When Sophie Jameson first became a domme at Club 1740, it was more out of financial necessity than it was for personal pleasure and sexual exploration. But over the years as she rocked her leather corsets and boots while wielding every crop and flogger imaginable, she grew to love the thrill and adulation that her clients brought her. But all along, her path in life and her heart was with a different profession"one she was planning to embark on at the summer"s end.
And then he changed everything. Tall, dark, impossibly built"William was the complete opposite of whatever image a male sub conjured up. After all the subs, Sophie finally felt true lust and desire. Although he was the proud stallion who needed breaking, he became the one to make her break all her rules and let down all her walls.
But it was just supposed to be for that one night, but an accidental encounter days later outside Club 1740"s protected walls had the two seeing each other in a different light"as simply Sophie and William, not Domme and sub. While they should have parted ways, they couldn"t. While they should never have gone back to her place, they did.
And that simple mistake has a serious price for both of them.Books by Author:Katie Ashley Books
With my arms crossed over my chest, I absentmindedly tapped my foot on the dungeon bathroom"s floor. I threw a glance at the digital clock that hung on the far wall. Pursing my painted red lips, I considered whether enough time had passed. Anticipation always heightened a scene. There was something about making a sub wait for his punishment, and in turn his pleasure, that drove them wild.
I didn"t have to look outside the bathroom door to know exactly what was going on in the dungeon. After ordering my sub to disrobe and assume the Display position, I knew the middle-aged man, or silver fox as some would refer to his handsome appearance, would be kneeling naked on the floor with his hands behind his back and his head bent. His body would be trembling ever so slightly as he waited for his Mistress to deliver what he so desperately needed.
When five minutes had passed, I knew it was time to make my entrance. I leaned into the light to give my appearance a final glance in the mirror. Decked in white from head to toe, I was quite the angelic vision but in leather. My corset dress hit mid-thigh, leaving just a small gap to where the stiletto-heeled white boots came. The front of the dress crisscrossed over my breasts, showing an ample amount of my C-cup cleavage. The dark chestnut-colored hair that usually flowed freely down my back was wrapped in a tight French braid with white ribbon interwoven into it.
Within the confines of the leather, I left my former self behind and transformed into Mistress Juliette. To some, white seemed like an odd choice for a dominatrix. Most people envisioned Dommes in the essential black or at least red. But from the first day I"d walked through the doors of Club 1740, I knew I needed a niche"something to make me stand out from the other ten women who worked there. After all, I was there to make money, not get off.
As an English major, I thought it only fitting to choose white"the color of innocence and purity. It made the perfect paradox for what I was there to do, which was certainly devoid of any innocence or purity. My job was to deliver pain and domination while also giving pleasure. Therefore, I was at times both an angel and a demon.
I couldn"t help grinning at how my appearance had undergone quite the conversion in the past twenty-four hours. Last night in a flowing black robe, I"d marched into the packed convocation center of Kennesaw State University to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance. It was the furthest fucking thing from a Domme you could imagine, unless you were role-playing a professor/student scene.
"Sophie Marie Jameson." When my name echoed off the speakers, the moment overwhelmed me, causing me to falter in my subdued black heels. I wasn"t usually a sappy, oversentimental person, but I found myself getting swept up in emotion. But then I"d pulled myself together and made my way across the stage. I extended my hand to shake the hand of the university"s president.
"Congratulations," she said with a smile.
My trembling fingers clutched the diploma, and I finally managed to squeak a, "Thank you." I was too overcome to say much else. While it might"ve been clich", there had been a whole lot of sacrifice along with blood, sweat, and tears that had gone into getting my education. I was the first one in my family to get a college degree, let alone a graduate one.
When I got to the stage"s stairs, I dared to look out at the crowd where I knew my dad and brother were. Although his neurologist had advised him against it, my father had insisted on attending. "Nothing could stop me from seeing my daughter get a graduate degree," he had said, immense pride reflecting on his face.
Being wheelchair bound with Muscular Dystrophy had afforded him prime seating close to the stage. Of course, he had no idea where the money to buy his new power wheelchair had come from me. Considering he thought I waited tables, he would have questioned how the hell I could afford it. I led him to believe it had been donated.
When I caught my father"s eye, the same expression of overwhelming pride was there again, but this time there were tears as well. Although I"d never been one to cry in public, I didn"t try fighting the moisture that pooled in my eyes. Instead, I let it overflow and stream onto my cheeks. My vision had been blurry as I made my way down the stairs and back to my seat.
Now in the dungeon bathroom, I found myself once again fighting tears. Rolling my eyes with frustration, I muttered, "Get a fucking grip, Soph."
Throwing open the door, I found my sub just as I expected. The only sound in the room was the rise and fall of his breathing, and the distant bass from the dance floor upstairs. At the echo of my boot heels clicking across the tile, the sub"s posture became slightly straighter. I walked around to stand in front of him. He kept his gaze respectfully on the floor. Reaching out, I ran one of my blood red fingernails under his chin and tipped his head for him to look at me. "Good boy, Owen. Are you ready to begin""