Tasting Pleasure (22 page)

“Why do you care?”

“Because even though she hated me, and I wasn’t all that fond of her, I don’t want to see any harm come to her,” she replied truthfully. The idea of anyone suffering tore at her heart.

“Megan overstepped her bounds—certainly with you, but in other ways as well. I gave her a choice. She could either leave me entirely or submit to an intense submissive training program.” He hesitated and looked down. “I care about Megan. She truly does have a kind heart. When she first came to me as a model she laughed often and had a sparkling personality. Last night she admitted that she was no longer happy as a companion. She is unsure if she is simply unhappy with me or with the lifestyle.”

“What was her decision?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet. That, also, is a big decision. I gave her a week to consider. If I don’t hear from her, I’ll know she has decided to leave me, which is what I suspect she will do.”

“But doesn’t she work for you as well? Won’t she be out of a job?” Alicia probed.

“Yes and no. She will no longer be working for me, but that ended last week due to other issues. She is, however, a much sought-after model. I gave her a letter of glowing recommendation and will certainly be happy to give references to any other prospective employers. In fact I’ve had two artists call about her already.”

“That’s good. I would hate to see her destitute.” Alicia shivered slightly. “I remember very well having to worry over every single purchase.”

“Megan does not have to worry about that. She actually has no need to work at all. She had an uncle who passed away a few years back and left all his worldly goods to her. She has a substantial income independent of her career,” he supplied. “Any more questions?”

“Well…” she hesitated.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“What about my career? I mean Tasting Pleasure is going well now and I so enjoy the work.”

“Then by all means continue. As I said, nothing has to change except your title. Think of it this way. In a marriage, a traditional marriage, the people involved generally do not change personalities, careers, habits. All that changes is the woman’s name, her title.” He ran a hand down her hair, picking up a lock and gently twirling it through his fingers. “Your cooking talents are extraordinary and any fool could see how much enjoyment you derive from the work. My goal is to see you happy. Still, are you sure you enjoy every part of the business?”

Alicia hesitated. “You have a point. The paperwork, the accounts, the numbers. I’ve always had trouble with the business side of things. I think I give a fair product at a fair price, but keeping track of it all— Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by it.”

“Why have you not come to me for help?” he asked with a slightly hurt edge to his voice.

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” she whispered.

“Alicia, I will never interfere with your work, you know that. But helping you with the books would be a small matter for me. If you trust me to do it, I’d be happy to take over that task for you. In all honesty,” he smiled, “I like working with numbers. There is a logic and symmetry to them that appeals to me.”

Alicia closed her eyes in gratitude. “That would be fabulous, Maverick. I’ve been afraid that I’ll screw everything up just because I can’t keep my accounts straight.”

“I have some time this afternoon. Why don’t we get started then?” he asked.

“Thanks.” Suddenly Alicia realized she had used his first name. “Oh my, Mr. Devonshire, I just called you…”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But we were discussing business. Think nothing of it. Back to the matter at hand, though. Any other questions?”

“Would I continue to live here?”

“If you like. Or you could move in with me and occupy the room next to the playroom. Or Paul has stated that you are welcome to live with him as well. I leave that decision to you.”

Alicia considered. “Perhaps a compromise.”

“Go on.”

“I think this should be my main residence. After all, I do run Tasting Pleasure from here. Also it allows some degree of privacy. But I will give a key to both you and Paul so you will have access to me whenever you wish.” She paused again. “If it is agreed, though, maybe I could leave a few items at each of your homes—a toothbrush, change of clothes, hairbrush. That way if you’d like to me stay for a while, I could.”

Mr. Devonshire cupped her face in his hand. “An excellent suggestion. Except you will not bring anything to our homes. Instead, we will provide you with anything and everything you need. Clothing, personal care items, jewelry, bedding—everything. If you belong to us, your care is our responsibility. I will prepare the room for your use. Paul has already furnished his guest bedroom for you.”

“Oh,” she was stunned. “Okay. One more question.”

“Yes?”

“I am going to assume that my new status will have some marking, if not a tattoo.”

“Certainly.”

“What will it be?” she asked hesitantly.

“In truth, Alicia, I was hoping you would agree, so I registered you last week. Nonetheless, you should still feel free to decline. I can always cancel the registration.” He ran his thumb along her jawline.

How does this man know me so well?
she wondered.

“Wait here a moment. I have a gift for you.” He kissed her and went into the other room to return a moment later carrying a small box wrapped in gold paper and sporting a bright blue bow. He placed the gift in her lap.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Open it.”

Giggling with anticipation, she untied the ribbon and ripped off the paper. She held a small, blue velvet jewelry box. She opened the hinged lid and gasped. Inside lay a lovely gold anklet. Tiny golden bells lined the chain, and a small round medallion dangled close to the clasp. Inspecting this more closely revealed an edging of dark blue sapphires and a number engraved onto the center of the circle, 927-513-908. Alicia was stunned.

“If you choose to accept your sexual slave status, you will wear this anklet. If, though, you wish to negate that status, even temporarily, simply remove the anklet. The choice is yours, just as the choice to become a companion or use the safe word was yours. You will, naturally, still be able to use that word whenever you decide.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

“Also inside the box is a small piece of paper. It is the website of the registry. You will, if you want this, go to that registry and fill in your information. I have naturally completed the basic application, including a lovely picture from last night, but have left the details to you.”

Still Alicia was silent. Did she want this?

“You may wear the anklet as much or as little as you like,” Mr. Devonshire assured her. “Why don’t you take a few days to consider?”

But she did not need a few days. She knew her own mind and her options. She removed the anklet from the box and hooked the clasp around her left ankle. The bells gave a pleasant jingling sound. Alicia knew that even the slightest movement would set them off, thereby alerting her Master to her movements. Once the symbol of her new status was attached, she slid to the floor to kneel before Mr. Devonshire.

“I need no time, Sir. I belong to you and to Paul. I have for quite some time. Truthfully, I am not complete without you. On the days when I am not with you or him, I am destitute with loneliness.” She looked up at him with a new confidence. “My skin craves the taste of leather. My mind seeks commands. When I am with you, singly or together, I am whole.” She bent her head to rub her cheek against his leg.

“Ah, Alicia,” he said, petting her head, “you have made me a very happy man.”

“And I, Sir, am a very happy slave,” she said before taking his manhood into her mouth.

This, she thought, was the ultimate in Tasting Pleasure.

Epilogue

“Alicia!” Maverick shouted, running a hand through his hair. “You have everything! For God’s sake, woman, you’ve packed and repacked at least five times.”

“I know, but I haven’t seen Jo in years. I’m just really nervous. What if she doesn’t like me?” Alicia ran her long braid nervously through her hands.

“Then she wouldn’t be worth this anxiety, my love,” Maverick stated simply. He gathered his wife into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You are a brilliant cook, a highly intelligent woman, and possess one of the kindest souls I’ve ever been fortunate enough to encounter.”

Alicia looked up at her husband. “Thank you, Sir. Have I told you how happy you’ve made me by agreeing to this trip?”

Maverick chuckled. “Only a few dozen times. And I’ve told you, I’m thrilled to have this opportunity. Not only will we be able to reunite with your cousin, her husband and their friends, but I will have the opportunity to photograph an area few people in England know of.”

“Not just England. Many people back in the States are unfamiliar with Giant City. Southern Illinois is known primarily for its corn and bean fields, not wineries, incredible natural rock formations and rich Native American history,” she stated. “I just can’t seem to stop feeling so nervous about seeing Jo again. We were close as children, but we lost contact after my dad left his position at University of Illinois at Springfield and became the head of the Native American studies in Carbondale.”

“Well, from the letter and e-mails she’s sent, your cousin is quite eager to meet you. I have no doubt this reunion will go well,” he assured her. “However,” he stated, his voice taking on a sterner tone, “I believe I should do something about your anxiety.”

Alicia, immediately sensing his change of mood, dropped her eyes and answered, “As you wish, Sir.”

“Strip.”

Alicia pulled her dress over her head. Chancing a quick glance at her husband of one year, she sighed. He was so incredibly handsome. She still sometimes wanted to pinch herself, thinking that she was in a dream rather than living as the wife of such a strong, loving man. Seeing his slight frown, she realized that he was well aware of her woolgathering. Quickly, she stepped out of her knickers while unhooking her bra. Mr. Devonshire sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. Unhesitatingly, Alicia positioned herself over his legs.

Ten minutes later, Alicia’s bum throbbed, her nether lips dripped with their own juices and all the stress and tension of the trip had left her body. She felt her husband’s fingers slid into her wetness. She closed her eyes, enraptured with his attentions. She squeezed her muscles as he worked his fingers into her core. Mere moments later, bright pink exploded behind her eyelids as she cried out her release. When her breathing returned to normal, she slid to the floor and looked up at him.

“Please, Sir. Let me thank you,” she begged.

Maverick considered, then licked his fingers and stood. Alicia held her breath. Lately, he had devised a new way to torture her. Denial.

“I don’t think so, my love. I believe I shall make you wait until we land on your native soil before allowing you to thank me. That way you’ll have something to think about and look forward to,” he explained.

He helped her to her feet, kissed her soundly, and said, “Now, put your dress back on, but no underclothing. We need to leave very soon if we don’t want to be late for our flight.”

Alicia opened her mouth to object but her training over the last few years stopped her from speaking. She snapped her lips shut and nodded.

Maverick laughed heartily. “That’s my girl! I plan to have a very enjoyable trip.”

Alicia’s eyes widened. “You mean…” she whispered.

“Oh yes, little one,” he answered, smoothing her dress over her hips, “the flight from London to St. Louis should take around twelve hours. Even accounting for eight hours of sleep, that leaves four precious hours that I can finger your beautiful, wet pussy.”

“But what about the other passengers?”

Maverick’s eyes darkened. “I suggest you remain very quiet so as not to disturb them.”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered. “And Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Coming soon from Totally Bound Publishing:

Pleasure: What’s Your Pleasure

Anarie Brady

Released 9
th
February 2016

Excerpt

Chapter One

Butterballs Shot

1 ½ shots butterscotch schnapps

½ shot coffee liqueur

Serve in a double shot glass. Can be mixed, but better if layered with schnapps first, then topped with the coffee.

Vincent ran his hand through his brown hair and sighed. He had been sitting at his desk for two hours, trying to balance the books, but no matter how many times he crunched the numbers, they kept coming up short. What he needed to save Hot Shots was nothing short of a damn miracle. Flexing his broad shoulders, Vincent decided he could use another cup of coffee.

Pushing open his office door, he entered his bar. At ten in the morning, the place was closed for business, but he still felt a rush a pride as he glanced around the establishment. He’d purchased Hot Shots in the historic Soulard area of St. Louis ten years ago in an act of desperation. Despite his high-paying position as the head accountant at a large St. Louis-based company, the stress of corporate life had been slowly killing him. At the age of thirty-four, he had been diagnosed with high blood pressure and suffered an ulcer. Six months after the diagnosis, he’d quit his job and invested a good chunk of his savings in this bar. Up until recently, he’d been turning an easy profit, but since the recession, fewer and fewer patrons frequented the once-popular nightspot. At least his bar was still open. Many area businesses had been forced to close their doors.

He poured himself another cup of strong coffee and heard a knocking on the front door.