Sensual Mastery: Whipped

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  Total-e-bound

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  Copyright ©2007 by Layne Blacque

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  A Total-e-bound Publication

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  Sensual Mastery: Whipped

  ISBN #978-1-906328-42-9

  ©Copyright Layne Blacque 2007

  Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright September 2007

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Total-e-bound books

  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 eBooks.

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  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 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning:

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated total-e-burning.

  Sensual Mastery:

  WHIPPED

  Layne Blacque

  Dedication

  To the harsh Mistresses of Romance Clinic—Taige Crenshaw and Marianne LaCroix.

  We laughed. I cried. Then, we laughed some more.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

  iPod: Apple, Inc.

  The Contract

  THIS AGREEMENT is entered into this December 27, 2006 by and between TARA DRAKE (Client) and LEO HANSON hereinafter referred to as Consultant.

  1. Consultant, pursuant to the provisions of this agreement, is retained by client to provide disciplinary services for client. The specific services to be provided to client by the consultant are as follows: Anything you can dream of. Except sex.

  Dated 12/27/2006, and executed in New York, New York

  By:.... PERSON'S NAME, for CLIENT.... By: CONSULTANT'S NAME

  Tara Drake Leo Hanson.

  Chapter One

  For Tara Drake, being disciplined meant forgetting life's pressures and surrendering to her baser needs. When her “Top” told her what to do, she didn't have to worry about looking composed as she did it. Her mastery of languages meant nothing when she was on her hands and knees moaning. And she was fairly certain the man who could make her come simply by pulling her hair didn't give a damn how fast she calculated her agency's monthly profits.

  Her open-toed stilettos clacked on the parking garage's stone floor as she walked briskly to the elevator. A light sheen of sweat touched her hairline in spite of the frigid temperatures gripping New York that winter. When the elevator stopped on the fourth floor of the nondescript office building, she undid the first two buttons on her black wool coat. She didn't dare take it off without permission. Mr. Leo wouldn't like that.

  She walked a short distance down the dingy hallway until she stood in front of Room 415. Not bothering to ring the doorbell or knock, she twisted the door handle and entered the dark room.

  Classical music hummed from unseen speakers. The scent of jasmine wafted through the air. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the tall, masculine outline of a man near the far window. Her stomach clenched. Wobbly legs made it difficult for her to keep her balance as she stood in front of the sofa and waited for instructions.

  This is the last time I come here, she told herself. It has to be.

  Even as she thought the words, she realised she was lying to herself. She needed these sessions. They were the only part of her life that made sense anymore. Her sessions didn't need to be organised. They weren't structured. What happened was based on the whim of Mr. Leo. She liked giving her power away to him—even if it was only for one hour of her busy week.

  She gritted her teeth and finally surrendered to the one feeling she couldn't allow herself outside of these walls. Powerlessness.

  What had started as a way to stave off the anxiety of everyday life was now an obsession. Tara cursed herself for being unable to stay away from the soft-spoken man with the hard body. She loved that he wasn't a screamer. His voice was gentle but firm as he instructed her in the art of discovering her own pleasure through the sweet pain he administered.

  He had power over her. She paid him, but he still held all the cards.

  Her pulse twitched in tune with the rise and fall of the swelling music. She fought to keep her composure. It took everything she had to not beg him to speak to her. She'd wait until he was ready. That was the way it worked.

  The tension in the room felt jagged and raw to her desire-heightened senses. Do something! she wanted to scream. Say something!

  She wished she'd met Mr. Leo under different circumstances. As much as she liked following his curt orders and demands, there was always an underlying need for something more. Like ... tasting his lips. Or screaming until her voice gave out as he thrust his cock into her.

  Suddenly, the music stopped. He moved out of the shadows, stopping so close to her she could have touched him. During past sessions, she'd occasionally brushed against his bare forearm or pressed her head against his thigh as he towered over her. Those all too brief moments had tortured her thoughts, giving rise to fantasies better left unexplored.

  She bit her bottom lip and inhaled an expectant breath. His scent tickled her nose.

  Expensive soap.

  Cheap shampoo.

  Virile man-smell.

  Priceless.

  "Set down your bag. Take off your coat and put it on the sofa."

  Tara jumped to follow his orders. Her legs trembled so badly she was afraid they might buckle under her. Her pussy pulsed with moisture, causing her silk panties to cling to her flesh.

  She faced him again, but his strong features remained under the cover of darkness. She didn't need to see him to know every inch of him.

  His wavy dark hair curled just above his wide shoulders. She recalled his startling eyes. Most people would call them hazel. She'd call them breath-taking. They shone from his strong face like piercing citrine lights. She'd been hypnotised by his eyes the first time she'd seen them, but she'd given equal time to checking out his powerful build. Tall and athletic, Mr. Leo's body was made for sweaty, hard-riding, nerve-tingling fucking. Just looking at his rock-hard abs, narrow hips and tight ass left her breathless. She envied any woman who had the chance to entirely sample Mr. Leo.

  Disappointment stilled her heart. Sex was not on the menu for this evening—or any other evening. She paid him to subjugate her. Though she'd never asked his age, she could tell he was far younger
than her thirty-eight years. A hot guy like him wouldn't want to fuck a woman old enough to be his ... older sister. His hot, black older sister.

  Nope. No sex will be had here. Just let the pretty man do his job, Tara.

  He moved closer. She heard his light even breaths.

  A strong wave of lust washed over her. A chill coursed down her back. It was shameful. It was thrilling.

  What would your staff say if they could see you now, boss lady?

  She tried to banish that thought from her mind. Her job as an account manager for one of the city's leading advertising agencies was one of the reasons she needed Mr. Leo. Though her position offered a base salary, the bulk of her take-home pay came from commissions. Maintaining the ritzy co-op apartment she'd always dreamed of had become a stressful proposition. Pulling down large commissions meant sleepless nights spent designing campaigns and slogans for million-dollar products. Stressed or not, she worked herself to the bone to stay in the building with the snooty doorman. She'd eat canned tuna if it meant being able to go to the monthly board meetings her millionaire neighbours attended in their bathrobes.

  But work was probably the least of her problems.

  Her recent divorce from another workaholic hadn't exactly made everything right in her world. Finally free to be herself, she began to wonder if she'd ever known who she really was.

  When she'd answered Mr. Leo's ad two months ago, she'd known exactly what she was getting involved in. During her college years, she'd dated a horny biker who'd liked to paddle her bottom while she read Keats aloud to him. After her graduation, he'd asked her to come with him as he toured the country with his jazz band. She'd declined immediately because their attraction had been less than a love connection. At that point, in her life, hot sex and cool music could never compete with her career. She'd taken the job with her advertising firm four days after her ex jumped on his chopper and headed south. She'd never regretted that decision.

  If Tara regretted anything about that time, it was that she'd somehow forgot how to have fun. Dating became less about pleasure and more about connections and appearances. The next decade of her life was the Age of Conformity.

  Marrying straight-laced and humourless Paul Durrell had meant conforming.

  Conforming had meant not having a penis-induced orgasm since 1998. It had meant silent candlelight dinners because both of them were too exhausted to say a word. It had meant being Paul's equal partner in cold robotic sex.

  After twelve years, Tara had stopped wanting to appear happy. She wanted to be happy. All she had to show for her trip through Vanilla-ville was an Upper East Side apartment and a worn-out vibrator.

  Looking at Mr. Leo as he stared at her, she couldn't help but be proud of herself for passing inspection.

  He was very particular about who could bottom for him. She'd survived a two-week interview process to become his Thursday appointment.

  The process had included writing down every mouthful of food she ate and calling Mr. Leo to make sure he approved of her choices. For three days straight, she'd listened to a message on her cell phone telling her to go to bed at precisely eight-twelve p.m. And one afternoon she'd opened her email and found a strange multiple-choice test. It consisted of thirty-five questions ... about her favourite fruit.

  He'd visited her office on the final day of the application process. She'd been mortified that her private life would intrude on her professional life in such a public way. But she couldn't refuse him during the final phase of her testing.

  "Open your office door,” he'd ordered. “Just a crack. Then go to your desk and lean over it.” Though dressed simply in a black tee shirt and blue jeans with his long hair pulled back in a band, he looked like a romance cover hero. He needed a shave. Idly, she'd wondered if she'd ever be in a position to caress her lips across his stubble.

  Tara knew questioning him could disqualify her from becoming one of his clients. But fear caused her to hesitate. Dozens of her co-workers roamed outside her office. Most of them tapped the door once and poked their heads inside when they wanted to speak with her. What if one of them picked that moment to step inside her office?

  "Did you hear me, Tara?” His voice coerced and commanded. She didn't dare refuse him.

  She cracked open the door. As she walked back to her desk, her nipples pebbled against the lace of her bra. Every step she took aroused her, causing her clit to throb with need. When she got to her desk, she looked over her shoulder at him. Mr. Leo's handsome face was passive in contemplation. Taking a deep breath, she bent over the desk. And waited.

  "Palms down,” he instructed.

  Tara panicked. Her desk overflowed with files. Her laptop lay open in front of her chair. If she made the wrong move, files might fall. She hadn't saved the document on her laptop. What if I delete it accidentally?

  But a more powerful question pushed her into action.

  What if I piss him off?

  She opened her hands and placed one palm on the Ratzinger Juice account file. She put her other palm on the account file she'd just opened for Special Celebrations Inc.

  Several minutes passed, but nothing happened.

  She bit her bottom lip and wished for the fortitude to complete this test. A strange mingling of embarrassment, horniness and expectation settled over her. Unconsciously, she shifted her weight from hip to hip. She wanted to feel his strong hand smack her ass. But what she wanted meant nothing. Tara closed her eyes and told herself to expect anything.

  What happened next was the one thing she hadn't expected.

  She heard the door swing on its hinges before it closed shut. Shaking a little, she turned around and saw that Mr. Leo was gone.

  What the fuck?

  She'd remained in a funk that whole afternoon. The knowledge that she'd failed the test gnawed at her. She didn't understand what she had done wrong.

  But just as she was about to leave her office that evening, she learned that she hadn't been a failure after all. Her cell phone rang.

  "Thursdays. Six p.m. Get here on time otherwise you forfeit that week's session. No sex. No drugs. Nobody else—just you and me."

  "Yes. Okay. Thank you,” she'd practically moaned.

  "To make sure things stay on track, the safe word is cholesterol. It's silly, but you won't forget it or say it by mistake."

  She almost giggled. “Great."

  "Goodbye."

  Pulling her thoughts back to the present, Tara realised that hiring this hunk of a man was the best decision she'd made in years. She felt sexy. Mr. Leo had a way of looking at her that made her think, perhaps, he felt sexy, too. Like being with her wasn't just some gig. Like ... he might really be enjoying himself.

  Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. She saw him clearly now. He still contemplated her. She couldn't help but wonder about the slight smile that parted his full lips. Is that good or bad?

  She didn't know. It didn't matter.

  The four hours per month she spent with him meant not having to worry about anything. She didn't make decisions. She never needed to wonder about her next action. Her role in this arrangement was simple. React. She reacted to his whims and commands. What she wanted didn't matter. The fact that all she wanted was to please him made the arrangement extremely satisfying.

  When he finally spoke again, she felt dizzy.

  "Let down your hair, Tara."

  She pushed a trembling hand into her loose chignon and tugged out the simple black clip. Her dark brown hair tumbled in waves against her shoulders. Though proud of her crowing glory, she rarely wore her hair down at work. After a couple of years of battling the fallout from a disastrous hair colouring incident, she finally had pretty hair again. Grateful for a chance to allow her hard-won tresses to swing free, she flipped it and raked her fingers through the wavy strands to help it fall better.

  Mr. Leo frowned. “On your knees."

  Tara followed the order and looked up at him hopefully. He seemed distracted by something. Hi
s eyes were usually so intense when he instructed her, but this evening he looked like he'd rather concentrate on something else. She cast her eyes to the floor and wondered if she'd done something to displease him.

  He walked around her and stood at her back. She stiffened at the sound of him unbuckling his belt. Last week, he'd used that belt during a tender ass-beating that had put her senses into overdrive. Warming from the memory, she quickly felt ashamed when she remembered the way she'd rubbed the crack of her ass against the hard leather. She'd closed her eyes and pretended that she was rubbing against his cock. Mr. Leo had ordered her to spread her legs. After she'd done so, he'd placed the cool buckle between her legs and rubbed her clit until the buckle was covered in her juices. She'd come like crazy and wept in delirious pleasure when he'd smacked her ass while she climaxed.

  She hoped for more of the same today.

  Her pussy throbbed as her excitement swelled. She felt him standing over her, ready to spring forward.

  "Lift your hair off your shoulders. Gather it together and hold it above your head, Tara."

  She jumped at the sound of his voice and followed his instruction. The nape of her neck felt exposed. It seemed strange that exposing such a mundane body part would make her feel practically naked.

  "I'm going to wrap my belt around your neck—but not too tightly. I want you to be able to speak if necessary. Understand?"

  "Yes.” She licked her lips. “Yes, Mr. Leo."

  Feeling giddy, she recalled line fourteen of the application. It read: Will you require Breath Restriction? She'd had three boxes to choose from: Yes, no and I don't know. Tara had chosen the last option.

  She was about to discover her needs in that area.

  Rough was the first word to pop into her head when he rubbed the underside of the belt against her neck. It felt grainy, like something that could scrape her raw. But Mr. Leo's smooth even strokes were gentle and soothing to her flesh. The sensation had a strangely calming effect on her. Goose bumps stood up on her arms.