Authors: Bebe Balocca
A Total-E-Bound Publication
Learning to Soar
ISBN # 978-1-78184-249-2
©Copyright Bebe Balocca 2013
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2013
Edited by Sue Meadows
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 Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised 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 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
This story contains 70 pages, additionally there is also a
at the end of the book containing 8 pages.
LEARNING TO SOAR
What happens at Volare STAYS at Volare…
Ever since her relationship with Mark crashed and burned, Chloe’s been unable to take off and reach the big O. Enter Damien Walters, a deliciously unconventional sex therapist. Damien’s therapy sessions take place at his nightclub, and Chloe quickly sees why admittance to Volare is by invitation only. Volare’s patrons, who are Damien’s satisfied and discreet former clients, leave their inhibitions at the door when they walk past the bouncer. Anything goes on Volare’s dance floor…
Using a few key accessories and some hands-on help from Volare’s regulars, Damien enables Chloe to reach her full sexual potential once more. And he has a special proposal just for her—Chloe can join him on the Volare crew as his accountant and therapy assistant. It’s an offer Chloe can hardly refuse, especially given the fact that Damien’s the man with his hand on the throttle.
With the pulsing beat of Volare’s dance floor, the seductively suave Damien bent on pleasing her, and her newly restored sexual prowess, Chloe’s position at Volare seems like a dream come true. However, she’s going to have to help Damien get over some of his own issues in order for the two of them to soar together.
To dancing queens everywhere.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Honda Accord: Honda Motor Company, Ltd.
Cinemax: Home Box Office, Inc.
Obsession for Men: Calvin Klein, Inc.
Ferrari: Ferrari S.p.A.
Time Warner, Inc.
Bonne Bell: Bonne Bell
Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Disney: The Walt Disney Company
HP Calculator: Hewlett-Packard Company
Veuve Clicquot: LVMH Moët Hennessy
Publishers Clearing House: Publishers Clearing House
Powerball Lottery: Multi-State Lottery Association
Godiva: Yildiz Holding
Dungeons and Dragons: Wizards of the Coast
Dom Perignon: LVMH Moët-Hennessy
Kleenex: Kimberly Clark Corporation
Patrón: The Patrón Spirits Company
eBay: eBay Inc.
The Three Stooges: C3 Entertainment, Inc.
Monica eased her Accord into a kerb-side spot and turned off the motor. Even though the sedan’s windows were raised and its doors were closed, the thumping bass from the dance club pounded through the car like a racing heartbeat. A glowing rectangular sign proclaimed the club’s name, ‘Volare’, in bright blue letters on a black field. “Volare. It means ‘to soar’ in Italian,” Monica noted. “So, is tonight your night to soar, Chloe?”
Chloe brought her hands to her face and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” She laughed uneasily. “I mean, seriously? A freelance sex therapist? He’s probably a pimp, or, like”—she made air quotes—“a movie producer.” Chloe snorted. “And what kind of name is Damien anyway? Are we dealing with the spawn of Satan here?”
“Chloe, you’re ridiculous. We’ve been over this a million times. My own therapist recommended him to me, and Donna’s totally legitimate. Part of Damien’s thing is that he won’t actually touch you at all. He’s very professional. Damien completely solved my insecurity problem. I’ve never felt better.” She placed a reassuring hand on Chloe’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Trust me. I promise I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
“Yeah, well, I agreed to this way back when I had a job,” Chloe complained. “Two hundred bucks is a ton of cash considering my current income level. Just start the car again, Monica. This was a dumb idea.”
Monica pulled the keys from the ignition, dropped them into her purse, then closed it with a snap. “Look, Chloe, it’s a big deal that you can’t reach orgasm.” Chloe exhaled with a whoosh as Monica continued, “Just because Mark was a total dick and made you feel like a loser when he dumped you, your sex life doesn’t have to end. It’s been three years and you haven’t gotten off. That, my friend, is criminal.”
“Yeah, well, lots of women don’t reach orgasm. It’s not the end of the world,” Chloe protested feebly.
“Yeah, and lots of women settle for elastic-waist mom jeans, low thread-count sheets, and flabby frozen dinners. That doesn’t mean that these things are actually okay, Chloe! You are a woman of discriminating taste. A woman who enjoys the finer things. Fine food, fine wine, fine friends”—she flipped her wavy auburn hair off her shoulders and cleared her throat—“and fine sex. Trust me you’ll thank me for this. And with your, um, new employment situation, you’re going to want some hot, satisfying sex with a new guy. It’ll definitely help with the job hunt. You’ll be all loose and limber and raring to go. Think of it as an investment in yourself. The price is totally worth it, and besides, Damien has a satisfaction guaranteed policy.”
“But this guy”—Chloe bit her lip—“is he, you know, nice? Is he creepy or pervy or anything? What’s he going to do anyway?”
“He’s a nice guy, for sure, but I don’t know what treatment he’s going to suggest for you. It’s all very personalised,” Monica answered. “For my problem, we did some exercises that boosted my self-esteem and made me feel like the hot, sexy woman that I am. Your problem is entirely different because you
you’re hot, right? You just need some help hitting it out of the park when you get up to bat. All the strike-outs you’ve been having in bed are making you afraid to play ball.” Monica grinned impishly. “You know, if you’re that worried about getting help from a stranger with your orgasm problems, I’d be happy to offer my services as a friend. I’d even do it for free!” She gave Chloe’s nipples a quick tweak.
Chloe swatted Monica’s hands away with an indignant cry and unsnapped her seatbelt. “Fine,” she acquiesced with a laugh. “
. If my options for becoming orgasmic again are you”—she paused as Monica batted her eyes and pursed her lips with theatrical glee—“or a total stranger who’s a freelance sex therapist, I guess I’ll go for the total stranger.” Chloe opened her car door. Thumping techno music flooded the vehicle.
Chloe turned back to Monica and spoke over the music, “Why is his office in a nightclub anyway? That’s pretty weird.”
Monica shrugged. “Damien likes to have his therapy appointments in his office at Volare because it’s convenient. He owns the club, you know. Besides, sometimes the setting comes in handy.”
“Huh? How does it come in—?” Chloe attempted to ask, but Monica had already left the car and was headed towards Volare. The ground level dropped dramatically from the front of the club to the back, so that the main entrance was on the ground floor, while the rear exit was on the basement floor. The long, boxy brick building was nestled between two busy streets. Its frosted windows provided no clues about the interior, and as it was her first visit to Volare, Chloe was curious about what lay within. Rumour had it that it was a ‘by invitation only’ establishment.
Chloe stepped out onto the kerb and tugged her miniskirt down. Normally, she’d never wear such a teeny little skirt—that was Monica’s style—but tonight Monica had put her foot down. When she’d gone to pick Chloe up earlier that evening and had seen the jeans she had been wearing, Monica had shaken her head in frank disapproval. “No way are you wearing that to Volare,” she’d stated in a voice that had brooked no argument. “Good thing I’ve got a spare outfit or two in the trunk of my car for emergencies.”
Monica had permitted Chloe to keep her champagne metallic top. It tied behind her neck with long silky ribbons, left her arms and shoulders bare, and had a plunging cowl neckline. Chloe’s black stiletto ankle boots had also been given a pass by Monica, her self-appointed stylist, but her jeans were currently folded on the back seat of the Accord. In lieu of the jeans, Monica had foisted a black micro-miniskirt on her. It had four zippers running from the hem to the waistband—one on the outside of each thigh, one pointing up to her chamber of secrets, and one right under her ass. Sexy,
. Demure and ladylike, most decidedly
Chloe had complied with the wardrobe change—often it was easiest to just let Monica have her way—but refused to budge when it came to the zippers. “Just an inch or two?” Monica had pleaded. “This skirt is so hot when it looks like you’re about to flash your lady bits. Come on, Chloe!”
“Forget it, Monica. It’s not that I’m shy, but I look like a hooker already! I don’t want to look like a half-price hooker.”
“Yeah, well, hookers
, Chloe. Did you ever think about that? They sell sex and they look sexy. It wouldn’t hurt to take a page from their style book every now and then.”
“I felt perfectly sexy in my jeans. Unless I’m mistaken, you were the one with the self-esteem issue, Monica. Although I see now that that’s fully resolved.”
Monica had grinned and fluffed her golden-red waves, and had hoisted her ample breasts together to admire her cleavage. “I do look good, don’t I?” She’d chuckled. Chloe had to agree that Monica was gorgeous—she looked better than she ever had. The one-shouldered mint dress she wore perfectly showed off her lush curves. Her braless tits swayed enticingly beneath the folds of soft green, and her erect nipples created sharp peaks in the thin fabric of her bodice. A criss-crossed ribbon belt lightly defined her waist and gave her dress a bit of a Greek toga feel. Chloe had been more than a little annoyed that Monica’s hemline was significantly longer than her own. It fell to just above her knees. “You look all nice and dressy,” Chloe had protested, “but I look like somebody who ought to be leaning against a street sign. It’s not fair.”