all clientele were assured absolute privacy and discretion. No real names were used and no contact details recorded. Madam Boudica followed a strict booking system and, whilst convoluted, it ensured that a customer’s privacy was guaranteed. Clients booked under an assumed name that was used for all subsequent bookings. Another assurance against identity exposure was the wearing of masks. There was also one particularly important rule—no sex with the clients.
Mistress Kitty made her way over the plush carpet to the office to check her diary. Each of the girls had their own diary listing their clientele for each evening. The left-hand column recorded the client’s pseudonym, the middle column listed the particular fantasy the client wished to indulge, while in the right-hand column was recorded any particular requests or special instructions. She ran a manicured finger down the list of clients. All were regulars except for her first client of the evening—a Mr X.
Not very original, perhaps he is new to the scene.
Written in Mr X’s right-hand column was, ‘New client to Fantasy—enjoys pain but NOT domination.’
Mistress Kitty was intrigued. Whilst her clients’ penchants ran to varied extremes, most of them enjoyed being dominated in some fashion. She took the lift up to level two where her dressing room was located. All the girls had their own dressing rooms complete with a shower and a bath and even a bed to which they could retire for a recharge nap. She checked her watch—she had half an hour before Mr X. She thought about how she should approach the session with her new client and decided that she would start off slow to get a feel for his expectations. All new clients were interviewed by Madam Boudica and given strict instructions regarding Fantasy rules and policy with particular attention to safe words and safety, but it was important for each Domme to personally connect with her clients.
She touched up her makeup and at the appointed time she donned her mask, left her dressing room and made her way to the dungeon.
When Mistress Kitty opened the door of the dungeon she did a double-take and drew her breath in sharply. Mr X was already waiting and the man who stood in front of her could only be described as an Adonis! A mask covered the top part of his head and hair but she could see that he had deep brown eyes and full lips. His shoulders and chest were hard and muscular, his stomach rippled and his long, powerful legs looked like they could snap her in two. He was tall, so that even in her stiletto
s he seemed to tower over her. He had a small amount of chest hair that trailed down his lean stomach and ended below the waistband of his black leather pants.
Mr X was unlike most of the men she was used to seeing in Fantasy and she imagined her surprise was evident. She tried quickly to regain her composure as she stepped into the dungeon but she could see by his wry grin and raised eyebrow that her agitation hadn’t gone unnoticed.
She felt instantly off balance from his reaction. She was the one who was supposed to be in control. In here she called the shots. Now this man, without uttering a word, had totally unnerved her and was obviously enjoying doing it.
Determined to regain the upper hand, she lifted a stiletto-heeled boot until it rested against his hard stomach then she kicked him back against the wall—his body hitting brick with a satisfying thud. Then pinioning him by the chest with her whip, she swiftly looped each end through steel rings set into the wall and brought one knee up to rest dangerously between his legs. She saw with satisfaction the spark of fury in his eyes then thought of the instruction—‘enjoys pain but NOT domination’—and here she had dominated him so quickly he hadn’t seen it coming. It wasn’t her usual approach to defy the client’s wishes but for some perverse reason she was getting immense satisfaction from his barely suppressed anger and it was important that she maintain the upper hand.
Stepping back, she stood akimbo as she studied him, giving him a moment to adjust to the whip restraint before she spoke.
“I hear you like pain, Mr X.”
“I wonder that you didn’t receive the rest of the instruction,” he growled, “for if you had, you would know that I do not enjoy being dominated.”
“You do realise that a big part of BDSM is domination and submission? In here I am the Dominant, Mr X. There are other Fantasy employees who cater to dominant clients.”
“I am well aware of that. Madam Boudica told me the same thing but you come highly recommended and I must say my friend definitely did not exaggerate your considerable assets,” he responded as he swept his eyes appreciatively over her body.
She studied him a moment longer as she wondered idly who had recommended her and why. Then with one quick movement she lunged forward and once more rested her knee at his crotch. She placed her hands on the wall, caging him in, and leaned close to speak in his ear.
“How shall we play this, Mr X? You want to be whipped but not bound—is that right?”
Not waiting for him to reply, she unlooped one end of the whip then the other but kept her knee resting firmly between his legs.
“Of course the client is always to be kept satisfied,” she purred, drawing a nail slowly but deeply down his chest. She felt his cock harden against her knee at the erotic contact and drew her hand down farther, nails raking his skin until she slowly removed her knee from between his legs. As she did so she gripped his balls and squeezed carefully but firmly. She felt him stiffen against her as he groaned.
“You don’t like being dominated, Mr X,” she said softly, “but now I have you by the balls.”
As she looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, his eyes narrowed in anger then with a low snarl he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it painfully until she relaxed her grip. Smiling cruelly, he seized both of her wrists and secured them with one hand behind her back while with the other hand he grasped her chin.
“You’re not playing nice, Kitty cat,” he spoke low in her ear. “Deliberately provoking me is not a smart move.”
She couldn’t miss the muscular solidity of his chest as he pressed her body hard against his and despite her predicament she admired his obvious strength and powerful physique. She was determined to regain the upper hand, however, and she struggled desperately to escape his grasp and regain control, but his hold was too great. She lifted a booted foot, intent on kicking him wherever she could find purchase, but he quickly anticipated her and clamped both her legs between his more formidable ones. She was now wholly at his mercy as he held her in a bizarre parody of a dance dip.
“Let me go,” she demanded. “If you want to play the dominant then you have the wrong girl—I don’t do submission, Mr X.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I can see that you are quite the Dominant,” he said dryly. “I’m going to let you go, Mistress, but only if you promise to play nice.”
She nodded in acquiescence before he released his grip on her wrists and helped her to her feet. She was totally mortified and her pride was more than a little wounded at having been so easily overwhelmed by a client.
“This will be your first and last session with me, Mr X,” she stated emphatically. “I shall recommend one of the other girls for your next session—one of our submissives will be more to your liking, I’m sure.”
“And here I was having so much fun,” he drawled in amusement.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Session’s over, Mr X, you know where the door is,” she stated, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
He moved towards the door. As he drew level with her he stopped and brought his hand up to caress her face.
Kitty was startled by the unexpected gentleness of the gesture and she tensed in wary suspicion as he traced her jawline lightly with his fingers.
“Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me, Mistress,” he promised before he turned abruptly and strode out of the dungeon.
Chapter Two
Sarah stretched languorously and checked the time—twelve p.m. Her friend Roxy was due to pick her up in two hours for a party. Roxy had been surprisingly vague about where the party was to be held and by whom, which had succeeded in piquing Sarah’s interest, so she was now quite intrigued and excited about the afternoon ahead.
As she lay in bed adjusting to her wakeful state she thought about the previous evening and in particular about Mr X. She had never come across a client quite like him. Certainly he had the physique of a man who cared about his appearance and obviously worked hard to maintain it, but she was interested as to why he would want to visit Fantasy in the first place. By his own admission he hated domination and in fact he seemed to prefer being the dominator. Perhaps that’s what his game is, she thought. Maybe he gets his kicks out of dominating the Dominatrix.
She was angry with herself for allowing him to so easily overwhelm her but she had to concede that her usual clients didn’t ever attempt to take the upper hand. The whole reason they frequented Fantasy in the first place was to fulfil a deep desire and all her clients took a submissive role so she was unaccustomed to dealing with a dominant personality. She also had to admit to herself that Mr X was hot. Just thinking about his hard, muscular body set her stomach fluttering alarmingly. She recalled his full sensuous lips and imagined how it would feel to have those lips kiss her slowly and passionately.
Why am I thinking like this when I told him I wouldn’t see him again?
But she knew why. She suspected that she would see him again. In fact, his parting words to her had been almost a promise—“Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me.” The prospect alternately excited and worried her and she pushed the thought to the back of her mind to concentrate on the day ahead.
Sighing, she slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom to run herself a bath. She had taken a quick shower earlier that morning when she had arrived home but had been so tired that she couldn’t remember her head even hitting the pillow. She was extremely grateful that she had that evening off as well as Sunday evening, which meant that she could enjoy the party and have a lazy Sunday.
Sarah finished her bath and stood in front of her wardrobe assessing its contents. She wanted a feminine look and after discarding a number of options she settled on a backless silk summer dress that came just below her knees and swirled beautifully when she moved. She dried her long dark hair and left it to hang down her back. The only jewellery she wore was a gold dress ring, her Cartier watch and a pair of gold hoop earrings. Her makeup was light and natural—the scarlet lipstick of last evening was replac
ed with a natural, dusky pink. She had just fixed strappy gold sandals to her feet to complete the outfit when the doorbell rang signalling the arrival of Roxy.
“God, you look fantastic!” Roxy cried by way of a greeting when Sarah opened the door.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Sarah responded with a laugh.
“Come on, girlfriend, we have a party to get to,” Roxy said in a rush, pulling Sarah out of the door.
Downstairs they got into Roxy’s VW Golf, which she had parked illegally at the kerb, and were heading across the city before Sarah could blink.
“Tell me finally, where is this party and who is the host?” Sarah enquired. “You have been unusually vague, Rox.”
“The host is Maxwell McIver. Remember you met him at our last party—you were quite caught up in each other as I recall. I thought you would be excited to see him again and I wanted to keep it a surprise.”
Sarah flushed as she remembered the party and the man in question. Maxwell McIver was the sort of man whom women dreamed about—smart, charming and absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. At only thirty-five he was one of the richest men in the country, courtesy of his IT company and smart business acumen.
She recalled with real pleasure meeting him at Roxy’s and spending the entire evening talking with him. They had moved freely from topic to topic, never encountering a moment’s awkward silence, and he had made her laugh. She remembered with a thrill his incredible good looks and hard body but she had also felt a dangerous quality underlying his pleasant persona, which made her think that he was someone that she would not want to cross. He had an imposing, almost intimidating presence that was at once both sexy and slightly daunting.
