Enthrall Secrets (ENTHRALL SESSIONS 7)

by Vanessa Fewings

  Enthrall Secrets

  A Novel

  Vanessa Fewings

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

  Enthrall Secrets

  Copyright © 2016 Vanessa Fewings

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  ISBN: 978-0-9965014-5-3

  Cover Design by Michele Catalano Creative, 2016 ©

  www.michelecatalanocreative.com

  Cover photo is from Shutterstock - Photographer Roman Rybaleov

  & Shutterstock Photographer Sakkmesterke

  Edited by Debbie Kuhn

  Book formatted by Ebook Launch

  I know you’re tired, but come. This is the way.

  Rumi

  For those feeling lost, displaced, or isolated,

  this story is for you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  EPILOGUE

  The Enthrall Sessions

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  Chrysalis

  A Year Ago

  A FORCE OF nature knelt before me.

  This was the best way, the only way, to describe this gorgeous thirty-something man kneeling obediently at my feet in the pose of a submissive.

  Before entering the dungeon, he’d run his fingers through his perfectly combed short black hair as though reconsidering his appointment.

  With some gentle coaxing, he’d removed his tailored pinstripe suit, taking his time in the luxury changing room as though trying to hold onto these last remnants of his control, working his gold cufflinks loose before easing them out and placing them carefully in a locker.

  His gaze rose occasionally to meet mine as he stripped out of formality.

  As a consummate professional I’d show not even a flicker of desire, no hint I was aroused by the way he’d tugged off his shirt and then removed his black pants, revealing a sun-kissed physique, a ripped torso. Perhaps he could be considered a little underweight from some unspoken trauma, but all six-foot-two of him moved with the elegance of a man who ran every day; I could see that from those lean legs and toned arms.

  Just under an hour ago he’d quietly followed me into the dungeon, naked except for those boxer briefs which he’d refused to remove, providing a first glimpse of his fierce confidence, though there was no sign of conceit.

  Yet.

  And Jesus…

  When Ethan Jones spoke with that Georgia drawl I had to remind myself I was the mistress here. The deep tone of his voice, that seductive cadence that hinted of a privileged upbringing - class, that’s what he exuded. I could tell he was a man not easily swayed.

  During those first few minutes when I’d worked on honing our rapport, he’d told me that his drink was bourbon “with plenty of ice” - and he’d offered me an endearing grin. I’d let him know that my drink was a nice Cabernet, sinfully chilled with a cube of ice, a scandal to any wine aficionado that I’d dilute their delicately crafted masterpiece.

  That made him smile and it softened the hard lines of his face.

  He’d placed his life on hold and given himself over to me for one full hour. We’d only met each other today, and it seemed out of character for this particular alpha to relent to anyone.

  Yet he was here.

  Reminding me of him…a little.

  I gave my head a shake to bring myself back to the present. There was no room for melancholy.

  Before the session I’d changed into my short Italian leather black dress from Barney’s and pulled on my custom-made spiked thigh-high leather boots. My sleek raven hair was styled elegantly to frame my face. I wanted him to notice my sharp cheekbones and pale blue eyes, notice more than just the vixen holding the whip. I needed him to fall for me a little.

  I needed to connect.

  His rich cologne was being absorbed into my very blood cells, a centrifuge drawing me in with a visceral effect that put my senses into overdrive, throwing me off.

  To focus, I wrapped my fingers around the chain above him as though he were still connected to it, my palm cold from tightly gripping these metal links to still them. This fantasy of us gloriously fucking would remain just that - a wild, fantastic daydream that would not be allowed to suspend the play.

  He was my client, after all, and deserved an elite mistress, the very kind he’d sought out. I’d be a strict, sharp-tongued dominatrix providing moment-to-moment evidence of my world-renowned status.

  He didn’t need to see the real Scarlet, the sassy woman who loved burying her face in a good book - something by Deepak Chopra, Maya Angelou, or Toni Morrison - or even the poetry of Sylvia Plath. He didn’t need to know I loved picnics on the beach, or people-watching in coffee shops, or that when the newbie subs arrived at Enthrall or Chrysalis, I was always the one who took them under my wing because deep down I cared too much.

  No, he didn’t need to know anything about me.

  He just wanted to feel.

  Or forget.

  This innate sensitivity I’d honed over the years was essential for reaching my clients on more than just an emotional level. He needed a psychologist who dared to delve deeper and provide a visceral experience that counted.

  His kind blue eyes processed every detail with intensity, and those faint laughter lines gave away his thirty years. He had this endearing way of swallowing his pride with each order I wielded as he obeyed, his head remaining bowed in reverence…most of the time.

  This desire I felt to step toward him and rest my cheek against his firm chest was not exactly what he needed. He needed a dominatrix - the kind who’d not be thrown by all that southern charm.

  His sudden dark, intense glare caught me off guard.

  His defiance was raw and vital like the piercing note on a tuning fork. He was all tension and rippling sun-kissed muscles, glancing up occasionally to gauge my response to his continued rebellion.

  Disobedien
ce I could handle.

  I’d not counted on his beauty affecting me so dangerously, weakening my resolve to be just a mistress to him. The kind of connection we were experiencing was not what I’d expected when perusing his file. Whoever had profiled him had been way off. He wasn’t just a suit in need of a good spanking. He was more…so much more.

  Those dark curls were now a tussle of damp luscious strands. A series of whips and paddles had left his flesh tinged a deep shade of red as he’d writhed in ecstasy against the Saint Andrew’s Cross, his moans reaching beyond the four walls.

  I saw pride reflected in his eyes, and I raised my chin high.

  “Stand.”

  He rose with that familiar majesty, almost arrogance, even though I noticed he was not necessarily a man of excessive means - seeing that Michael Kors watch he’d peeled from his wrist earlier. However, from the way he’d recognized that Onesti ram sculpture we’d passed on the way in I could tell he was educated. To me that was more impressive than any financial status.

  I was surrounded by men of privilege and yet I was far more interested in the wealth of the mind, the kind of conversations that enlightened and brought meaning to life.

  The scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the aroma of fresh leather cuffs and I breathed him in, letting those sensations overwhelm me.

  He was waiting patiently for his next command, standing with his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

  It had only taken a few seconds to ascertain which room would be best. The décor was sleek and simple so his mind wouldn’t wander too much, a dark dungeon drenched in a soft red hue. Still, coaxing him to open up was proving to be a challenge. He’d been soothed initially when first restrained, as subs often are when handing over their control.

  Though from the way he pulled back from surrendering completely, trancing-out would be an issue for him.

  I gestured with my whip. “Back to the post.”

  He folded his arms.

  I took a short step toward him. “Problem?”

  He was fighting me again, showing me a devilish grin.

  God, he really was a pretty boy and that scar on his jaw added to a bad boy image he couldn’t quite pull off.

  I suppressed a smile. Switching wasn’t an option. That fantasy would have to wait for when I was alone. Later, I’d be vibrating my clit to the max with all thoughts trained on him - anything to get him out of my mind.

  And out of my system.

  It took all my will to resist crushing my lips against his, flicking my tongue inside and tasting his mouth fully, which would be a fair revenge. A good mouth-fucking for the way his flirty eyes undressed me every chance he got.

  That subtle shift in his demeanor hinted he’d perhaps caught on to my momentary fantasizing. His brow arched in intrigue.

  So far my sub had endured his punishment well, with toned muscles flexing in time with the rhythm of the horse whip. No way could he be described as a seasoned bottom. He didn’t even close his eyes during the process. His jaw clenched as he endured it. He emitted an occasional growl of resistance…a long moan now and again.

  I re-secured him to the steel cross, facing forward with his torso against the metal post and his beautiful ass in my face.

  How easy it would have been to press my body against his, my tight leather dress one with his pink, firm flesh. With a tug I checked to make sure his wrists could slip out easily if he desired. He’d requested easy-free restraint in his contract. Getting out of these would be possible - though a punishment lay on the other side of disobedience. And he knew it.

  When I used the paddle on his buttocks he leaned forward with his arms pulled back, a trickle of perspiration running down his spine and over the rippling muscles of his taut back.

  “Should have gone in first.” He shook his head as though rising from a dream.

  “What was that?” I circled around and stared into his midnight blue irises.

  “What?”

  “You mentioned something about going in first?”

  The four inch heels on my leather boots ensured I matched his height, our lips dangerously close. He leaned toward me and I stepped back to avoid his kiss. His jaw flexed in frustration.

  “You have to earn the right,” I chastised.

  “Jesus, Scarlet.” His dazed expression morphed into iciness.

  There was an irregularity in his mood and something in his tone that hinted of rebellion. I was no stranger to defiance. But this was different.

  He was different.

  He stood straight and shook off the moment as though I’d had no effect on him. With every move I made he maneuvered masterfully to resist subspace.

  His reaction to my voice didn’t reflect a man who’d been a member of this scene for years, as he’d told our admissions officer at Enthrall. He’d looked surprised when I’d dragged that bullwhip across his torso - and his gaze had locked onto mine, as if in warning that he might use it on me.

  I pointed at the floor. “Crawl on all fours around the room.”

  With a smirk, he slipped out of the restraints and stepped away from the cross. He sank to the floor and began to crawl forward in an erotic display of subservience.

  The softest sigh escaped my lips as I enjoyed the scene of having such a primal creature relent to my orders.

  The art of dominance in any form is to accept the power handed over by the sub and then lead them into the center of bliss and hold them there indefinitely. This man refused to totally surrender. Or even erotically enjoy the scene. This was clear from his lack of erection. And at no time had his pupils dilated. Not one sign of arousal.

  Yet he’d openly admired me, drinking in my curves, his gaze lingering on my ample breasts. And that lick of his lips proved he wanted to take me.

  He gave his head a shake and it seemed that frustration seeped from his pores as though annoyed that he couldn’t get there; for him there was no rising to the occasion.

  I was self-aware enough to know I’d catch any man’s eye. My daily runs along Manhattan Beach, which were a stone’s throw from my condo, kept me fit and Pilates kept me lean. Nutrition and a truck load of sunblock held back the years.

  Way back when I’d studied psychology at Harvard I’d paid for my tuition by modeling underwear, no shame there. At first I’d refused all that money left to me in a lover’s will, though later I’d come to accept his gift, realizing the good I could do with it.

  I’d gotten into the kind of adventures worthy of a wild child during my college years, including an adventure in Paris amongst France’s most erotic masters.

  I couldn’t think of that now.

  Couldn’t let the memories of those unbridled months of happiness derail what was meant to be a finely tuned hour.

  I’d been taught by the very best.

  And even now I worked under Dr. Cameron Cole, a brilliant psychiatrist and the man who’d navigated me through those delicate years. He was the director of Chrysalis, and a man I counted as one of my dearest friends. Ironically, he’d have this client cracked open like a nut in seconds. My approach was always gentler. Cameron’s idea of nuking a mind was always a last resort.

  The art of a session was our ability to comprehend the root of the problem, and whereas all other forms of therapy had failed, our results were legendary. We healed, changed lives, and returned love to the loveless.

  I was considered an internationally sought after mistress, having clients fly across continents for the pleasure. So this client’s continued rebellion felt skewed, considering he’d personally requested me. Frustration lingered deep in my gut because he hadn’t submitted to me yet. A failure foreign to me.

  He pushed himself to his feet.

  “Did I say you could stand?”

  “God, you’re beautiful, Scarlet.”

  “Mistress Scarlet,” I snapped. “Back to the cross, now!”

  He moved over to it with a careless swagger - the only sign of arousal was that fiery look in his eyes.
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  I got closer. “Tell me how I can help you.”

  “Perhaps if you use your mouth?” He arched a brow.

  “I don’t do that.”

  He shrugged. “I tip well.”

  “One more outburst and I’ll demand silence from you.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Everything else you’ve done has fallen short. I’m close to asking for my money back.”

  What the fuck?

  “Mr. Jones, we discussed my role at the beginning.”

  “Can I spank you?”

  “You requested a domme.”

  “Yes, but my fantasy is to spank a dominatrix.” He dragged his teeth along his bottom lip, and lowered his eyelids seductively.

  No way was I breaking the rules.

  I knew better.

  That kind of intimacy occurred between a sub and master at Chrysalis only when the director signed off on it. Relationships got complicated and everything at the club was finely orchestrated and based on science. It’s what made our society unique. A well-balanced structure that was led by a brilliant psychiatrist who saw to it that all play ran smoothly. Safety remained a priority.

  He looked devastated by my silence. “You don’t find me attractive?”

  “Of course. Now on your knees.”

  His glare intensified.

  “Don’t make me repeat it.” A wave of doubt came over me…a sense that not everything was as it seemed. “Tell me your thoughts. What’s holding you back?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Clearly it is.” I gestured at the door. “Session’s over, Mr. Jones.”

  His jaw tensed and he seemed to be working through a thought. “Someone I loved very much was shot dead in front of me. Since that day…” He lowered his gaze.

  My heart flinched with pain at this haunting memory he’d been brave enough to share. This was the trauma affecting his sexuality.

  “When?” I asked.

  “Four years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  He swallowed. “Can you help me?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Let me touch you.”

  I shook my head and stepped back.

  “Why?”

  “We don’t do that here.”