Authors: Jacqueline Winlock
His to Taste
Copyright © 2013 Jacqueline Winlock
Cover image Copyright by Kletr / Shutterstock.com
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
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.
This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. They are used throughout this book in an editorial fashion only. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark. The author is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language suited for a mature audience. Please store your files safely where they cannot be accessed by minors.
I knew the HR director hated me before I even had the chance to sit down.
She had barely glanced at my resume before she had pasted on a condescending smirk on her perfectly made up face. Was she wearing MAC’s Russian Red lipstick, or was that Dior’s Celebrity Red? Either way, today was going to be a crappy day to add to my already crappy several months of job hunting.
“Well, Lynn,” she said, barely hiding the fact that she was checking the clock.
“I understand from my assistant that you were former college classmates. However, your respective resumes are quite different. Can you explain to me why you have so little on-the-job experience, please?”
I tried to clear my throat, but my rapidly drying mouth was not helping my cause. Mentally groaning, I began my well-rehearsed little speech.
“I do understand that you must be concerned by my lack of work experience, Ms. Lewis, but I assure you that I’m a quick learner and a dedicated worker. As you can see from my resume, I completed a few internships, but at the time, I was living at home with my grandmother. She preferred that I focused only on my schoolwork instead of working part-time. Unfortunately, she’s quite old-fashioned, and she didn’t approve of me working nights. Please know that I’ll make up for it by working twice as hard as your other applicants, and I—”
“Yes,” she interjected. “I’m sure you would, but I hope you can understand that I can’t very well take a gamble on you in this current economy. I agreed to this interview as a personal favor to my assistant, but I see no point in wasting each other’s time. Although this is a temp position in my department, I have a long list of better qualified applicants than yourself. Julia will show you out.” With that abrupt dismissal, she turned back to her computer and I knew that the interview was over.
I lurched up out of my chair, and grabbed my purse.
“Ms. Lewis, I appreciate your time. Thank you for the opportunity.” I walked out of her office, and tried to keep the dejected slump out of my shoulders, but I just felt so damn tired of the constant rejection.
My friend Julia was already waiting for me with a small cup of chamomile tea. Grateful for her support, I accepted the cup, and took a small sip. It gave me something to focus on without showing her my embarrassment.
“Thanks, hon,” I said. “You’re such a good friend to stick your neck out for me—I’m sorry that I couldn’t win over your boss.”
Julia pulled me out into the lobby and we settled onto a large couch by the main entrance. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, with a comforting little hug. “Of course, I’d do anything to help you! I just wish you would take more of my advice. Seriously, what
you wearing? Is that suit even from this decade?!”
I tugged awkwardly at the overlong cuffs and rolled my eyes. “I know,” I sighed. “But I barely have the funds to support Grandma and me. How could I possibly scrape up enough cash to buy new interview clothes? Honestly, I was lucky enough to find this ugly thing in storage. The goal was to look professional and modest, remember?”
Julia poked at my ill-fitting beige skirt, and shuddered. “Ugh, you’re so melodramatic, girl. Don’t blame this monstrosity on being strapped for cash. You just hate shopping because you can’t stand trying on clothes. Just because this covers up your amazing rack doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate. You look sloppy in this when you could easily find a cheap suit that actually fits your curves.”
Staring glumly at my empty cup, I muttered, “Yeah, well, it’s just a waste of money to buy new clothes when I’m constantly trying to lose some damn weight, anyway. You’ve always been skinny and gorgeous—you don’t know what it’s like to have to count your stupid calories 24/7.”
Julia shook her head and took my cup. Frowning, she said, “Honey, it was baby fat when we were little. Now, you just have awesome womanly curves! You’d have a gorgeous hourglass figure if you’d just dress your shape properly. Listen, why don’t you come over to my place tonight, and we’ll get dolled up and go barhopping with the girls? C’mon, you need it!”
I was already up and ready to leave before she finished her sentence.
“Hell, no,” I cried. “Do you remember the absolute disaster last time? There aren’t enough years in my life to get over that humiliation!”
Julia walked me to the entrance and gave me one last comforting hug.
“Sweetie,” she said. “You know that Ellen didn’t mean to blurt out that you’re a virgin living at home with your grandma. She gets obnoxious when she’s drunk, but I’m sure he didn’t even hear her over the music. She just figured that any ice breaker was good enough.”
“Well,” I said, over my shoulder. “That
sure convinced him that I was a frigid weirdo. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I looked like a prudish freak with a fortified chastity belt. Look, you have fun tonight, girl, and I’ll see you later. Thanks again!” She waved from the front doors as I got into my old sedan and headed home.
After breaking the bad news to Grandma, I was able to send her off with our neighbor for dinner and an evening of bridge. I settled into bed with my laptop and a pint of chocolate brownie ice cream. There were no new emails from prospective employers, and I dutifully sent out a thank you letter to Ms. Lewis.
Thanks for nothing, you judgmental harpy
. I scraped up the last bits of ice cream, and clicked onto my favorite erotica website for a little bit of self-indulgence.
I first discovered these anonymously submitted stories in college. Since my parents had passed away in a car accident when I was a toddler, my grandparents raised me. Before he passed away a few years back, Grandpa was as mild-tempered as Grandma was excitable. I never doubted their love, but they were always strict as far back as I can remember. Grandma, especially, disapproved of everything that would make a young lady “fast.”
School dances were for harlots. Makeup made you look like a tart. Boys were never allowed to call me on the phone, and it would never have even occurred to me to broach the subject of having one come over for a study session. Grandma wanted me to be a proper young lady, and I appeased her by attending a local college nearby. I’ve been on a few dates here and there, but I was always too shy to allow anything further than an awkward hug at the end of the night.
As is the usual result with repressed adolescents, I took to the only outlets I could find as a sexually curious young woman; hidden romance novels and the Internet. Grandma always assumed that my laptop was only used for schoolwork and she never felt the need to use it in the first place.
As much as I loved my romance novels as a teenager, I needed something darker as I grew older and read more erotica online. The more I read, the more I started hoard my favorite stories to savor again and again. Although Grandma would never use my laptop, I was paranoid that she would somehow stumble over my collection, so I saved them all in a desktop file labeled “Tasty”; I figured that the title was innocuous enough that no one would have any reason to poke around in there.
Despite my inexperience, I was fascinated with stories about dominant male heroes and fantasies about control. As a 22 year old woman that had never been kissed, the element of giving up control and submitting to an experienced man made me incredibly horny. I wanted to trigger insatiable animalistic lust in a gorgeous man. I wanted him to lose all control. I wanted him to desperately ache for me and force me to respond to his hunger and make me come over and over again before fucking me silly.
If I was being honest with myself, I’d acknowledge that I really just wanted to be taught, but I didn’t want to have to take responsibility for exploring my sexuality. A part of me still wanted to be a good girl, and it just seemed easier to blame it on someone else seducing me, instead of feeling weakness for giving into my baser needs. Obviously, I wasn’t interested in allowing some random pushy asshole to take advantage of me, but I just wished I could reconcile my fantasies with someone that I might meet outside of my dirty stories.
Realistically, I knew I wasn’t a supermodel. I was only about 5’2”, with large breasts and a curvy ass. As much as I tried to diet and jog, I was cursed with stubborn genes. I would never have a lithe figure like Julia’s and my thighs will always touch. Taking birth control pills regulated my random periods and fortunately kept my complexion clear. Along with these birthing hips, I inherited my thick shiny black hair from my grandma’s side. When I take the time to curl it and dab on some makeup, I did generate some male interest. Unfortunately, I was perpetually tongue-tied whenever I talked to a cute guy, and they immediately lost interest to find a more sophisticated conquest.
At least when I read my erotica, I didn’t have to focus on my weight or my inexperience. I could just enjoy my body for the pleasure that it gave me. Feeling the tension in my shoulders start to relax, I opened up one of my favorite bookmarked stories on my laptop and pulled out a tiny bottle of massage oil to indulge in my evening ritual.
Lord Moreland silently watched his new chambermaid earnestly struggle beneath his massive bed to retrieve his mislaid cravat. The dedicated young miss had crawled on all fours and wiggled her plump little buttocks enticingly in her quest. She was so dedicated to her task that she did not hear his footfalls as he loomed up behind her vulnerable little figure. Despite his tall muscular build, he treaded softly on the plush rug. His dark hair glinted in the soft candlelight.
“My dear girl,” he said, as he gently caressed her soft thighs under her skirts. “You are to be commended for showing such devotion to your craft, but you did not have to purposefully go to such lengths to attract my attention to fuck you.”
Lily squeaked, thumped her poor head on the bed-frame, and tried to scuttle out, but he held her firmly in place. “Oh, milord!” she gasped, muffled by her unfortunate position. She desperately struggled from his hands, but his grip tightened firmly. “Please, milord, I’m a good decent girl, and I didn’t mean for you to find me so!” She wiggled again in vain, and cried out when he spanked her bottom smartly. Her skirts padded the blow, but she squealed in shock.
He responded by squeezing her pliant flesh. “Shush, sweeting,” he laughed. “You don’t need to cry innocent with me. You’re not the first maid to come seeking my coin for a tumble, and a bit of extra playacting always guarantees an extra shilling, or two, doesn’t it? You’ll be amply rewarded, I assure you.”
She whimpered and tried to break free again, desperately slapping at his wandering hands, but he simply batted her small hands away as if he would a tiny insect. His warm hands were immovable, but gentle, as if he was soothing a nervous filly.