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The Fifth Floor: Jess Saunders adventure begins…

Let’s go to the The Fifth Floor  (The Perfect Submissive #trilogy- Book One) and meet Miss Jess Sanders as she starts her adventure into the (so far unknown) world of the BDSM submissive…

Blurb

Hidden behind the respectable façade of the Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire, five specially adapted rooms await visitors to the fifth floor. Here, Mrs Peters is mistress of an adult entertainment facility pandering to the kinky requirements of its guests. When she meets Jess Sanders, she recognises the young woman’s potential as a deliciously meek addition to her specialist staff. All it will take is a little education.

Under the tutelage of dominatrix, Miss Sarah, Jess learns to cope with an erotically demanding training schedule and a truly sexy exercise regime. But will she come to terms with her new career?

Meanwhile, Mrs Peters is temporarily distracted from her intimidating rule over Fables’ fifth floor by artist, Sam Wheeler – who she believes can help her in her mission to transform Jess into the perfect submissive…

Here’s a tasty taster…

…Jess was sat at her desk, a half eaten sandwich in one hand; the fingers of her other hand dancing over the computer keyboard. Laura watched her through the office window for a few moments before confidently stepping into the room, interrupting the clerk without hesitation. ‘Mr Davies informs me he has not yet had time to complete your preliminary tour of the hotel.’

Understanding precisely where the manageress intended to take her, Jess spoke carefully, ‘I’ve seen most of it, but not all.’

Without confirming the clerk’s suspicions, Laura said, ‘I have a few moments, so if you’d like to walk this way I’ll complete that area of your training.’ She pointed towards the office door, ‘You are bound to be asked for directions around the place by our guests and it doesn’t look very professional if a member of staff gets lost herself, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would, Mrs Peters.’

Although she’d now worked at the Fables for just over a week, Jess still hadn’t looked her boss in the eye once, a fact that sent a buzz of conviction through Mrs Peters; her initial instincts about the girl had been correct.

‘Are you happy here so far, Miss Sanders?’

‘Yes, Mrs Peters. Thank you.’ Jess muttered her response, almost managing to glance directly at her superior, but falling short at her shoulders. Laura’s heartbeat increased in response to the girl’s natural deference. Jess Sanders was just so perfect for what she had in mind.

As they walked towards the staff lift Laura attempted to improve the flow of conversation, ‘And I don’t think you have yet been introduced to all the other members of staff?’

‘Not yet, no.’ Again Jess spoke cautiously, and Laura knew from the expression on her face that she was both fearful and curious about meeting anyone who kept their business arrangements entirely to the Fables upper storey.

‘We are one member of staff down at the moment; one of my assistants has left us for pastures new. I’m searching for a replacement. Master Lee Philips, who works in the bar downstairs, helps me out as and when required, but it’s not an ideal arrangement. He has many other duties, and besides, the fifth floor guests frequently prefer the female touch.’

Following the clerk into the lift it was obvious that no small talk was going to come from her, so Laura calmly kept up her commentary. ‘My associate, Miss Sarah, should be on the premises by 10.00 each morning, unless she has had a complete night session, in which case she is not expected until 2.00 p.m. As I’ve said, Master Philips comes and goes, depending on our requirements and his bar and reception work. Miss Sarah has her first session of the day in a few moments, if we are lucky we should just catch the show.’

Visibly shrinking back, Jess noticed how Mrs Peters walked a little taller now they’d reached her domain. Her face was more set, her back straighter, and somehow she appeared even more intimidating than before. Pushing her hands into the deep pockets of her clinging knee-length black skirt, Jess hid the growing sheen of perspiration on her palms, while trying to ignore the fearful beat of her pulse.

Crossing the threshold of the room, into which she was being firmly steered by the elbow, felt like entering another world to Jess, or rather, another time. Manoeuvred towards a plush red velvet chaise longue, her eyes darting here and there, the clerk was pointedly sat down.

Trying to ignore the light but persistent pressure of Mrs Peters cool hand against her wrist, Jess took in the reproduction William Morris wallpaper, the heavy dark-wood chest of drawers, the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the faded brown leather wing-backed armchair. Centre stage, only a few metres from where they sat, was a huge writing desk. Its top was inlaid with a square of leather, a portion of which was covered with blotting paper, an accompanying ink well, pots of ink, and nibbed pens.

Jess was reminded of a museum she’d once visited as a child, where rooms from a variety of different houses had been re-created from a number of historical periods. This room had Victorian study written all over it.

The silence was beginning to get to her as she waited, perched rather than sat, on the unyielding seat. A faint voice of hope at the back of her head kept telling her that all this had to be some sort of practical joke, but one glance at Mrs Peters made Jess reconsider. Her eyes kept drifting towards the study door. Whatever she had been brought here to witness surely couldn’t begin until someone came in. Twenty seconds later, each one ticked off by the hammer of Jess’s heart beating, the door swung back with a confident push.

‘Ah, Miss Sarah,’ Laura rose from her seat, a stern glare at Jess telling her not to move. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Fables has a new member of staff, and I thought it would be a good idea to let her observe one of our sessions.’

Miss Sarah, her face powdered to an ultra-pale complexion, her curling hair pinned up in the style of a Victorian lady, her exquisite outfit historically accurate down to the small white buttons that fastened her stylish black boots, curtsied at once to her superior, ‘Of course, Mrs Peters.’

The stunningly slim woman glanced briefly at Jess, her grey gaze only lingering long enough to acknowledge the stranger, without taking in what she looked like or who she might be. Miss Sarah’s indifference, dismissing the office clerk as an unimportant factor in the room, made Jess feel smaller and more anxious than ever.

The agonising lull continued and Jess’s imagination began to run riot as Miss Sarah sat at the desk in preparation for her client’s arrival. Images of pock-skinned overweight men, panting loudly as they fucked the employees of the fifth floor against the furniture made Jess’s stomach churn, but there was no way out. With a quiet determination that Mrs Peters would have been surprised to know Jess possessed, she thought, if the other members of staff here have survived this part of the tour, then so can I.

As Mrs Peters returned to both the chaise lounge and her application of gentle restraint against the clerk’s arm, Jess’s body stiffened. Someone was knocking on the door. Not daring to face her employer, Jess focused on the figure that, after being granted permission to enter, walked meekly into the study.

If he hadn’t had his neck bent, his face to the floor with respect for Miss Sarah, who greeted him with a sharp ‘Good Morning’, Jess judged he would have been quite tall. And he was young; not the sweaty, aged bank manager Jess had conjured up in her head, but a man in his late 20s or early 30s, with a shaven face, short spiked ginger hair, and well built limbs. He was dressed as a servant, perhaps a stable hand. Jess was automatically reminded of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Gulping against her dehydrated throat, unwilling to see the sex that she was sure was about to follow, the clerk dropped her eyes, only to have her chin roughly jerked upwards by Mrs Peters, ‘No, child. You will observe. You will learn.’

A patina of panic gripped Jess. Every hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. Until that moment it had been unreal. She hadn’t let go of the hope that at any minute someone was going to turn around and say, ‘OK, Jess, it’s just a joke. We play it on all the new girls. Let’s grab a coffee.’ No one did though. No one was saying anything…

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
Apple Books UK
Apple Books US
Kobo
Smashwords

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xxxx

 

Opening Lines: The Voyeur

It’s #openinglines time! 

Take five minutes out of your day to enjoy the first 500 words of my dark romance novel, The Voyeur!

BLURB

Wealthy businessman and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy – Fantasy 13 – can take place.

But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does the Bridge’s Gentleman’s Club, Anya’s previous employer, have over Mark? A place Anya was only too delighted to escape from.

In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they’d left behind them all over again; and while they do, Mark will watch…

FIRST 500 WORDS

Chapter One

His evening meal complete, Mark Parker sat back, contentedly sipping his deliberately bitter black coffee. Pulling a small, battered notebook from his pocket, he flicked impatiently thorough several pages of his looped handwriting . His self-restraint, although immense, was beginning to run out.

It was time for them to progress to the end of the list.

Summoning his personal assistant, Anya, and his housekeeper, Clara, to the dining room, Mark allowed himself an internal smile. The women arrived swiftly, both aware of the importance of not keeping him waiting.

Standing on the opposite side of the highly polished dining room table, he observed as his employees visibly braced themselves for the coming instructions.

‘I have decided that we’ll take a trip to Discreet this evening. It is time we turned our attention to the next challenge on my list. Fantasy 12.’ Mark’s cool blue eyes watched; weighing up the reaction of his staff to his announcement.

Discreet was the reason that Mark spent such a large proportion of time in his London flat, rather than in his mini-mansion in Oxfordshire, where his software business was based. It was only at Discreet, the most exclusive of the city’s BDSM clubs, that his increasingly imaginative fantasies could be publicly appreciated; most of which involved the intimate observation of other people’s erotic aspirations. Mark Parker was the ultimate voyeur.

Trying hard not to exchange glances with her colleague, Anya could sense the stiffening of Clara’s body as they listened to their boss. She knew that the housekeeper’s mind, like her own, would already be racing; madly trying to guess what Mark’s latest erotic scenario would involve. Having survived fantasies one to eleven, the women had no illusions about the nature of the challenges they were likely to experience during the evening that loomed ominously ahead.

‘Anya, you will be less delighted than Clara, perhaps, when I tell you that this trip is intended as a lesson for you; possibly a punishment.’

Forgetting herself for a second, the PA lifted her head and stared Mark squarely in the face.

His lips smiled; his eyes, however, did not. ‘You wonder why? Why, when you are forever questioning my instructions?’

‘But Mark, I …’ Anya stopped talking, aware that by asking the question “why” she was simply proving his point. She could feel her nipples hardened beneath her white shirt, as Mark continued to speak.

‘Oh my dear Anya, you may never question me out loud.’ Mark’s voice was as soft as velvet, yet the potential danger of disagreeing with him shone in his eyes. ‘But I know that you constantly query my actions by your reaction to them. Subconscious or not, it has to stop.’

Anya couldn’t believe it; she had always been so dutiful. The perfect assistant. The willing and compliant slave. How could Mark possibly know she privately questioned her existence; her choice at being here with him and Clara, living this less than ordinary existence?

Mark took a step closer to his …

***

If you’d like to read on, then you can find The Voyeur in ebook form from the following retailers…

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Apple Books UK
Apple Books US
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Smashwords

Happy reading,

Kay x

Tasty Taster: The New Room

This week I’m offering a little ‘Tasty Taster’ from the novella length, finale to the Perfect Submissive series, The New Room

Blurb

A Perfect Submissive Series short story. (Following on from The Perfect Submissive Trilogy)

Resident submissive of the Fables Hotel’s adult entertainment floor, Miss Jess Sanders, has been instructed to test out the new facility that her manageress, Mrs Peters, has designed for the sexual pleasure of her clients.

With a dungeon, Victorian study, medical bay, school room, and the daunting White Room already available for their guests, Jess can’t begin to imagine what lies behind the innocent looking door to the fifth floor’s new room.

Under the supervision of the dominatrix, Miss Sarah, as Jess steps into the new room, she quickly discovers she is about to experience far more than she bargained for… at freezing temperatures.

With the feeling that she’s acting in a play that everyone knows the script to but her, the Fables’ perfect submissive is challenged to the limit in Mrs Peters’ new room, and beyond…

Extract

Her instructions had been to go through the door, walk three paces forward, and then stand and wait inside the fifth floor’s latest facility.

Frost was already crusting over Jess’ shoulders, and the dampness of anticipation that gathered at her crotch prickled as it chilled against her surrounding’s winter-like caress. Her eyes stung with as she blinked into the stark brightness of the space, but as Jess’ hands had been secured behind her back, she couldn’t rub them better.

As the submissive looked about her, she saw that not only could the discerning paying guest at the hotel enjoy the delights of a pseudo-school room, a Victorian study, a dungeon, a medical bay, and the intimidating White Room; they could now experience icy arousal in a fairy-tale style snow grotto.

The ceiling and walls had been studded with crystals and draped with shimmering chiffon fabric that took away the room’s rectangular proportions, making the space feel cavernous. Tiny silver fairy-lights sparkled like glitter, while genuine ice granules clung to every surface, including the fake snow that made a distinct crunch beneath Jess’ strappy silver heels.

Having been stripped of all her clothes by a silent Mrs Peters, prior to being thrust across the new room’s threshold, Jess had been surprised that she’d been allowed her to keep her shoes on. Now she understood why. Only the heavy silver and green velvet robe that had been hung around her naked shoulders gave the submissive any level of protection against the all-invading cold. If she’d had to stand on bare feet in the room, even after all her endurance training, Jess wouldn’t have lasted for more than a few minutes before she had frost bitten soles and toes.

Surveying her surroundings more thoroughly, Jess was just contemplating how easy it would be to hide instruments of sexual play and deprivation between the fake cavern walls and the real walls, when she became aware of the sound of a faint hum…

The distinct brrring vibration of a refrigeration unit.

No wonder it felt so arctic; the room was literally a freezer.

A freezer that held nothing but two chairs, that sat in the very centre of the frost-crisped pseudo-cave.

One seat was more like a fairytale throne than a chair. Made of wrought iron and painted silver, its high back was decorated with intricate butterfly and flower shapes. Well padded with plush, silver satin cushions over the back and seat, Jess already knew it was far too comfortable to have been placed in the room for her use.

The chair to the throne’s right was stark by comparison. Wooden and straight backed; it had been painted plain white and held neither ornamentation nor cushions. That’s where I’ll have to sit, Jess thought, if I’m permitted to sit at all.

The crunch of snow being scraped behind her told Jess that someone had opened the door. She didn’t turn to see who it as. She knew better than that.

A pair of hands came to her shoulders, but the heavy fabric of her cloak prevented Jess from being able to tell whose grip it was. Mrs Peters had told her this was to be the first staff training session in this room; therefore the hands had to belong to a member of the Fables staff. The tone of the breathing behind her, combined with the size of the handhold, informed Jess the newcomer was male. That meant it had to be either Master Lee Philips, the barman and occasional helper on the fifth floor, or Mr Sam Wheeler, Mrs Peters’ personal slave, business partner, and professional artist.

The hands didn’t move from their position on Jess’s shoulders as the whirr of the generator was abruptly drowned out by the activation of some ethereal music from a speaker hidden between the folds of the fake ceiling. The haunting Celtic lyrics drifted into Jess’ ears, adding to the eerie atmosphere and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the unknown person stepped closer to her back.

With each fresh second that passed, Jess had the uneasy feeling that she’d walked into the throne room of the Snow Queen – a wicked Snow Queen.

The masculine hands moved slowly. The confidence of touch that Jess had come to recognise from the men on the Fables staff was missing. As the palms slid down her arms, ducking beneath her cloak, the visitor took each of the submissive’s tethered wrists in his hands, and briskly marched Jess forward.

The submissive’s mind raced. Who is this man?…

Buy from

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

“Fans of The Perfect Submissive series rejoice. This is the novella we’ve been longing for. I won’t spoil it but this story had me bouncing with glee. All of your favourite characters make an appearance and as you would expect, the scenes are intense and exciting. A big thumbs up and sexy striptease for this wonderful short story.” Goodreads 

Happy reading.

Kay xx

Tiny Taster: The Retreat

This weekend I thought I’d tempt you to a ‘Tiny Taster’ from The Retreat – the middle novel in The Perfect Submissive Trilogy.

Continuing the story of Miss Jess Sanders journey through the world of the professional submissive, The Retreat takes her away from the life she has only just been getting used to…

Blurb-

Just as Jess is beginning to relax into her new life as a submissive at The Fables Hotel, her employer Mrs Peters announces that she is loaning both Jess, and her dominatrix Miss Sarah, to one of their most demanding clients; Mr David Proctor.

Whisked away by the mysterious Kane to The Retreat, hidden in a remote part of Scotland, Jess and Miss Sarah find themselves teaching another submissive to meet Proctor’s exacting rules.

As Jess comes to terms with the techniques of The Retreat Mistress, and the strictly overpowering dominatrix Lady Tia, she discovers that Proctor’s motives may not be all they seem.

Just who or what is Fairtasia? And why does Jess feel like she’s walked into a warped fairy tale?

In order to get back to The Fables, Jess is going to have to be more than just a perfect submissive…

Here’s a tiny taster from the beginning of The Retreat to whet your appetite…

…With his ego growing almost as much as his cock, as it pushed against the inside of his suit trousers, David crouched down beside the girl. Her bare buttocks bore the pleasing marks of his palm. The fading prints were pink now, but they’d blazed red only moments ago, as he’d held her across his lap, spanking her backside again and again in punishment for her repeated disobedience.

Her breasts, the perfect handful, were dotted with freckles, and as his mind considered all the things a willing slave could do for him, and he could do to her, he lifted her lowered head by the chin.

‘But you refuse to climax when I tell you to.’ David’s voice wasn’t angry, but it was hard. He was, and would always be the unyielding business man. If there was nothing in any arrangement for him, it wouldn’t happen.

‘I want to though Sir. I really want to, I just…I wait so long for permission, and then, I just can’t. I am so sorry, I…’

‘SShhhh.’ David stroked his hand through the wisps of her hair that had escaped her hooked up ponytail. She intrigued him.

The Retreat did need a new submissive, and quickly if his business plans were to expand in the direction he intended them to. The man Fairtasia was sending to represent them was due any day now, and not long after that their delegates would arrive.

‘Please Sir?’ Her blue eyes seemed impossibly wide as stayed still, her bare legs against the cold stone kitchen floor proving how good her stamina was, ‘Lady Tia could teach me.’

‘Training.’ David spoke the word slowly as if to himself, mulling each letter over in thought, but the young cook leapt upon the word.

‘Yes Sir! Dr Ewen says Lady Tia is the best dominatrix in her field.’

‘Umm. She is indeed, but…’ The Retreats new owner reached his uncallused hands to her tits, and felt a surge of satisfaction as the nipples pressed back persuasively against his skin, ‘I’m not sure Lady Tia’s field of expertise will be sufficient in this case. Spankings and beatings you can obviously already take.’

The girl lowered her face again. There was no doubt she was submissive material- and yet not quite. Her deference to him however, and his urgent need for a female submissive on his staff made David’s mind up for him.

‘I think it’s time I contacted a friend in England. I’m sure she’ll send us the help we need.’ Manipulating the cooks chest with greater pressure, enjoying pushing a gasp of pain tinged pleasure come from her lips, David’s round face gave a calculating smile…

If you’d like to read The Retreat, you can find it in e-format at all good retailers, including-

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

Happy reading,

Kay xx

Tasty Taster: The Fifth Floor

This weekend, let’s go to the The Fifth Floor  (The Perfect Submissive #trilogy- Book One) and meet Miss Jess Sanders as she starts her adventure into the (so far unknown) world of the BDSM submissive…

Blurb

Hidden behind the respectable façade of the Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire, five specially adapted rooms await visitors to the fifth floor. Here, Mrs Peters is mistress of an adult entertainment facility pandering to the kinky requirements of its guests. When she meets Jess Sanders, she recognises the young woman’s potential as a deliciously meek addition to her specialist staff. All it will take is a little education.

Under the tutelage of dominatrix, Miss Sarah, Jess learns to cope with an erotically demanding training schedule and a truly sexy exercise regime. But will she come to terms with her new career?

Meanwhile, Mrs Peters is temporarily distracted from her intimidating rule over Fables’ fifth floor by artist, Sam Wheeler – who she believes can help her in her mission to transform Jess into the perfect submissive…

Here’s a tasty taster…

…Jess was sat at her desk, a half eaten sandwich in one hand; the fingers of her other hand dancing over the computer keyboard. Laura watched her through the office window for a few moments before confidently stepping into the room, interrupting the clerk without hesitation. ‘Mr Davies informs me he has not yet had time to complete your preliminary tour of the hotel.’

Understanding precisely where the manageress intended to take her, Jess spoke carefully, ‘I’ve seen most of it, but not all.’

Without confirming the clerk’s suspicions, Laura said, ‘I have a few moments, so if you’d like to walk this way I’ll complete that area of your training.’ She pointed towards the office door, ‘You are bound to be asked for directions around the place by our guests and it doesn’t look very professional if a member of staff gets lost herself, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would, Mrs Peters.’

Although she’d now worked at the Fables for just over a week, Jess still hadn’t looked her boss in the eye once, a fact that sent a buzz of conviction through Mrs Peters; her initial instincts about the girl had been correct.

‘Are you happy here so far, Miss Sanders?’

‘Yes, Mrs Peters. Thank you.’ Jess muttered her response, almost managing to glance directly at her superior, but falling short at her shoulders. Laura’s heartbeat increased in response to the girl’s natural deference. Jess Sanders was just so perfect for what she had in mind.

As they walked towards the staff lift Laura attempted to improve the flow of conversation, ‘And I don’t think you have yet been introduced to all the other members of staff?’

‘Not yet, no.’ Again Jess spoke cautiously, and Laura knew from the expression on her face that she was both fearful and curious about meeting anyone who kept their business arrangements entirely to the Fables upper storey.

‘We are one member of staff down at the moment; one of my assistants has left us for pastures new. I’m searching for a replacement. Master Lee Philips, who works in the bar downstairs, helps me out as and when required, but it’s not an ideal arrangement. He has many other duties, and besides, the fifth floor guests frequently prefer the female touch.’

Following the clerk into the lift it was obvious that no small talk was going to come from her, so Laura calmly kept up her commentary. ‘My associate, Miss Sarah, should be on the premises by 10.00 each morning, unless she has had a complete night session, in which case she is not expected until 2.00 p.m. As I’ve said, Master Philips comes and goes, depending on our requirements and his bar and reception work. Miss Sarah has her first session of the day in a few moments, if we are lucky we should just catch the show.’

Visibly shrinking back, Jess noticed how Mrs Peters walked a little taller now they’d reached her domain. Her face was more set, her back straighter, and somehow she appeared even more intimidating than before. Pushing her hands into the deep pockets of her clinging knee-length black skirt, Jess hid the growing sheen of perspiration on her palms, while trying to ignore the fearful beat of her pulse.

Crossing the threshold of the room, into which she was being firmly steered by the elbow, felt like entering another world to Jess, or rather, another time. Manoeuvred towards a plush red velvet chaise longue, her eyes darting here and there, the clerk was pointedly sat down.

Trying to ignore the light but persistent pressure of Mrs Peters cool hand against her wrist, Jess took in the reproduction William Morris wallpaper, the heavy dark-wood chest of drawers, the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the faded brown leather wing-backed armchair. Centre stage, only a few metres from where they sat, was a huge writing desk. Its top was inlaid with a square of leather, a portion of which was covered with blotting paper, an accompanying ink well, pots of ink, and nibbed pens.

Jess was reminded of a museum she’d once visited as a child, where rooms from a variety of different houses had been re-created from a number of historical periods. This room had Victorian study written all over it.

The silence was beginning to get to her as she waited, perched rather than sat, on the unyielding seat. A faint voice of hope at the back of her head kept telling her that all this had to be some sort of practical joke, but one glance at Mrs Peters made Jess reconsider. Her eyes kept drifting towards the study door. Whatever she had been brought here to witness surely couldn’t begin until someone came in. Twenty seconds later, each one ticked off by the hammer of Jess’s heart beating, the door swung back with a confident push.

‘Ah, Miss Sarah,’ Laura rose from her seat, a stern glare at Jess telling her not to move. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Fables has a new member of staff, and I thought it would be a good idea to let her observe one of our sessions.’

Miss Sarah, her face powdered to an ultra-pale complexion, her curling hair pinned up in the style of a Victorian lady, her exquisite outfit historically accurate down to the small white buttons that fastened her stylish black boots, curtsied at once to her superior, ‘Of course, Mrs Peters.’

The stunningly slim woman glanced briefly at Jess, her grey gaze only lingering long enough to acknowledge the stranger, without taking in what she looked like or who she might be. Miss Sarah’s indifference, dismissing the office clerk as an unimportant factor in the room, made Jess feel smaller and more anxious than ever.

The agonising lull continued and Jess’s imagination began to run riot as Miss Sarah sat at the desk in preparation for her client’s arrival. Images of pock-skinned overweight men, panting loudly as they fucked the employees of the fifth floor against the furniture made Jess’s stomach churn, but there was no way out. With a quiet determination that Mrs Peters would have been surprised to know Jess possessed, she thought, if the other members of staff here have survived this part of the tour, then so can I.

As Mrs Peters returned to both the chaise lounge and her application of gentle restraint against the clerk’s arm, Jess’s body stiffened. Someone was knocking on the door. Not daring to face her employer, Jess focused on the figure that, after being granted permission to enter, walked meekly into the study.

If he hadn’t had his neck bent, his face to the floor with respect for Miss Sarah, who greeted him with a sharp ‘Good Morning’, Jess judged he would have been quite tall. And he was young; not the sweaty, aged bank manager Jess had conjured up in her head, but a man in his late 20s or early 30s, with a shaven face, short spiked ginger hair, and well built limbs. He was dressed as a servant, perhaps a stable hand. Jess was automatically reminded of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Gulping against her dehydrated throat, unwilling to see the sex that she was sure was about to follow, the clerk dropped her eyes, only to have her chin roughly jerked upwards by Mrs Peters, ‘No, child. You will observe. You will learn.’

A patina of panic gripped Jess. Every hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. Until that moment it had been unreal. She hadn’t let go of the hope that at any minute someone was going to turn around and say, ‘OK, Jess, it’s just a joke. We play it on all the new girls. Let’s grab a coffee.’ No one did though. No one was saying anything…

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
Apple Books UK
Apple Books US
Kobo
Smashwords

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xxxx

 

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