Bound to Him by Sharron KelleyWhile having sex with strangers to try to feel something in her life, Lucy meets Jonathan who changes everything by training her as a submissive and teaches her to feel again.
One Monday evening, however, she opens the door of yet another hotel room to find a man who takes her completely by surprise.
Jonathan was professional, handsome, confident, and the last type of man she would have expected to be reading profiles on a dating site. He also was the first man who had knocked on a door who did not sleep with her.
He didn't want an anonymous hookup; he wanted to know more about her.
At the end of the strange encounter he presents her with his card and a dinner invitation he knows she will accept. And then, after dinner, he presents her with something else to consider: a week with him, training as a submissive.
For seven days she spends all of her time with Jonathan, discovering things about herself and her desires that she never knew existed, and she begins to see that this is the life she wants. And she wants it with Jonathan, even if it means she must abide by his one boundary: she cannot fall in love with him.
Note: "Bound to Him" was originally released as "Freeing Lucy."
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Bound to Him (Sample Chapter)
From anonymous sex to submissive in training
© Sharron Kelley and Blushing Books, 2012-2013
The only emotion I felt when I opened the oily glass door to the lobby of the motel was surprise. Not surprise at the moldy stench or the dirty carpet or the "America's Most Wanted" aura surrounding the man at the check-in desk. I was surprised that I was surprised; I mean, what did I expect from a motel called The Back Door Inn? Chandeliers and a doorman? I knew better than that, and I knew I couldn't afford to be picky.
FBI Poster man looked me up and down as I walked toward the desk. I knew I looked out of place. I had on a conservative black skirt, a silk blouse buttoned up to the neck, and my hair was in a nondescript bun at the nape of my neck. Funny how I always dressed so conservatively. This man had probably seen all manner of women and men and not-quite-sures. And yet I always wanted to look like the woman I had been and not the woman I was. Maybe it would have made him more comfortable to know that my fishnets were tucked into my large purse, along with an arsenal of makeup, perfumes, and tacky, bling-embossed combs. If he had seen the underwear not sold at respectable department stores hidden under my clothing, I would not have seemed to him to be so out of place. But money is money no matter how tight a woman's bun, and the twenty-five dollars I tossed onto the greasy desk was enough to make him smile and hand me a key.
Room 123 was not too far down the hallway, but far enough from the desk to make me feel safer. Again, why did I care? I didn't know anyone in this neighborhood, and I would never see the check-in clerk again. Who cares who heard or saw me? But that wasn't the point, and all this thinking was not why I was here. I was here because I had to be, and I repeated the room numbers to myself in a whisper as I texted it to the phone number I had pre-programmed into my phone. The same message as always: Room 123. Five minutes. Knock seven times.
As soon as I walked into the small room, the first thing I did was strip off the comforter. I knew these places; they never washed the comforters. I pulled out a small bottle of antibacterial fabric refresher, hoping it would waft through the air enough to mask some of the stale smell in the room. Then I settled into the small bathroom. The routine was ingrained. Fishnet thigh-highs clipped to the garters, hair taken out of the bun and swept into a comb, makeup enhanced to comical proportions, and blouse unbuttoned to reveal the cleavage enhanced by the lace bra. Skirt waistband folded once, twice, to raise the hemline. And don't look in the mirror at the finished product.
The knocks - seven crisp sounds - signaled that transformation time was over. And the timing was perfect. It was enough time for me to become someone else, but not enough time for me to ask myself how the hell I got here.
The man who stood on the other side of the door surprised me. He was dressed in a suit, an expensive one. He was tall and lean and....elegant. I am certain he looked more out of place in the lobby than I had. But it wasn’t my place to ask questions. Besides, as long as we both got what we needed the rest didn’t matter. I opened the door wide and gave him a seductive smile as I reached out my hand to shake his. He gripped it tightly and for a little longer than was typical. I slid my hand from his and walked into the room, making sure to sway my hips. I sat on the edge of the bed and crossed my legs so that the lace edge of my stockings peeked out from below the hem of my skirt.
“Well, sir, what ARE we going to do with this room all to ourselves?” I traced my cleavage with my fingertips and arched an eyebrow. He was handsome........they weren’t always handsome. This was going to be an enjoyable way to soothe the craving. He just stood and looked at me, his expression unreadable. I felt my heart begin to pound, and I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, licking my lips unconsciously. I was nervous, and I had long since forgotten what that was like. I liked it...almost. And yet the man in the elegant suit had not moved.
Restless, I stood and walked toward him. He wanted to be immovable, but I wanted relief. I stood before him, challenging him a bit with my expression as I unbuttoned the blouse and let it drop to the floor. I reached back and unhooked my bra, then let it slowly slide down my arms and fall on top of the blouse. His gaze never flickered from my face. I took his hand and lifted it. For a moment I turned it over a couple of times, examining his fingers. Then I pulled it toward me, intending to cover my breast with it. I had almost succeeded, when he grabbed my wrist.
“No,” he said simply. “Not today.”
His voice was soft but authoritative. I felt my thighs clench in both arousal and frustration. Frustration won, and I pulled my hand from his and frowned. I turned my back and took a few steps back toward the bed. If he didn’t want to fuck, then what the hell was I doing here? For the first time in a long time I wondered if I should be afraid.
I felt him come up behind me, and he put a hand on my shoulder and leaned his mouth toward my ear. “Please do not be offended. I do very much want to fuck you. But that will not happen today. Today I have some things to say.”
A shiver went down my neck and my nipples hardened. All of my attention focused on the warmth of his hand. That simple touch felt soothing and powerful. And for a minute it sounded like a good idea. Talking was not usually something I wanted to do in these strange hotel rooms. But my body was infinitely needier than my mind now. He might be charming and handsome and interesting.....but I was horny and frustrated.
“Look,” I said, turning. “You are a very handsome man, and you are probably a master of conversation, but I didn’t come here to be sociable. I came here to be fucked. If you aren’t going to do it, I have the room for the night, and I can probably find someone to be here in a half hour who will. Maybe you can find a woman to talk to at the bar down the street.” I arched an eyebrow again. “So maybe you should just go on down the street and let me call someone who can get the job done.”
In an instant, he pulled me toward him. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I held my breath. Instead, he clenched his jaw and walked me over to the chipped bedside table. He placed my hands one on top of the other on its surface and held them in place. With his other hand he hiked up my skirt and slapped my ass - hard - twice. Then he raised me up and sat me roughly on the edge of the bed, sitting beside me and holding both of my hands in place. I guess he knew part of me wanted to hit him back.
“You do not need another stranger. What you need is a dozen more slaps on your smart little ass. But first, we ARE going to talk.”
I pulled my hands from his and clenched them in my lap. “Great.....I guess I was overdue for some psycho,” I muttered.
The man in the suit laughed and lifted my chin. “You wish,” he said, grinning at me. Then his expression became serious. “What is such an articulate woman doing in this filthy room made up like some bad parody?”
Okay, I couldn’t deny the surroundings. I didn’t particularly like my outfit either. But it seemed to make the men I met hot, and when they were hot, they fucked me hard without trying to seduce me first. Besides, he didn’t have to be insulting. I stood up and paced a couple of times. Everything in me wanted to spit a bit more venom his way, but my ass was still warm from those two swats.
“I have never had any complaints before,” I said, sounding whinier than I intended. “most men seem to like having their own slut, and they don’t much care what the room is like as long as I make them come.”
“And is that what you want, to make them come?” He asked sincerely, walking toward me. “Do they make you come?”
I snorted. “Sure....I give them a real show.”
“So you fake it.”
“Who cares? They fuck me, I get them off, and if they don’t get me off I finish when they are gone. It’s better than...” I shrugged my shoulders and let the sentence hang there.
“Better than what?” He asked, and he seemed sincerely interested. He removed the garish comb and brushed my hair over my shoulder.
“Why do you care?” I said, meaning to be defiant, but I really wanted to know.
“Let’s sit down,” he said. He bent down and picked up my bra and blouse. He handed them to me and nodded, indicating that I should put them back on. I could feel myself blushing as I dressed. I wanted to turn my back to him, but my pride wouldn’t let me. I looked at his face the entire time I redressed, hoping that he wouldn’t notice I was looking at his chin and not his eyes. He took my hand once we sat, and then he asked, “Why do you do this?”
“Because....Because I need to be touched.” I answered simply.
“And this is your only option?”
“No...Yes....I need to be touched. I need to be fucked. I need to be desired.”
“What is your real name, Lucy?”
I never told anyone my real name. Most of the time the man didn’t ask. If he did, I distracted him with a giggle or a kiss or by taking his hard cock into my mouth. But this time I did.
“Carol, you are an attractive woman. This elaborate......method you have set up to meet this need you have tells me you are intelligent and creative. Surely you don’t have to do it this way?” He looked down at my hand and rubbed the left ring finger along the tan line. “Surely your husband....”
I pulled my hand away. “I don’t have a husband.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. The place where a ring seemed to belong, the secrecy.....I just assumed. Did he pass away?”
I closed my eyes because I felt tears, and tears were impossible. I breathed for just a moment...in, out, in, out. When I felt the tears recede, I looked at the man who knew my real name in the eye this time, not the chin.
“My husband is not dead. I am.”
I waited for a response, but the man was silent. I guess I should have expected it; my declaration had been nothing if not dramatic. And after years.......well, I was used to silence.
“Carol,” his voice was tender, and because of that I couldn’t look at him. “Carol,” he said again, taking both my hands.
“What is it?” I asked with a sigh, hoping like hell he was not going to pity me.
“You are not dead,” He said. He took his other hand and turned my face toward his. “You are not dead.”
Then he kissed me. It was a soft kiss, which surprised me, and my heart skipped. He grasped both my upper arms and held them at my sides as he continued to kiss me, wrapping his tongue around mine and then biting it gently. I leaned into him. He pulled me closer and put my hands behind my back, holding them together at the wrists with one hand. With his other hand he grasped my hair and kissed me harder, and I felt an ache between my legs. His hand slid down my neck, and he began to unbutton my blouse again. As soon as enough buttons were undone to make room for his hand to slip inside, he slipped inside and under the soft cup of my bra to find my breast. Then he squeezed it until I moaned. I pulled back to catch my breath.
“I thought you weren’t going to fuck me today,” I said, half playfully and half pleading.
“I’m not,” he said, his eyes serious. “I am going to show you that you are not dead.”
He leaned in to kiss me again, but before I could return the kiss his lips trailed down my neck as he finished the buttons on my blouse. He pulled it off and tossed it aside, and before I could free my hands to do it, he had flicked open my bra and was sliding it off as well. I arched into him with my chest, and he took a breast in each hand, kneading until it was only just a bit painful. Then he lowered his head and took a hard nipple into his mouth. He sucked and pulled outward until I could feel the wetness in my pussy through my panties, then he bit down on the hard nub, causing me to whimper. He repeated the process with the other breast, and I could feel my clit swollen and rubbing against the racy underwear. I reached for his jacket to pull it off his shoulders. He allowed me to do so, but then he placed my hands in my lap. He removed his tie, and then he leaned in to kiss me again. This time when he put my hands behind my back, he tied them securely with the tie. He helped me to stand, and he unzipped my skirt. It fell to the floor. He murmured approval at the sight of the wet satin of my panties, and he knelt down until he was almost eye level with my pussy. Without a word he removed them and then unclipped my stockings.
“I.....” I couldn’t form words. His focus on undressing me mesmerized me. He looked at me and then laid me back onto the bed, bending my legs and placing my feet on the mattress. He rolled each stocking down slowly, his teeth and tongue following his hands. A million goose bumps popped out on my flesh, and I lifted my hips off the bed, squeezing the walls of my cunt together to enhance the feelings that were building. My stockings and shoes were removed, and then he crawled up my body, still clothed.
“You are not dead, Carol,” He said. I nodded uncertainly, and his eyes narrowed. “Listen to me. You are not dead.” He kissed me roughly, biting my tongue and then my bottom lip. “You are not dead.” I nodded emphatically this time. His hand moved to my breast and he twisted a nipple. “Say it.”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted. My mind was dumb under his touch. He leaned down and sucked my other nipple, biting down a bit harder. I cried out.
“Tell me. Say it. You are not dead.”
“I am n-not dead,” I whispered.
He sucked the other nipple until I knew that it would bear a hickey the next day.
“I can’t hear you Carol. Say it again.”
“I am not dead,” I said little more loudly, my voice trembling.
He used his knees to spread my thighs wide apart. His hand stroked my pussy and then he inserted a finger. He added two more, finding that spot inside that caused me to buck off the bed.
“I am not dead,” I moaned loudly.
He fucked my cunt with his fingers, hitting that spot over and over, moving his fingers apart so that he stretched me. His mouth did not let up on my breasts, sucking, biting licking, alternating from one to the other. He slammed his fingers into me in the same moment that he pulled my nipple hard with his lips, and wetness spurted from my cunt all over my thigh and his hand. He continued his finger fucking, and his voice became a growl.
“You. Are. Not. Dead.” He growled between my breasts.
“No!” I cried. “I am not dead!”
He yanked my hair and looked at me. “Prove it,” he demanded, thrusting his fingers in deep and pressing my clit with his thumb. “Now.”
My muscles clenched, and I wailed. The walls of my cunt slammed against his fingers, and my hips jerked over and over. My eyes clenched shut and my hands dug into my ass underneath me. I came over and over, until finally he removed his thumb from my tender clit and slid his fingers out of me. I lay there panting, my eyes still closed and my body limp and damp. Then I felt his breath next to my ear, and he whispered:
“I told you.”