Please, Sir

by Leigha Taylor

  Please, Sir

  The Born For This Collection

  Volume One

  By

  Leigha Taylor

  Copyright

  ©2014 by Leigha Taylor

  Cover Design by Leigha Taylor

  Cover photo purchased from:

  www.depositphotos.com

  Editing by:

  Kristen Clark Switzer

  Formatting by:

  Leigha Taylor

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Dedication

  To my best friend.

  You’ve met your Robert,

  now go out and find your Jesse.

  There is a Jesse out there

  for everyone.

  Prologue

  “Jesse, we can’t. You know we can’t. Caroline would murder me.”

  “Caroline needs to mind her own goddamned business,” Jesse swore. His hand snagged me around the waist and pulled me in.

  We had been stealing little moments like this all summer. Part of me felt guilty for keeping this a secret from my best friend in the world, but another part felt more complete in Jesse’s arms. I looked up into his soft blue eyes, took in the haphazard style of his sandy blond hair, and sighed.

  “She’s practically my sister,” I countered, trying to stand my ground despite everything in my body telling me to shut up and kiss the handsome, dimpled, muscular guy trying to distract me.

  “She is my sister. She’s still a giant pain in the ass.”

  Jesse brushed my long, auburn hair off my neck and trailed kisses along the exposed skin. With every touch, it was harder to remember why this was wrong.

  At fifteen, I’d been in love with Jesse for as long as I could remember. I’d been best friends with his sister, Caroline, since we were both in diapers. By elementary school, I was an honorary member of the Marks family.

  Jesse was seventeen that summer and he’d become the hottest guy around. His skill at shortstop had him looking at a baseball scholarship to the University of Virginia, but the idea of him moving away was the last thing I wanted on my mind.

  Jesse’s hands moved lower to rest on the curve of my butt and I leaned into him, breathing in the scent that I’d know anywhere. I didn’t have a decision to make; it wasn’t easy, but I knew this was over before it began. Caroline had a steady stream of friends walk in and out of her life as they tried to get closer to her brother. She made it clear that she’d had enough, and I wasn’t going to be another disappointment.

  Jesse’s lips met mine in an explosion of unfulfilled lust and longing. I let myself sink into his embrace, savoring every last second, every last taste of his skin. I knew it was our last kiss. I knew the summer was over.

  Chapter One

  “I did it. I really did it.” My hands shake as I hold the phone in one hand and pour a glass of wine with the other. The cold, pale liquid goes down in one gulp and I resist the urge to pour another.

  “Allison. What did you do?” Caroline asks the question carefully, knowing that I’ve had any number of crazy ideas in my head.

  “I said a great big ‘Fuck You’ to Robert and his vanilla ways. It’s not what I wanted then and it’s not what I want now. I’m going for it.”

  “Oh my God. I thought we talked about this! I get some of it, I really do. You thought life with Robert would be it for you. After ten years of marriage, I can see why you’d have settled in. I was there for you every step of the way when he walked out on you, but this is too much. Going online to scratch your kinky itch, or whatever you want to call it, with a stranger is insane!”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” I try to explain myself; some of my excitement momentarily dimmed by the cold dose of reality Caroline is bringing to the table.

  “Listen, I know I seem harsh and bitchy and all of those things…”

  “More like Mommy Dearest,” I mutter into the phone.

  “Call it whatever you want, Al. I’m trying to look out for you.”

  “I know. I do understand that. I just need to stop thinking and actually do something that makes me happy. I need to do something for myself. I’m thirty-two and I have already spent too much of my life trying to please everyone else.”

  When my marriage first ended, I thought my life was over. I’d been with Robert for almost a third of my life and I didn’t know anything else. I hadn’t had a life outside of my marriage and it scared the hell out of me to think of building one.

  One year and a ton of soul-searching later, I’ve realized two things. One: I am capable of being my own person. Not only that, but I like who I am. Two: Divorce can be a tragedy or an opportunity. I’ve taken my worst personal tragedy to date and turned it into an opportunity to try new things.

  While Robert was, for the most part, a good husband, he was also very vanilla in all aspects of his life. He liked pasta on Sundays, a good beef roast on Thursdays, and sex on Saturdays. His type A personality served him well in his job as an accountant, but it left him lacking in the passion and spontaneity departments.

  “Are you still there? Allison?”

  Caroline’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts and I apologize. “Sorry. I was lost in my old life for a minute.”

  “As much as I worry about you now, your past isn’t where you need to be, either. I’m sorry for being Debbie Downer, really. Just promise me that whatever you do, you will be careful.”

  “I promise to be careful, Mom.” I roll my eyes and laugh. My own mother would have a fit if I told her I’d been researching sex online, including joining private chat rooms for locals in my area.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me! I can hear it in your voice! I’m trying to help you. Did you get my email about the speed-dating night at the Bridgewater Inn?”

  “Yes, I got it. I also deleted it.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t try it out, I —”

  “Caroline, think about this for a minute. First of all, it’s speed dating at a hotel. Do you seriously think these guys are interested in getting to know the women? No. They’re sizing us up in the first ten seconds to see who is the most likely to get a room with them! Second, and maybe more importantly, there are specific things I am looking for here.”

  “You want someone to spank you before he fucks your brains out. I get it.” It’s Caroline’s turn to laugh now, she has never been one to hold back, at least from me, what she is really thinking.

  “Let’s just say it’s that simple. So, I go to this speed-dating thing and sit down at a table with some guy. We have four minutes to talk, so within the first three, I need to somehow steer the topic to kinky sex. It would go something like this – Hello, Sir. My name is Allison. My friends call me Allie. My interests are reading, painting, and being spanked. Not necessarily in that order.”

  I hear a splutter from the other end of the line followed by an intense coughing fit. It seems whatever Caroline is drinking had the misfortune of going down the wrong pipe. Oops.

  “You don’t have to be so blunt, you know! There are ways to work up to
that!” she argues.

  “In four minutes? I don’t think so.”

  “Why does it have to be in the first four minutes? Maybe you find someone you like, someone you find attractive. Then you go on a date or two and then you talk about sexual compatibility.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “No, thanks?”

  “Nope. Not interested. I don’t want to date a string of men until I find one who might be able to give me what I’m looking for. I’m straight up looking for sex. Maybe that makes me a slut, I don’t know. You know damned well that Robert is the only man I’ve ever been with. I don’t want the whole romance thing right now. I want sex. Good sex. With someone who shares my interests.”

  “Good point. You’ve only ever been with Robert. Now you think you want someone to tie you up because, well, I don’t know why. Because it looked good in a porno or something. Maybe you wouldn’t even like it!”

  “That’s why I need to find out,” I mutter, once again getting lost inside my own head. It’s hard not to second-guess myself.

  “Listen, I gotta go,” Caroline breaks in. “We can talk more about this later if you want. Right now, I need to make a run to the store before I can start dinner and I don’t have a clue what I’m going to make. Any ideas?”

  “Well, it’s Thursday, so I’ll be eating anything but pot roast if that helps.” I giggle, trying to lighten the air between us before we hang up.

  “Noted,” she answers before disconnecting.

  I set the phone down on the counter and look around. It was daunting when I first had to go out on my own. I had to rent an apartment and basically start over. When I first moved in, I spent more nights than I can count crying into the bowl of cereal that became my usual dinner. I couldn’t understand how this sparse, neutral-toned apartment had become the backdrop for my broken life.

  Money wasn’t really a concern; I had a wealthy grandmother who left me comfortable, if not exactly rich. My concerns were more about the loneliness of my new lifestyle.

  Most of the friends I’d made over the years were our friends, not mine alone. They were other married couples we’d see a couple of times a year. Robert seemed to keep most of them in the divorce. It’s funny how that works.

  Caroline and I have stayed as close as we ever were; when you grow up with someone, they become family. Still, she’s blissfully happy with her husband, and I try not to be the third wheel. Instead, I’ve been embracing some newfound hobbies and trying to fill my time. I took a class in sushi-making, started going to yoga three times a week, and I’ve been painting more now than ever. Caroline actually asked me if I’m having a mid-life crisis, since I’ve been doing things that are so out-of-character for me. I just smiled, shaking my head, and said, “Maybe.”

  If that’s what this is, that’s fine. I don’t care what you call it. What I know for sure is that I’ve been unhappy for a long time. I may have had trouble admitting it, even to myself, but now my eyes are open. There is more out there and I want to figure out which piece of this world is right for me. The trouble is, what I think I want, think I need, is a little more complicated than yoga or painting.

  Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve had fantasies about being tied up. About submitting to a man who will spank me and fuck me until I can’t take any more. For our fourth anniversary, I bought a small bondage kit online and was a nervous wreck for a week before giving it to Robert. We had just returned from a nice dinner at our favorite restaurant and he was in a good mood. I shyly handed him the package and took a step back, looking at the floor. My fingers were crossed that he would have an open mind, but I knew it was a long shot.

  “What the fuck is this, Allison?”

  “It’s a—”

  “Don’t answer that. I know what it is, I just don’t know why you gave it to me. Is this what you think I want?”

  Looking up, I saw anger and disgust on his face where I had hoped to find lust and desire.

  “So, you want me to, what, hit you? Take you from behind like some dog? I’d like to think we both have more class than this, Allison. Higher standards, at least. I really hope this was a joke. Either way, we’re not discussing this again.”

  Opening the trash can, he dumped the gift into its depths with a resounding thud. He walked into the bedroom, got ready for bed, and went to sleep. It was three Saturdays later when he finally resumed our weekly conjugal visits and neither of us ever said another word about it.

  For several months after our divorce was final, I didn’t even think about sleeping with anyone new. Since sex had never been all that interesting, I didn’t feel like I was missing much. All that changed about six weeks ago when I read my first erotic romance novel. The scenes were so hot, so raw, that my body would tingle just from reading the words on the page. I realized that I could be having those moments in my own life. Robert left me, he gave me up, but my life isn’t over. I’m no longer bound to serve him once a week, every week, flat on my back.

  It’s not until I’m lying in bed that I realize I never actually got around to telling Caroline what I have been up to. I had called to tell her what I did and ended up with a safety lecture. I love her, but I think I’ll keep this one to myself for a while. At least until I see how things go.

  ***

  Looking at this as my chance to experience new things is the easy part. Knowing how to go about getting what I want is another story. So I logged on to some websites devoted to BDSM practices to learn more. Everything I saw and read was exciting and made me so goddamned horny I couldn’t handle it. I’d never in my life touched myself, but the night I found a bulletin board filled with stories of submissive experiences, I just had to try.

  Lying back on my bed, I reached my hand inside my pants to feel the curls above my sex. Rubbing my fingers along my opening, I found that I was wet as hell. I’d never been wet like this with Robert. Foreplay was nonexistent. He’d never once, in all our years, gone down on me. I’d done it for him a few times, but neither of us was ever satisfied with the results, so we dispensed with the foreplay and got straight to the mediocre sex.

  Grabbing my own breast, I realized my nipple was a hard peak that strained against my shirt. Uncovering it, I rubbed and pinched the sensitive flesh and the feeling only added to the sensations happening below. Still stroking myself, I found a swollen nub at the top of my opening and I just knew it had to be my clit. It’s so ridiculously sad that, at my age, it was my first encounter with my own clitoris. I was already so turned on that it took only seconds of rubbing my new discovery for me to orgasm. My entire body stiffened and jerked as my face flushed and my sex grew incredibly sensitive to the touch.

  I’d had a few orgasms when Robert fumbled his way into a pleasing position, but never anything like this. How on earth can it be that I can give myself such pleasure on my first try? I suffered needlessly from so many years of boredom at the mercy of my husband’s dick when I could have been taking care of things on my own the whole time.

  I knew I really needed to find out firsthand what BDSM is like. But with all the stories of girls being raped, kidnapped, and murdered, I was afraid to meet anyone I found on the websites. I started asking questions about meeting people with the same interests and found my way to a local board. The whole thing is for, by, and about people who live in my area. It’s all screen names, but I couldn’t help wondering if I knew any of the people I’ve talked to. Imagine finding out that my dentist is MasterS_29!

  Over and over, the recommendation was that I find a Master who specializes in new submissives. The one name that kept popping out at me was HJR Services. It’s a small company run by three Dominant men. They have a select group of trainers, themselves included, who are available to give potential submissives some real-life BDSM experience in a safe, sane, and consensual environment. That’s what the website says, anyway. One of the trainers becomes your Master for twelve sessions, putting your fantasies to the test, to see if you’re cut out for the lifestyle.

 
You pay a fee for these services, and when I first read about it, I equated it with hiring a male prostitute. I couldn’t imagine paying for something like this. The more informed I became, the more I became convinced that this is actually a good idea.

  I read horror stories of women who met up with men they hadn’t fully checked out. Some were lucky and their only complaint was that, instead of the young hunk they were promised, they showed up to find a fat, balding guy in his fifties. Others had it a lot worse. One woman posted about being tied up only to find herself at the mercy of a sadist who ignored her repeated attempts at using her safeword. She was beaten for what seemed like hours before finally being fucked and tossed out the front door in the nude. The best thing that happened was that, after she pounded on the door for a good ten minutes, her clothes were tossed out after her. Reading that story almost made me give up the idea completely, but I remembered HJR and decided to look into it further.

  I found the phone number on one of the boards, so I gathered up the nerve to dial and listened until I heard a woman say, “HJR Services. How can I help you?” I chickened out and hung up. I did that two more times over the following week before I was finally able to squeak out the reason for my call.

  “So, um, how does this work?” I asked the woman on the other end.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” she asked in response.

  “A M-Master?”

  With a light laugh, she said, “Are you asking me or telling me, honey?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I admitted to the both of us.

  “Are you looking to become a Domme or a submissive?”

  “Definitely a submissive.”

  “I thought so, but I have to ask. The sub program works like this: first, you go for a blood test from a doctor of our choosing to make sure you’re clean. Once we receive the test results, we contact you. We’ll set up an appointment for you to come in to our office and fill out paperwork. Likes, dislikes, experience, stuff like that. Then the Masters look it over and pair you with the Dominant they think will fit you best. Besides the three owners, there are six other Masters you could be paired with. They have various talents, but they all specialize in submissive training.”