Rules Are Made to Be Broen

The next day, I'm at work -- at my 'public' job that is, in a local antique & second-hand book shop. It's only a few days a week, but that suits me fine.

The truth is I don't need the money; Amber earns more than enough for me to live very comfortably. What I do need, is a cover story for when my parents want to know how I'm paying rent.

Besides, I actually love it here. The place is so quiet, I spend most of my time either working on my own book or reading the ones on the shelves, escaping into one fantasy world after another.

The only one I can concentrate on today though, is the one I was in last night, and more specifically - who I was with.

Sam Byron. Mr Casual Sexy Swagger to Overwhelmingly Arousing and Competent Dominant in the blink of an eye. Truth be told, I've hardly stopped thinking about him all day.

I'm usually so good at filling in a client's back story, but he's a puzzle and I can't figure him out. What does he do? How can he afford to be staying at one of the swankiest hotels in town? How can he afford - me?

And why bother? He's easily the most handsome man I've ever met; he could walk into any night club and have a queue of willing young women throwing themselves at him for free; fighting each other off to get his attention, to get their hands on that body, to feel those lips on theirs.

Oh, those lips. I shiver with pleasure as I remember his mouth expertly manoeuvring the cold hard ice between my legs...

'Earth calling Jess!' my brother's voice brings me back to reality. Crap. How long has he been there? I hope I'm not blushing.

'Hey James!' I smile, trying to pull myself together, 'What are you doing here?'

'I was in the neighbourhood visiting a client, so I thought I'd take my little sister to lunch. If you think this place can do without you of course -- looks pretty hectic', he mocks, the place is, as usual, empty.

'Ha-ha.' I answer in an unimpressed monotone. 'Actually, you just missed the mid-morning chick-lit rush, it was pretty intense.' I lie, punching his arm playfully and grabbing my bag. As I lock up, he continues teasing.

'Oh! Lucky you've got a responsible big brother to make sure you get a decent meal to keep your strength up then!' it's a dig at my perpetually empty cupboards at home -- I know there's no malice in it, but I can't exactly tell him why I don't often eat at home, so I follow his lead,

'Yeah, but a decent big brother would take his hard-working little sister somewhere really swanky to feed her up', I reply with an elbow to his ribs,

'That's do-able!' he counters, 'Where do you fancy? The Savoy? The Dorchester?'

'I was kidding you idiot -- Tapas at Tina's is quite fancy enough for me.' I reply, smiling.

We head for our favourite restaurant that's around the corner from the shop, just as we do every time my big brother treats me to lunch.

As we slide into a booth, Katy, the waitress who's been taking our order for over a year now, greets us with a smile.

'The usual guys?'

'Please.' James replies, 'Jess will have a side of caviar too though.' I scowl and stick my tongue out at him,

'The usual will be just fine thanks Katy -- ignore my idiot brother!' I smile at Katy.

When our food arrives, James is in full flow, telling me all about the case he's working on. In all honesty, I've zoned out -- he's a hot shot lawyer and he's brilliant at what he does, but this one's all corporate bureaucracy - not exactly thrilling to an outsider.

'You know, we've got so much on, we could really do with some new admin assistants in the office.' He continues and I roll my eyes.

'Not this again J -- I've told you; I'm not looking for a new job, and I'm really not a 9-5 kind of gal anyway.' I know he's just looking out for me, and it's sweet, but there's no way of telling him his little sister already earns far more than even the best paid legal admin assistants.

'Okay, fine, fine.' He holds his hands up in defeat 'The offer's always there though, okay?'

'Noted.' I smile, willing him to move on.

'So, how are things with you anyway?' he continues between mouthfuls of garlic bread.

'Good. You know, the usual, uneventful.' I hate lying to my brother, but it's so much easier than the truth.

We make small talk and enjoy our lunch. When James gets up to settle the bill, the door chimes and Katy springs to attention as new customers arrive. When I notice who one of those customers is, I feel a blush rising up in my cheeks. Sam Byron just walked into Tina's Tapas.

He's looking utterly divine in a tailored charcoal grey suit with a white open neck shirt. His dark hair is as floppy and untamed as it was last night and I find myself picturing his head between my legs...

He's casually glancing around the restaurant as Katy checks for a table when he looks over in my direction. I try to look away, but I'm a second too late, he's seen me. Shit. He gives me a slight nod of recognition and I return a small smile. It's only then that I notice he's not alone.

The woman he's with is well dressed and very elegant, but definitely in at least her fifties. I feel a pang of -- what -- jealousy? How ridiculous. As James gets back to the table, I grab him by the arm and head for the door.

'What's the hurry?' he asks, grabbing his coat

'I just need to get back to the shop!' I lie

'Okay, okay, I'm coming. See you later Katy!' he calls back as I push him out onto the street.

'Uh huh, bye you guys!' she waves, most likely distracted by her devastatingly handsome new diner.

'What was that all about?' James looks at me questioningly as he walks me back to the shop.

'Nothing, I just have loads to do this afternoon', I smile. 'And justice won't do itself, so you should be off too.' I smile sweetly. I need him out of here so I can process the jumble of thoughts whirling around in my head.

'Too true little sister, too true. I'll see you at mum & dads for Sunday lunch though, right?'

'Uh-huh, I'll see you then.' I hug him briefly and smile brightly, willing him to get on his way.

When he's gone and I'm alone, I flop down into the floral armchair behind the cash desk and breathe deeply. Just as I'm starting to calm myself down, I hear the bell above the door that signals a customer arriving; typical. I open my eyes and come face to face with a vision of sparkling blue eyes and dark floppy hair.

'Sam!' I blurt his name out without thinking.

'Amber.' He smiles down at me impassively, hands in his pockets, head cocked slightly to one side. In his stylish suit he looks more groomed and polished than last night, but still with that effortlessly casual swagger.

His impressive form looks totally out of place in the confines of the small shop, yet he still radiates confidence and poise. His smile makes me melt like a sappy school girl and I want nothing more than to tangle my fingers in that wild mop of hair and explore his mouth with mine.

I stand, trying to take some control of the situation. Grabbing a stack of paperbacks, I move around to the front of the desk and return his smile.

'So how can I help you today, Mr Byron? Action, Thriller, Romance...'

'I must say Amber, you are full of surprises.' He continues, ignoring the question, 'I definitely didn't expect to find you working in a book shop.' He lowers his voice, despite the fact we're the only two people in the whole place, 'Didn't I pay you enough last night?'

'The agency pays me very well, thank you.' I snap, narrowing my eyes at him and sounding more insulted than I mean to, all thoughts of submitting to his every whim right here on the shop floor suddenly forgotten. 'If you must know, I work here because I need a job that I can tell my family about, and because I enjoy it.' Shut up Jess, I screech at myself inwardly, what's with the over-sharing?

'So, what brings you here anyway?' I breeze, trying not to let him rile me, or to focus on his full lips. 'Please say that you didn't follow me from the restaurant, because that's borderline stalkerish behaviour you know.' I add flippantly.

'Of course not!' If he were the blushing type, he'd definitely be doing so as he tries to defend himself. Annoyingly, he's not, and instead fixes me with his nonchalant half grin, insisting 'I just appreciate the written word, that's all.'

'You're a terrible liar Mr Byron.' I reply with a raised brow.

'Alright fine, maybe curiosity got the better of me.' he admits, 'How about I take you for a drink when you finish to make amends?' he replies with an easy smile.

The doorbell goes again and I'm relieved to see Mrs Jones -- a regular customer with a penchant for trashy romance novels.

'Sure, you have the agency's number', I whisper; 'Now if you'll excuse me, I have a customer to see to.'

I brush past him, deliberately close enough to graze his chest with mine and leave him shaking his head lightly in amusement as I cross to greet Mrs Jones, breathing a sigh of relief as Sam admits defeat and leaves, though not without sending my elderly patron into a flutter with a flash of the Byron smile first. Maybe he is into older women after all? I shudder to myself at the thought.

* * * * *

By 6pm, I'm relieved to have locked up the shop and be at home in a tub full of bubbles, letting the stresses of the day melt away. I ease back into the foam and smile a little at the thought of Sam in his giant infinity tub. It's a pity we didn't get a chance to share it; I wonder what sort of scene he had in mind? I like the idea of him rewarding me by meticulously soaping every inch of my skin; perhaps after a sound spanking or another run in with his leather flogger.

I clench my thighs together remembering how talented he was with his toy; how well he anticipated my reactions and how easily he worked me up to such a mind-blowing climax. Maybe he would have had me wash every inch of his delectable body? He'd certainly look good all lathered up, can't deny that.

Why the hell can't I stop daydreaming about him? I really need to stop these wandering thoughts.

I shake myself out of my reverie, get out of the bath and wrap myself up in a towel.

In the kitchen I pour myself a glass of white wine. Placing it down by my laptop on the breakfast bar, I re-read the last few paragraphs I wrote while the bath was running:

"Most of my clients with particularly niche tastes and requirements for their scenes are happy for me to change on arrival, but Dr Hutchinson always insists that I arrive in character. That means wearing a full-length trench coat to disguise my costume en-route -- I'm not sure just the PVC mini dress he enjoys so much would go down too well in the up-market hotels where he likes to meet. As soon as I'm through the door though, the coat drops to the floor so that he can see me in all my glory. The rubbery red fabric pulls tight, clinging to every curve of my body. The hemline skims my butt cheeks, so there's just enough flesh on show for him to spank, while the zips across my breasts allow easy access to my hard nipples which he just loves to clamp and suckle on.

Arriving in character does have its advantages though. Slipping into a client's preferred ensemble to suit a particular scene is the equivalent of sartorial foreplay. You might think it's 'degrading' or 'sexist' to dress with the sole intention of satisfying a man's desires, but it's actually quite the opposite. It's empowering to choose to submit to another person's fantasy, and it's incredibly arousing to look at your own reflection and know just how much it's going to please your Dom. Wielding that sort of power over someone else's desire, is its own sort of power rush.

Some clients like to indulge in a variety of different scenes from one booking to the next, with different wardrobe requirements for each, but when it comes to Dr Hutchinson; our appointments are always the same. He likes me to assume the role of a legitimate massage therapist, albeit one dressed in skin tight red PVC. Before we begin, he opens the two zips across my breast and tugs my nipples free so that they harden under his touch. When he's happy, he applies jewelled nipple clamps that match my dress, telling me they are to keep me focussed while I work. I love the bite of the clamps, especially when he tugs on them in turn to check they're secure. When he's satisfied with my presentation, my instructions are to remove his shirt and tie slowly and ask him to lie face up on the bed. He tells me to straddle his chest so that my rubber dress creeps up my parted thighs and gives him easy access to my sex.

He has me oil his chest and start to massage him, under strict guidance that if I spill a drop of oil on his sheets, I will be punished. As I continue the massage, his hand reaches between my legs and he probes me deeply with each finger in turn, finishing with his thumb, twisting it roughly, making me gasp and struggle to concentrate on my task. Like clockwork, he waits until I pick up the bottle of oil to apply more to his abdomen and at the same moment eases his thumb into my ass.

Of course, the shock makes me drop the bottle and the sheets are ruined.

He delivers the same discipline every time and it always leaves me panting. In one swift movement, he sits up, and holding me by the waist adjusts my position so that I'm bent over his knee. My skin-tight dress rides higher up and over my bottom, exposing my creamy cheeks. He makes me apologise for being so clumsy and beg for his forgiveness. He strokes my behind firmly as I plead contritely. He always says that of course he'll forgive me, once I've accepted the repercussions.

My punishment is that he spanks me until my cheeks are as red as the rubber I'm wearing. He bends his knee beneath me to push my ass up in the air and alternates hard, stinging, slaps on each cheek, all the time tweaking my clamped nipples with his free hand. It's an exquisitely executed mixture of pleasure and pain. When he's satisfied that I've learned my lesson, he slides two fingers into my wet pussy and his thumb back in my ass. He fingers me slowly, teasing me until I start to thrust back against him, harder and faster until finally, he lets me come. As I lay across him, whimpering and trying to catch my breath, he tells me that I need to finish his massage by easing the tension in his hard cock, with my mouth. I get on my knees and deep throat him as he toys with the clamps on my nipples. He likes to end each booking by shooting his load all over my rubber covered tits."

Poor Dr Hutchinson. I've changed his name of course, but I wonder if I'm making him sound a little more perverted than he actually is. Loads of men like massage, and loads like PVC.

As clients go, he's actually one of my favourites. So many Dominants are only interested in tying me up and showing off their control in all things. It's fun to have more of a 'theme' to a scene now and again, sure, he's a creature of habit, but if something feels good, where's the harm in enjoying it over and over?

Suddenly, my phone rings, derailing my train of thought.

'Amber darling, it's Crystal, I'm sorry it's such short notice, but I've a big money booking for you, tonight. It's a CP -- I'll text the details and send a car. Be ready in 20 minutes, okay? Ciao!'

My boss at the agency is gone before I can get a word in. I sigh, contemplate calling her back and saying I can't, then decide it's pointless, she rarely takes no for an answer and I suspect the car is already on its way.

Besides, I quite enjoy CP bookings. The CP -- or Companion Package -- means a two-hour appointment where I'm to publicly pose as a girlfriend, generally for the first hour or so. It usually means a nice dinner or at least a few drinks, plus it's double the cash, so I shouldn't really complain.

My phone buzzes again with a text.

"Grey cocktail dress, grey silk underwear, traditional compliant sub."

That's a relief at least -- I don't really have the time to create a character on twenty minutes notice. Reluctantly, I drag myself into my bedroom to hunt out a suitable grey ensemble.

When the car arrives, I'm almost ready; I grab my bag so that I can finish my make up on the way, spritz myself with perfume and head out of the door.

* * * * *

'Two minutes Miss Amber, traffic's been kind.', Frank calls over his shoulder as I'm putting the finishing touches to a smoky eyed yet subtle make up look.

Frank is Crystal's personal chauffeur (and fuck buddy, if my suspicions are correct), so this client must be paying really big bucks for her to have sent him to pick me up.

'Thank you, Frank!' I reply, smearing shiny gloss across my bottom lip then pressing it against the top to perfect my pout. 'Will I do?' I ask, batting my lashes at him in the rear-view mirror.

'Always!' he answers with a smile.

As we pull up, I look out of the window, trying to get a feel for where we are -- I've been so distracted with my makeup I haven't really been paying attention to the route. It slowly dawns on me that I'm at the same hotel I was at last night. It couldn't be though, could it? The car door is opened for me from the outside and my question is answered.

Yes of course it could.

Sam Byron stands smiling smugly at me, his outstretched hand waiting to take mine.