Learning the Rules Ch. 01

[A/N: Hello lovers! Did you miss me? I'm back, as promised, with a steamy new story for y'all to enjoy!

Learning The Rules, is a prequel to my first novel: Rules are Made to be Broken...it's a novella about how Jessica becomes Amber... which means there's no Byron (sorry, Sam fans!) - but there *is* another enigmatic Dominant to teach Jessica everything she needs to know for when she meets that blue-eyed millionaire later down the line ;)

It can absolutely be read as a stand alone story in it's own right, but there *are* a few little easter eggs that you'll only spot if you've read RAMTBB already... (but I'm not here to tell you what to do!)

It's a shorter story - weighing in at 11 chapters, and I'll do my best to publish at least one a week, life commitments & Literotica processing times allowing!

As ever, let me know what you think - I love reading your comments and messages!

...enjoy! EG x]

As I sink my third tequila shot in half an hour, I replay the whole mess over in my head again, wincing at the memory of his hand uninvited on my bare thigh. How, fucking, dare he? I've definitely moved on from being shocked by it all, now I'm just furious.

'Franco, can I have another beer please?' I call to my friend across the bar.

'Jessica,' his Italian accent puts all the emphasis on the "ess", 'Do you think maybe you've had enough, Bella?' he replies with his brows raised

'Not. Even. Close.' I reply, draining my beer bottle and setting it down next to the empty tequila shot glass collection I've started.

'Look,' he continues, leaning over to take my hand, 'If you're not going to tell me what's wrong, why don't you let me call Anna? Maybe we get her to come take you home, Si?'

'Non, my darling Franco,' I reply, leaning in to him, 'because Anna is away with the beloved love of her life Tom for the weekend and I don't feel like going home to an empty house.'

I'm actually a little relieved that Anna and Tom are away this weekend -- I love them both to pieces and living with them these last few years has been great, but I still felt ridiculous rushing to see Anna before they left for the airport to ask for my old room back.

She went ballistic when I explained why, was all set to cancel their trip, but thankfully I managed to convince her that wasn't necessary. I give Franco my very best puppy dog eyes,

'So pleeease may I have another beer and another tequila?' I bat my lashes at him and he relents, pouring another measure into one of my many empties and clearing away the rest.

'How about an Armagnac instead?' An unfamiliar voice cuts in beside me. I turn to see an attractive dark-haired woman, beautifully dressed, in her early forties, maybe? and apparently, trying to buy me a drink.

'Thank you, but I think I'll stick to my friend Jose.' I smile back, raising my shot glass and knocking it back in one without flinching, before reaching for the Corona Franco has reluctantly handed over too.

'Oh, darling girl, if a precious jewel is going to drown her sorrows, she should at least drown them in a drink that won't leave her feeling like a train wreck the next morning. Send over the best bottle you have please -- Franco, was it? Keep the change.'

She puts two £50 notes on the bar and saunters off to settle herself in a corner booth.

'Who's she?' I ask Franco, baffled.

'No idea. But the best bottle we have is only £60, so she can come back whenever she likes!' he smiles, setting a dark brown bottle and two glasses on a tray. 'You think you can manage taking it over?' he teases.

'Franco, I am not even that drunk. And also, I don't even work here anymore and you just scored a forty quid tip, but sure, let me do your job for you too.' I stick my tongue out at him and get down from my stool carefully, giving him a little curtsey to make my point.

He's clearly trying to keep me busy to avoid serving me any more alcohol, party pooper. I'm really not even all that drunk. I manage to deliver Ms Moneybags her tray in one piece anyway.

'Enjoy!' I announce with a smile.

'Won't you join me?' she asks. I pause, searching for the right words so as not to offend,

'Thank you, but I don't um, I'm not-'

'I'm not a lesbian my dear, if that's what's troubling you, I'm just a little early to meet a friend and you look like you could do with some company too.' She shrugs.

I feel a little embarrassed, and Franco's busy with a crowd of rugby lads who've just come in, so I decide to accept the hospitality and slide into the booth opposite her.

'Crystal Summers.' She says, extending an exquisitely manicured hand across the table.

'Jessica Blake.' I reply meekly, shaking her hand, suddenly very aware of my chipped nail polish.

'So, Jessica Blake, why's a pretty young girl drinking alone on a Friday evening?' she asks, pouring us each a drink.

'Because she's an idiot.' I reply, taking a sip and wincing. Armagnac is not my drink.

'I'm sure that's not true. Boy trouble?' she continues.

'Not exactly.' I answer.

'Older man?' she raises a brow. Damn, she's good. 'You don't look the sort of girl to make a move on another woman's territory, so I'm guessing older, probably married, made an unwelcome advance?' Okay, she's really good.

'How did you work all that out?' I ask, genuinely impressed.

'I'm very good at reading people my dear.' She smiles, taking a sip from her glass. 'So, who is he, what happened and what do you intend to do about it?'

I sigh heavily and decide what the hell?, the situation is such a mess, why not confide in a complete stranger?

'He's my lecturer. Or he was -- my course finished yesterday. I'm a writer, or at least I'd like to be, and he's been mentoring me and championing my work all year. He's been published already, several times, so he has lots of contacts and influence. He had me believing that with his help, I'd have my first best seller under my belt in no time, blah blah blah...' I take another sip and wince a little less. This stuff grows on you.

'Let me guess -- now his help comes at a price? Namely you, in his bed?' I nod.

'And there's fuck all I can do about it. I managed to stop him before anything happened, but when I threatened to tell the police, the university, his wife -- he just laughed at me -- he's the respected professional, and I'm just, in his words, a moderately talented prick tease.' I down the rest of my drink, making myself splutter a little.

'Then what are you going to do now?' she asks, pouring another inch of liquid into my glass.

'I have no idea. To get published on my own, I need an agent, to get an agent, I need money, to get money, I need to publish my book. Vicious. Circle.' I say, drawing a small circle in the air with my index finger. 'I used to work here, but he convinced me to quit -- so that I'd have more time to work on my manuscript -- said it was no problem, he was happy to help me out financially, to "invest in a rising star" -- I even moved into his spare room to save on rent. He's got a flat here in the city for when he's working, goes home to his wife in their little country cottage at the weekends. Fuck I was so stupid!' I add, mostly to myself, covering my face with my hands. 'So, having already asked for my old room back today, I guess next up, I'll be begging for old job back too.' I sigh, despondently.

'Or,' she replies, topping up her own glass, 'You could take charge of the situation. Find a job that actually pays what you're worth, publish your book and deliver a copy to the bastard that made you feel this way -- plus a short note detailing his indiscretions to his wife, of course.' She finishes.

'Fantastic plan! I don't suppose you know anyone looking to hire a literature graduate and pay them a fortune for making up fantasy worlds?' I ask with obviously faked enthusiasm.

She just smiles, fishing in her bag and slides a business card across the table to me.

Precious Jewels

Waiting to submit to your every desire

'Sounds like some sort of cheesy escort agency' I shrug. She looks at me impassively.

'My girls are anything but cheesy, Miss Blake.' She states flatly. Holy fuck, she's offering me a job as an escort? Seriously? Do I look that desperate?

'Um, sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect. But I think I'll take my chances finding a more -- conventional job, thanks all the same.' I say, starting to get up.

'My girls charge £2000 an hour and keep 50%.' She says, without looking up.

Two thousand pounds an hour? I sit back down, out of shock and curiosity more than anything else.

'Most of them are graduates too, or still studying, working towards their own big dreams. They see two or three clients a week and earn plenty to fund a very lavish lifestyle while they work towards their goals.' She continues. 'My clients are rich, professional men with very niche tastes. My girls have to be intelligent as well as beautiful to satisfy their needs.' She adds.

'It's still sex for money though, right?' I reply.

'Yes.' She replies plainly and without shame. 'The oldest trade in the world, Miss Blake. However, my clients are all carefully vetted, security is paramount, and frankly, if a woman can use the body that men will idly lust after with or without her permission, to earn a small fortune on her own terms, why shouldn't she?' I have to admit, she makes a good point.

'Why do these men pay so much? What's the catch?' I ask -- not that I'm remotely considering the possibility of working for her, obviously.

'As I said, my clients' tastes are very niche. They are all Dominants, who employ my girls to submit to their various wills.' She explains plainly.

'Dominants? So, like, BDSM stuff? Whips and handcuffs and what not? Your girls are basically sexual doormats?' I reply, and she narrows her eyes at me a little,

'My girls, Miss Blake, are certainly not doormats. Making the choice to submit is one of the most empowering decisions a woman can make, and doing so to earn extremely good money is very smart. Yes, there are specialist skills that need to be learned, but the rewards make it very worthwhile, as well as sexually enjoyable. My girls are beautiful, intelligent submissives, who are adored by the men they serve.'

'When they're not beating the shit of them for kicks, of course.' I reply sarcastically. She rolls her eyes at me despairingly

'Perhaps I was wrong about you Jessica, maybe you're not cut out to be a precious jewel after all.' she says dismissively. 'Good luck with your aspiring writing career.'

She pulls out her phone and starts to scroll, effectively dismissing me. I hate myself for having offended her.

'I'm sorry, I really didn't mean any offence.' I blurt, and she looks up coolly. 'It's just not every day someone says "hey, do you fancy a job as a submissive escort?" It's a lot to take in, you know?' I try to smooth things over and she smiles softly.

'Jessica, if you were to work for me, each client you served would be a separate fantasy world for you to explore. You could work three hours a week and earn more than you would in a month as a waitress or a barmaid.' She places her hand on mine and leans forward a little. 'You may not know it yet, but I believe I can see a submissive streak in you, and I am rarely wrong. Don't let a potentially fantastic opportunity elude you for the sake of abiding by default social niceties.'

She sits back to assess my reaction. I'm guessing it's somewhere between bemused and gormless.

'Go home. Think about it. If you're interested in at least finding out more, meet me at the address on the back of the card at 9pm tomorrow.' With that she picks up her phone and starts busying herself with something on the screen.

I pick up her business card and slip it in my bag, standing up with an awkward half smile.

'Thank you, Ms Summers -- for the drink.'

'You're very welcome, Miss Blake. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.' She replies, not looking up from her phone.

I call goodbye to Franco and I'm at the door leaving before I properly process her presumptuous response and decide it's better left alone.

When I get home, I fill a pint glass with water and gulp it down. I stand by the sink, trying to process the day's events.

I woke up, had breakfast, full of the joys of completing my degree and excited to jump into the new challenge of trying to publish my novel. My trusted mentor tried to sexually assault me, I kicked him in the balls, drank too much tequila and got offered a job as a submissive call girl. I don't care if it's only 8pm, I'm going to bed.

* * * * *

I wake up naturally the next morning with sunlight streaming through my window. I blink a few times to assess the hangover situation but actually, I feel fine. God bless water. Or maybe Armagnac really is a miracle. Armagnac. Shit. Memories of last night come flooding back. Did I really get offered a job as a call girl? I hunt down my bag and rummage inside to find the now slightly creased elegant white business card.

Yes, I really did. Outstanding effort Jessica.

I pull myself into the kitchen, switch on the kettle and wait patiently for the water to boil. Caffeine will fix everything.

My mind wanders back to Andrew Clarke's suggestive words. 'I can't wait to help you get on the publishing ladder Jessica, and I can't wait to see what you come up with to show your gratitude.' I shiver as I recall his fingers stroking my cheek, his hand sliding up my skirt.

Stop it, Jessica. Move on. He's not worth another thought.

I make my coffee and relocate to the sofa, grabbing the remote with every intention of killing my brain with trash TV.

Just as I get comfy, there's a knock at the door. Who the hell is knocking on my door at 9am on a Saturday? Reluctantly, I get up and answer it.

'Package for Miss Blake?' a much too chirpy young man announces

'That's me.'

'Sign here please Miss.' I scrawl on the delivery note and accept a small brown package. Getting back to the sofa, I tear it open and find another package inside, wrapped in red tissue paper, with a note attached.

'For the girl who loves books. Enjoy, CS.'

Still baffled, I tear away the tissue paper and find a paperback book: 'Submitting to Desire' -- the cover art features a naked brunette, on her knees, with her hands tied behind her back and a look of pure lust on her face. CS... Crystal Summers. Well, the woman certainly is persistent I'll give her that -- and how the hell did she know my address?

I open the book. It's an anthology of 30 short true stories about different submissives and their masters and their various kinks.

I've never been one to turn down a free book, and I've nothing better to do, so I start reading.

The first story is about a Dominant referred to only as 'Sir' -- a devilishly handsome older man who's all power suits and business deals. His sub starts out as his new secretary (ugh, predictable!) and he slowly trains her to submit herself to him.

She's smart and pretty, but also very willing to relinquish control. He has her sucking his cock under his desk while he meets with colleagues, he dictates how high her heels should be and every time there's a typo in a document, he bends her over his desk and whips her with a flogger he keeps in his drawer.

He sounds like a misogynistic wanker to me, but she loves it. She talks about the sting of the flogger giving way to unimaginable pleasure and earth-shattering orgasms. How his words of praise make her beam with pride, how exquisitely he licks her throbbing clit when she's earned a reward. I admit, it definitely doesn't sound all bad.

The second tale of submission really gets my attention.

The submissive, is Ms Ryder, a high flying, successful CEO of a large fashion label. She's intelligent, gorgeous and rich. But every Saturday, she gives herself to Mr Eastern, the CEO of a rival company who she ended up fucking at a conference they both attended. She inadvertently uncovered his Dominant nature and was intrigued, so he agreed to lead the way and she started finding utter bliss in submitting to him at their weekly meetings.

She talks about how freeing it is to not have to think, not make decisions, just for that one night every week. Plus of course, her Dominant Master knows how to please every inch of her, and has opened to her eyes to all manner of pleasure she had never even dreamed of.

I glance at the clock. It's 4pm in the afternoon. I check the address on the card again. It's on the other side of town, but if I get a taxi, it should only take about 20 minutes. Wait. Am I actually considering going to meet the woman who asked if I'd like to be a call girl - a submissive call girl at that, seeing to the needs of rich perverted business men?

I scold myself inwardly for being so judgemental. Perverted is probably a bit harsh -- each to their own, right? It's all safe and consensual; nobody's being abused or taken advantage of. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad way to make a living?

I run a bubble bath to ponder the idea a little more.

As the water envelops me, I recall Ms Summers' words. 'You may not know it, but I see a submissive streak in you.' -- What does that even mean? Sure, I'm no sweet little virgin -- far from it, but I've never been tied up and whipped! I did let Joey Ritter hitch my skirt up and spank my ass after a party once, but submissive? Actually, that was really hot. Maybe I could do this.

I notice my hand has slipped down between my legs and I'm gently stroking my clit -- I'm not sure whether it's the memory of being spanked or the stories I've been reading or the possibility of submitting myself to a stranger that's turning me on so much, but either way, I definitely need to ease the tension that's building inside me.

I press my fingers harder against my clit and slide two fingers of my other hand inside myself. Oh, that feels good. I start to fuck myself harder, remembering how good the cool night air felt on my bare behind when Joey bent me over the bonnet of his car and hitched my skirt up.

He'd been admiring my ass all night, groping it shamelessly while we danced at the party he'd taken me to. I remember his lust-filled whisper in my ear,

'I would love to see my handprint across your creamy cheeks, and I bet you'd love it too -- you'd beg me not to stop.' I remember how wet that made me, the sheer desire in his voice made me brazen enough to reply,

'Then maybe we should take a detour when you drive me home and find out.' We hadn't lasted much longer at the party.

He'd driven us to the edge of a field and parked the car offroad.

'So, Jess. Were you all talk, or are you going to let me spank your delicious ass now?' he'd asked shamelessly before kissing me deeply. I hadn't had a lot to drink, but enough that I was feeling bold. My own brazen desire did the rest. I'd smiled, stepped out of the car and perched over the bonnet, beckoning him through the windshield.

He didn't waste any time in joining me. Or in bending me over further so that my breasts pressed against the car and my ass went higher. He flipped my short skirt up and over my back, palming my behind greedily. I'd gasped as his fingers slipped inside my panties, making quick work of pushing them down around my ankles.

The first sharp smack against my right cheek shocked me more than anything, it was so loud in the still quiet of the field. The second was when it started to sting, and the third was delicious. I started moaning pleasurably as he punished my ass, over and over, lost in the sensation of it.

'Do you want me to stop?' he'd growled during a brief pause, but I shook my head,

'No! Please don't stop!' I wailed wantonly. He'd been right about that.

After a few more minutes of divine torture, my ass was burning when he pressed his dick between my cheeks. I couldn't believe how hard he'd got from spanking me.