Ebook ISBN: 978-1-78430-850-6
[ BDSM Romance, MF ]
Blushing, shy Felicity does something incredibly brave and submits to a man she only knows as Sir, but will his demands push her beyond her limits?
Feeling brave, Felicity completed the form and booked herself in for the local burlesque fair. Held in Manchester and not far from her home, it seemed her brand of pretty, quirky jewelry would fit perfectly. Yes, there would be stalls with sexy toys and also there’d be performances of stripping ladies, but basically it was just another craft fair.
Or at least that’s what she’d convinced herself it would be like. She’d taken to crafting after losing her job. Finding another job had proved difficult, so she’d used the material, buttons and pretty things she’d collected and had made brooches, necklaces and earrings. She’d worn her first fabric flower creation to church one Sunday and had had several compliments on the big red bloom along with a request to make more for others.
The church fair had been her first and that’s when she’d decided to have a go at making a living from her handmade trinkets. She enjoyed the crafting. She’d moved on from simple scrap flowers to felted animals, beadwork and even some cross stitching. Each craft she’d learned, each new item she sold, built up her depleted stock of self-esteem.
It hadn’t been easy. Making ends meet was a definite challenge, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to struggle with poverty, so she’d met it head-on with a strength she never acknowledged she had. She hadn’t ever been rich, but as a child, she’d experienced what it meant not to have a penny to her name. Her mum had struggled to keep her fed and clothed, and often went without herself. Felicity’s school days had been full of bullying, over her holey shoes and her ancient cardigan—which seemed to have always been at least two sizes too small for her—or her father’s alcoholism.
She’d soon learned to keep to herself. Felicity’s friends had existed only between the pages of books. Her book friends hadn’t cared that she had peeling wallpaper dotted with mold and an old mattress on the floor. They hadn’t cared that she had no toys or new clothes. They had accepted her just the way she was and frolicked happily in her mind.
She loved the library, had spent much of her time there as a child and had grown to do the same again. It was always warm, full of books and comfy places to sit and read. In the depths of winter, she had gone to the library to warm up as she couldn’t afford to put her on heating in her tiny flat. Christmas dinner had consisted of a tin of cream of tomato soup and a stale slice of bread. Luckily, things had started to look up after that. Felicity had pulled together stock to attend a couple of craft fairs or car boots every weekend, then she had enough to start listing items on eBay and, little by little, she had pulled herself out of the pit, paid her bills, bought food and used heat and light once more. She still had to keep a tight rein on her spending and she didn’t have any savings because of the occasional mad urge and impulse buy. Sometimes she got tired of counting every penny.
Felicity had been poor all her life and had inherited her mum’s burning pride. No one in her life knew how much she’d struggled. She’d kept everyone at arm’s length purposefully to maintain her pride. The church had a food bank, and she volunteered there once a week, but she wouldn’t dream of accepting that charity herself.
“There’s always someone worse off than you are,” her mum had said over and over. “Remember that, our Felicity. Count your blessings, do good to those who need it and you’ll be content.”
Felicity’s motherhad never been particularly happy but when Dad had died, her mum had spiraled into depression and discovered her own addictive nature, so Felicity had ended up alone in the world days before her sixteenth birthday. She’d learned to be self-sufficient, to distrust strangers and that generally, life was shit. She’d gone to church, just in case. God seemed to have it in for her family, and she really wasn’t keen on being the next one axed before her time.
Love, romance and even sex just didn’t feature in her life. They were too much like hard work and involved opening herself up to someone. She’d had a little experience of all three and she’d decided that was more than enough. At least if she was alone and miserable, she didn’t have anyone else to blame and couldn’t bring another person down with her.
Her mum and dad had often argued, had occasionally beaten the crap out of each other, but they’d loved with a passion that was fierce and all encompassing. Felicity was scared of love. She never wanted to be consumed by another—never wanted to need someone like that. She was much happier depending on herself and that went for her sexual pleasure too.
So the burlesque fair, with is promises of sexy delights, didn’t tempt her. But the possibility of selling her quirky, cute crafts had overcome her fear of the sexy side of it, so she’d booked, prepared and turned up on the day of the fair with her loins girded against all temptation.
When she arrived and was greeted by a tall, blonde woman in break-neck heels and a tight red latex dress that left nothing to the imagination, Felicity started worrying about what else she was going to see. She’d worn her practical flats, comfortable long skirt and had layered up a cute blouse, cardigan and jacket so she’d be ready for anything. She’d spent hours in roasting-hot school halls and freezing chapels selling her hand-crafted wares. She’d soon learned the tricks of the trade.
“Quietly Cute, right?” The woman smiled and ran a finger down her clipboard.
“Yes, that’s me.” Felicity replied, watching a group of giggling girls flounce past in barely enough clothes to cover one person, let alone five.
“You’re on the second floor, two-B. Follow me. I’ll take you up.”
Felicity tried really hard not to stare at the lady’s behind, but it was difficult not to, the way it wiggled beneath the skin-tight latex. When she got to the stairs, she had to concentrate on lugging her huge case up them, and by the time she reached the top, she was panting.
“Just this one here.” The lady with the clipboard indicated the table second along from the stairwell.
“Thank you.” Felicity smiled.
The latex lady disappeared down the stairs.
The room was a hive of activity. Most of the tables were occupied, some virtually ready for customers and others just covered in boxes. Felicity didn’t look around for long. She had a lot to set up and she’d reached the venue later than she’d wanted to because of unexpected road works.
She took out the red velvet cloth and draped it over her standard table, changing it from utilitarian to opulent in just a moment. Felicity never did anything by halves. She had her stands numbered and ordered in the case. After setting them up, she added her wares, methodically labeled in boxes.
Once the plush stands—gilt-framed and generously padded—were in place, she pulled out the last part of the puzzle—her lock box. She sat back and looked around. Roughly square, the hall boasted parquet flooring and a stage at one end. Bare brick walls surrounded the area, giving an urban loft feel to the space. Above her head was a network of silver pipes and metal poles and mysterious boxes at random intervals. The venue was usually a nightclub that she’d never been to. She’d never visited a nightclub at all, in fact. Felicity was certain she hadn’t missed out.
She’d been a bookworm as long as she could remember, and a bit of a loner too. She’d never minded, though. All the friends she needed were inside her books anyway. Even in university, she had the social life of a house-bound gran. She had seen her own father kill himself with the use of alcohol and her mother pass soon after, beside herself with grief. Alcohol had destroyed her family, so Felicity had never understood the appeal.
Felicity checked the different tables. Next to her, a lady sold accessories, little hats, feather boas, sparkly shoes, and across the way stood a steampunk gentleman, with goggles and other ye olde odds and ends. She felt quite confident at first, then she noticed the artwork a few stalls along with pin-ups in all kinds of poses. One vintage beauty bent over in an old kitchen, holding on to the cupboard handles, bottom bared and pink. Felicity looked away before she took in more detail, her cheeks must have been as pink as the buttocks in the picture. They felt hot enough.
Over in the corner there stood a tall lady with rails of corsets in a rainbow of colors all around her. It was only when she turned from placing the garments on the rack that Felicity noticed the woman’s breasts were bare except for two sequined red hearts obscuring the nipples. She looked away quickly and fiddled with the novelty earrings hanging just in front of her. The shiny red cherries didn’t calm her at all.
An announcement echoed through the room that visitors were being let in. Felicity welcomed the distraction. She was busy straight away, her position near the top of the stairs meaning that many people started out with her stall. Some hurried past with barely a glance, but others lingered and fingered her merchandise.
She was always relieved when people showed their appreciation for her work. A little bit of her heart went into everything she made, so criticism—or worse still— indifference, hurt her deeply. Her first sale, although a simple pair of cheap studs, set her mind at rest and it was soon followed by another. The first hour was manic, and she was glad to sit when finally there was a lull.
She tried not to look around, but again she found her eye drawn to the artwork that had made her blush so violently before. The woman with the bared bottom was waiting for a hand holding a spatula to fall. Said spatula sat in a male hand on a suited arm. The rest of the male character was not captured on the canvas.
Felicity squirmed in her chair and pulled back her shoulders. She didn’t want to acknowledge the heat that flooded her, didn’t want to think about how her pussy throbbed as she saw that poised hand.
“Excuse me, do you have any cufflinks?”
The deep, roughly northern voice woke her from her musings. She flustered to her feet, angry with herself for missing a customer’s approach.
“Sorry, I was just—”
“Engrossed in the painting across the way. It’s okay. I understand.”
Felicity didn’t know how to respond to that, so she shook her head and looked down at her stock.
“I have these over here. I’ve only recently started to experiment with cuffs. Cufflinks, I mean.” She’d stumbled over her words. His presence intimidated her. So far she’d avoided looking into his face. Embarrassed and agitated, she was scared to look up and let him see her blushing cheeks. His midriff was nice, though—a crisp white shirt tucked into pitch-black trousers.
“Have you got anything a bit kinkier?” he asked, fingering the lucky aces. Felicity imagined his fingers stroking other things.
“Erm, what is out is all I have,” she replied, reaching to straighten the pile of business cards in the corner farthest away from him to cover her awkwardness.
He touched her arm, and the pile went flying. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She flapped her hands about. “No, no, I’ll get them. I’m sorry I startled you.”
His touch had burned but not in a bad way. His hand briefly touching her arm had sent a burst of energy through her whole body, searing deep to her core.
“Oh, no, no, I’m just clumsy,” Felicity replied with a shake of her head. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”
She looked up then. He was bending down, showing off a very shapely arse within those expensive looking trousers.
“Mea culpe.” He straightened and put the cards back on the table.
“Thank you.” She smiled.
He nodded in acknowledgment. Felicity knees weakened as she took in his features. She was struck by the startling blue of his eyes. They seemed to pierce through and see into her very soul. Her heart thudded as if would escape her chest, but she couldn’t pull away from his gaze—his intense, wicked, tempting gaze.
“So, getting back to the kinky… Do you take on commissions?”
Felicity ignored the first part of the sentence and concentrated on answering the question. “I do make custom pieces, yes, but of course, they’re a bit more expensive and can take a few days or even weeks, especially if I need to source material.”
“That’s fine.” He dipped his head. “I want some cufflinks for my suit that are in the shape of actual cuffs.”
“Like those at your wrists?” She pointed at the sharp edge of his white button-down shirt. “No.” He shook his head with a smile.
She had managed to extricate herself from his gaze, but now she was dazzled by his smile, which was surrounded by a soft smattering of dark hair. She didn’t normally fancy guys with beards, but this man suited his.
“No, my dear…” He looked down at her business card and continued. “Felicity. I mean handcuffs. The kind you use to restrain a woman so you can roundly spank her arse without her flailing her hands in the way.”
The vision sprung up in her imagination with no bidding, prompting her to gasp, then gulp as her mouth went completely dry. She couldn’t pull away from his gaze, even though she tried her hardest to do so. Her cheeks ached with heat. He was teasing her—for what purpose, she didn’t know. Maybe he was just mean. Maybe he was perverted and got his kicks from shocking vanilla women like her. Felicity found herself pondering what else he might do to a vanilla woman like her, and had to shake her head to clear it of the depraved images that flitted across her mind.
“Oh, like policemen have.” She finally got her brain in gear to answer him.
“Yes, metal ones. Utilitarian. I’d like them by the end of the month. Can you do that?” “I…I think so.” She could probably do them quicker than that. She had no other commissions and unless she sold out completely, she had plenty of general stock.
“Good, good. I’ll just look around the fair. There may be something here that will fulfill my need. If not, I’ll be back later.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Felicity smiled, mostly because she was relieved he was going to go away. She would be able to gather her wits if he stopped staring at her so damn sexily.
“A pleasure to meet you, Felicity.”
He held out a hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, Felicity took it in hers. She wasn’t used to such formal greetings from customers. The stranger didn’t shake it. He turned it within his fingers and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. The bristles of his beard gently tickled and the heat of his lips seared their image there.
“And you…erm… I don’t know your name,” she said with a shrug and a giggle. She tried to pull back her hand, but he gripped it tighter.
“You can call me Sir,” he said with a smirk, let go of her hand and walked away.
Felicity fell onto the seat, happy that it was behind her as she’d anticipated. Her knees had completely gone to jelly, and she was incapable of standing for even a moment longer. She should have been disgusted and upset. His behavior had been boorish at best and that kind of cocky arrogance usually made her seethe. But she couldn’t get the mark of his kiss from her hand or his words out of her mind.
What did he mean she could call him ‘Sir’? She called most of her male customers ‘sir’ but she didn’t think he’d meant that.
Felicity was naive in the main. Most of her sexual experiences had been with herself except for the barely noticeable exception of the man she’d given her virginity to. He had been selfish, the experience unfulfilling and he’d never called her after that night. She’d been somewhat relieved since she hadn’t want to endure any more sex, and although the rejection had hurt, she was confident it was for the best in the long run.
Back in her book-nerd college days, she had stumbled across something strange in the poetry aisle as she’d searched for a particular volume of Wordsworth for her English coursework.
Her first reaction had been to re-shelve it where it belonged, but then she had seen the cover and its title, Spanking Stories for Naughty Boys and Girls, she couldn’t help but feel curious. The cover had shown the backsides of a man and a woman in old-fashioned uniforms.
Felicity had picked it up along with another poetry volume and slipped it inside. She’d spent two hours she didn’t really have reading it cover to cover. She discovered a special affinity for those stories about naughty girls, found the spankings intriguing. She’d been scared, offended and strangely aroused all at the same time. When she had finished, she’d left the smut inside the poetry book, popped it away on the shelf and had found the volume she’d been looking for.
It would come to mind now and then, and she’d revisited some of the stories in her mind when she’d masturbated back in the day, but as time went by, she had all but forgotten it. Until this fair, that painting across the way and that infuriating man—who she really, really wanted to spank her.
And that strange and overwhelming desire scared her half to death. Felicity was well known for being in control. Back when she’d worked in the office, she had been the one with the straightest, tidiest desk, the one who’d gotten all her work done on time, and that had made her pretty unpopular. She had never made any friends there, never attempted to. She had kept herself to herself in a little bubble of OCD perfection. In fact, she had done that for most her life. It didn’t hurt when people rejected her if she pretended she didn’t want them in her life anyway.
It was uncomfortable to contemplate giving away that control and submitting to another. But something about that bright-eyed, arrogant man made her want to—made her heart beat faster, made her pussy cream. She was excited and petrified at the same time and she loved it and hated it in equal measure. Her desire to escape overwhelmed her, but since she had customers at her stall, she just couldn’t.
She threw herself into selling her wares. She was busy and managed to get her flushing cheeks under control, even though her mind kept flipping back to his words. She could still feel the lingering mark of his lips on the top of her hand. As much as the fair had been a shocker, she was doing well. Apparently, not everyone wanted kink like her most stubborn customer—stubborn because she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
She cleared a crowd of young girls—probably students from the university—and was looking forward to a sit down and a slurp of tea from the pretty pink thermos she’d brought with her. Just when she was about to take a seat, someone else walked over. It was him again.
“Hello, Felicity.” He smiled that maddening smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Hello, erm, Sir,” she replied, cheeks already heated. They’d hardly started the conversation.
“I’ve not been able to find what I’m looking for, so I’d like to commission you to make them for me.”
“Okay, I can do that.” She dropped into practical mode, picking up her notepad and pen. “So handcuff cufflinks, metallic, by the end of the month. Can I just take some contact details—”
“I’ll contact you,” he replied with a smirk. “Have you got a card? Oh, yes.” He picked up one of the piles she’d clumsily knocked over the last time he’d been there. “Your number isn’t on it, though.”
“No, I usually communicate via e-mail.”
“I prefer to use the phone. Write your number on the back for me.” She bristled at his tone. “Well I don’t usually—”
“No, but this isn’t a usual situation, Felicity. Please write your number down for me.” “No.” Felicity discovered her backbone. She wasn’t going to budge on this one. It was a
matter of personal safety. “I don’t give my number to anyone I don’t know, erm, intimately.” She blushed again and questioned her use of vocabulary.
“Fair enough. I shall just have to get to know you intimately then, Felicity. And what a delight that will be.”
His piercing eyes held her to the spot. Felicity wasn’t sure if she was going to explode from fear or delight, or both.
“I think I already know a secret about you.” He nodded. “Really?” She tried desperately hard to keep her tone casual.
“Oh, yes.” He leaned over the table, beckoning her to come closer. She did, with trepidation.
“You want me to spank you.”
She recoiled physically from his words. How could he know that? She barely knew that, but deep inside, those words resonated, because they were the truth. She did want him to spank her.
“I can see it written all over your face, Felicity. Don’t look so surprised.”
“I—” She shook her head, determined to tell him he was talking out of his backside, that he was rude and egotistical and she didn’t want anything more to do with him.
“Don’t deny it,” he said.
His stare penetrated her secret places where she hid her deepest fears and longings. “Don’t lie to me, Felicity.”
Her natural instinct was to tell the truth. Brought up in constant chaos, never knowing what was truth, falsehood or fabrication, she found it difficult even to tell a white lie. But she wasn’t lying. She didn’t want what he was offering. She couldn’t do. It was all very antiquated and weird. It was just a passing whim, a curiosity. She didn’t really want to know what it felt like to be struck by his palm or an instrument of his choosing, did she?
“I will give you half an hour to ponder, then I will come back here with a onetime-only offer. If you say no, that will be it—the end of our interactions. If you say yes… Well, then the fun will begin.”
He smirked again and Felicity looked down at her hands, which she was fiddling together nervously.
“I will ask you if you’re willing to submit to me. Then I will set you a challenge. If you complete that challenge, I will open you up to a world of sensuous delights. Do you understand?”
Did she? He was being very vague, but somehow she got the message loud and clear. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I understand.”
“Oh, Felicity, you disappoint me. I’ve already told you how to address me.”
She looked up again and saw him staring sternly at her. She automatically held her hands behind her, as if she’d been reprimanded for fiddling.
“Sorry,” she replied bashfully. “Say it properly,” he demanded.
“Yes, Sir. I understand.” She let out a shuddering breath.
“Better.” He nodded. “Okay, Felicity. I shall see you in thirty minutes. Be ready.”
And of course, the moment he left, several people crowded her stall, and she didn’t have any time to think. Her first instinct was to tell him no. She didn’t need the work. She didn’t need the hassle and she certainly didn’t need him. But as the thirty minutes ticked down, she became less certain of her assertion. This was an opportunity she’d never receive again—an opportunity to try out something wild, something brave. Felicity had never been wild, not once, and a spark of rebellion deep in her soul flashed at the thought of it.
But could she do it? She wasn’t sure and that made her nervous. Felicity liked to do everything well and had never taken on anything too challenging because of that need to please. She’d limited herself to tasks she knew she could do proficiently, so she would receive praise. She’d never submitted to a man before, never undergone a spanking. What if she was really bad at it?