Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Something Brave
ISBN # 978-1-78430-850-6
©Copyright Victoria Blisse 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright October 2015
Edited by Faith Bicknell-Brown
Totally 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, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized 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 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 3.
SOMETHING BRAVE
Victoria Blisse
Blushing, shy Felicity does something incredibly brave and submits to a man she only knows as Sir, but will his demands push her beyond her limits?
Felicity attends the local burlesque fair just to sell her Quietly Cute jewelry. A handsome stranger offers to spank her, and she surprises herself by submitting. Sir makes her choose the implement he will use to take her spanking virginity—and uses it to great effect.
She finds herself becoming the sexy, self-made billionaire’s sub who is punished with bondage, forced into exhibitionism, hot wax and other delicious tortures. Felicity submits willingly, getting braver with every interaction. But when Samuel offers her the means to establish her business and pulls her out of the poverty she lives in, she snaps, seeing it as an insult to her pride and possibly even a payment for her sexual services.
Can Samuel convince her otherwise, or will she walk out of his life forever?
Dedication
This story wouldn’t exist without the man who makes me do brave things. Thank you, Matt.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Hilton: Dezurik, Inc.
Velcro: Velcro Industries, B.V.
eBay: eBay, Inc.
Yale: Yale University
Chapter One
Feeling brave, Felicity completed the form and booked herself in for the local burlesque fair. Held in Manchester and not far from her home, it seemed her brand of pretty, quirky jewelry would fit perfectly. Yes, there would be stalls with sexy toys and also there’d be performances of stripping ladies, but basically it was just another craft fair.
Or at least that’s what she’d convinced herself it would be like. She’d taken to crafting after losing her job. Finding another job had proved difficult, so she’d used the material, buttons and pretty things she’d collected and had made brooches, necklaces and earrings. She’d worn her first fabric flower creation to church one Sunday and had had several compliments on the big red bloom along with a request to make more for others.
The church fair had been her first and that’s when she’d decided to have a go at making a living from her handmade trinkets. She enjoyed the crafting. She’d moved on from simple scrap flowers to felted animals, beadwork and even some cross stitching. Each craft she’d learned, each new item she sold, built up her depleted stock of self-esteem.
It hadn’t easy. Making ends meet was a definite challenge, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to struggle with poverty, so she’d met it head-on with a strength she never acknowledged she had. She hadn’t ever been rich, but as a child, she’d experienced what it meant not to have a penny to her name. Her mum had struggled to keep her fed and clothed, and often went without herself. Felicity’s school days had been full of bullying, over her either holey shoes and her ancient cardigan—which seemed to have always been at least two sizes too small for her—or her father’s alcoholism.
She’d soon learned to keep to herself. Felicity’s friends had existed only between the pages of books. Her book friends hadn’t cared that she had peeling wallpaper dotted with mold and an old mattress on the floor. They hadn’t cared that she had no toys or new clothes. They had accepted her just the way she was and frolicked happily in her mind.
She loved the library, had spent much of her time there as a child and had grown to do the same again. It was always warm, full of books and comfy places to sit and read. In the depths of winter, she had gone to the library to warm up as she couldn’t afford to put her on heating in her tiny flat. Christmas dinner had consisted of a tin of cream of tomato soup and a stale slice of bread. Luckily, things had started to look up after that. Felicity had pulled together enough stock to attend a couple of craft fairs or car boots every weekend, then she had the means to start listing items on eBay and, little by little, she had pulled herself out of the pit, paid her bills, bought food and used heat and light once more. She still had to keep a tight rein on her spending and she didn’t have any savings because of the occasional mad urge and impulse buy. Sometimes she got tired of counting every penny.
Felicity had been poor all her life and had inherited her mum’s burning pride. No one in her life knew how much she’d struggled. She’d kept everyone at arm’s length purposefully to maintain her pride. The church had a food bank, and she volunteered there once a week, but she wouldn’t dream of accepting that charity herself.
“There’s always someone worse off than you are,” her Mum had said over and over. “Remember that, our Felicity. Count your blessings, do good to those who need it and you’ll be content.”
Her mum had never been particularly happy but when Dad had died, her mum had spiraled into depression and discovered her own addictive nature, so Felicity had ended up alone in the world days before her sixteenth birthday. She’d learned to be self-sufficient, to distrust strangers and that generally, life was shit. She’d gone to church, just in case. God seemed to have it in for her family, and she really wasn’t keen on being the next one axed before her time.
Love, romance and even sex just didn’t feature in her life. They were too much like hard work and involved opening herself up to someone. She’d had a little experience of all three and she’d decided that was more than enough. At least if she was alone and miserable, she didn’t have anyone else to blame and couldn’t bring another person down with her.
Her mum and dad had often argued, had occasionally beaten the crap out of each other, but they’d loved with a passion that was fierce and all encompassing. Felicity was scared of love. She never wanted to be consumed by another—never wanted to need someone like that. She was much happier depending on herself and tha
t went for her sexual pleasure too.
So the burlesque fair, with is promises of sexy delights, didn’t tempt her. But the possibility of selling her quirky, cute crafts had overcome her fear of the sexy side of it, so she’d booked, prepared and turned up on the day of the fair with her loins girded against all temptation.
When she arrived and was greeted by a tall, blonde woman in break-neck heels and a tight red latex dress that left nothing to the imagination, Felicity started worrying about what else she was going to see. She’d worn her practical flats, comfortable long skirt and had layered up a cute blouse, cardigan and jacket so she’d be ready for anything. She’d spent hours in roasting-hot school halls and freezing chapels selling her hand-crafted wares. She’d soon learned the tricks of the trade.
“Quietly Cute, right?” The woman smiled and ran a finger down her clipboard.
“Yes, that’s me.” Felicity replied, watching a group of giggling girls flounce past in barely enough clothes to cover one person, let alone five.
“You’re on the second floor, two-B. Follow me. I’ll take you up.”
Felicity tried really hard not to stare at the lady’s behind, but it was difficult not to, the way it wiggled beneath the skin-tight latex. When she got to the stairs, she had to concentrate on lugging her huge case up them, and by the time she reached the top, she was panting.
“Just this one here.” The lady with the clipboard indicated the table second along from the stairwell.
“Thank you.” Felicity smiled.
The latex lady disappeared down the stairs.
The room was a hive of activity. Most of the tables were occupied, some virtually ready for customers and others just covered in boxes. Felicity didn’t look around for long. She had a lot to set up and she’d reached the venue later than she’d wanted to because of unexpected road works.
She took out the red velvet cloth and draped it over her standard table, changing it from utilitarian to opulent in just a moment. Felicity never did anything by halves. She had her stands numbered and ordered in the case. After setting them up, she added her wares, methodically labeled in boxes.
Once the plush stands—gilt-framed and generously padded—were in place, she pulled out the last part of the puzzle—her lock box. She sat back and looked around. Roughly square, the hall boasted parquet flooring and a stage at one end. Bare brick walls surrounded the area, giving an urban loft feel to the space. Above her head was a network of silver pipes and metal poles and mysterious boxes at random intervals. The venue was usually a nightclub that she’d never been to. She’d never visited a nightclub at all, in fact. Felicity was certain she hadn’t missed out.
She’d been a bookworm as long as she could remember, and a bit of a loner too. She’d never minded, though. All the friends she needed were inside her books anyway. Even in university, she had the social life of a house-bound gran. She had seen her own father kill himself with the use of alcohol and her mother pass soon after, beside herself with grief. Alcohol had destroyed her family, so Felicity had never understood the appeal.
Felicity checked the different tables. Next to her, a lady sold accessories, little hats, feather boas, sparkly shoes, and across the way stood a steampunk gentleman, with goggles and other ye olde odds and ends. She felt quite confident at first, then she noticed the artwork a few stalls along with pin-ups in all kinds of poses. One vintage beauty bent over in an old kitchen, holding on to the cupboard handles, bottom bared and pink. Felicity looked away before she took in more detail, her cheeks must have been as pink as the buttocks in the picture. They felt hot enough.
Over in the corner there stood a tall lady with rails of corsets in a rainbow of colors all around her. It was only when she turned from placing the garments on the rack that Felicity noticed the woman’s breasts were bare except for two sequined red hearts obscuring the nipples. She looked away quickly and fiddled with the novelty earrings hanging just in front of her. The shiny red cherries didn’t calm her at all.
An announcement echoed through the room that visitors were being let in. Felicity welcomed the distraction. She was busy straight away, her position near the top of the stairs meaning that many people started out with her stall. Some hurried past with barely a glance, but others lingered and fingered her merchandise.
She was always relieved when people showed their appreciation for her work. A little bit of her heart went into everything she made, so criticism—or worse still— indifference, hurt her deeply. Her first sale, although a simple pair of cheap studs, set her mind at rest and it was soon followed by another. The first hour was manic, and she was glad to sit when finally there was a lull.
She tried not to look around, but again she found her eye drawn to the artwork that had made her blush so violently before. The woman with the bared bottom was waiting for a hand holding a spatula to fall. Said spatula sat in a male hand on a suited arm. The rest of the male character was not captured on the canvas.
Felicity squirmed in her chair and pulled back her shoulders. She didn’t want to acknowledge the heat that flooded her, didn’t want to think about how her pussy throbbed as she saw that poised hand.
“Excuse me, do you have any cufflinks?”
The deep, roughly northern voice woke her from her musings. She flustered to her feet, angry with herself for missing a customer’s approach.
“Sorry, I was just—”
“Engrossed in the painting across the way. It’s okay. I understand.”
Felicity didn’t know how to respond to that, so she shook her head and looked down at her stock.
“I have these over here. I’ve only recently started to experiment with cuffs. Cufflinks, I mean.” She’d stumbled over her words. His presence intimidated her. So far she’d avoided looking into his face. Embarrassed and agitated, she was scared to look up and let him see her blushing cheeks. His midriff was nice, though—a crisp white shirt tucked into pitch-black trousers.
“Have you got anything a bit kinkier?” he asked, fingering the lucky aces.
Felicity imagined his fingers stroking other things.
“Erm, what is out is all I have,” she replied, reaching to straighten the pile of business cards in the corner farthest away from him to cover her awkwardness.
He touched her arm, and the pile went flying.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She flapped her hands about.
“No, no, I’ll get them. I’m sorry I startled you.”
His touch had burned but not in a bad way. His hand briefly touching her arm had sent a burst of energy through her whole body, searing deep to her core.
“Oh, no, no, I’m just clumsy,” Felicity replied with a shake of her head.
“I don’t believe that for a moment.”
She looked up then. He was bending down, showing off a very shapely arse within those expensive looking trousers.
“Mea culpe.” He straightened and put the cards back on the table.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
He nodded in acknowledgment. Felicity knees weakened as she took in his features. She was struck by the startling blue of his eyes. They seemed to pierce through and see into her very soul. Her heart thudded as if would escape her chest, but she couldn’t pull away from his gaze—his intense, wicked, tempting gaze.
“So, getting back to the kinky… Do you take on commissions?”
Felicity ignored the first part of the sentence and concentrated on answering the question. “I do make custom pieces, yes, but of course, they’re a bit more expensive and can take a few days or even weeks, especially if I need to source material.”
“That’s fine.” He dipped his head. “I want some cufflinks for my suit that are in the shape of actual cuffs.
“Like those at your wrists?” She pointed at the sharp edge of his white button-down shirt.
“No.” He shook his head with a smile.
She had managed to extricate herself from his gaze, but now she was dazzled by his smile, which was surrounded
by a soft smattering of dark hair. She didn’t normally fancy guys with beards, but this man suited his.
“No, my dear…” He looked down at her business card and continued. “Felicity. I mean handcuffs. The kind you use to restrain a woman so you can roundly spank her arse without her flailing her hands in the way.”
The vision sprung up in her imagination with no bidding, prompting her to gasp, then gulp as her mouth went completely dry. She couldn’t pull away from his gaze, even though she tried her hardest to do so. Her cheeks ached with heat. He was teasing her—for what purpose, she didn’t know. Maybe he was just mean. Maybe he was perverted and got his kicks from shocking vanilla women like her. Felicity found herself pondering what else he might do to a vanilla woman like her, and had to shake her head to clear it of the depraved images that flitted across her mind.
“Oh, like policemen have.” She finally got her brain in gear to answer him.
“Yes, metal ones. Utilitarian. I’d like them by the end of the month. Can you do that?”
“I…I think so.” She could probably do them quicker than that. She had no other commissions and unless she sold out completely, she had plenty of general stock.
“Good, good. I’ll just look around the fair. There may be something here that will fulfill my need. If not, I’ll be back later.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Felicity smiled, mostly because she was relieved he was going to go away. She would be able to gather her wits if he stopped staring at her so damn sexily.
“A pleasure to meet you, Felicity.”
He held out a hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Felicity took it in hers. She wasn’t used to such formal greetings from customers. The stranger didn’t shake it. He turned it within his fingers and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. The bristles of his beard gently tickled and the heat of his lips seared their image there.
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