Rules are Made to be Broken Ch. 01

This is chapter one of 29... Enjoy!

*****

I've been tied up, tied down, cuffed, spanked, flogged, paddled... I've submitted myself in more ways than I can count, but this -- the waiting -- this is nerve wracking.

I'm sitting in the reception area of Red Velvet Publishing. My heart is racing as I try to compose myself. I smooth my hands down my grey pencil skirt and breathe deeply.

The plush, over the top interior style of the waiting area is far from calming; it's all rich, vibrant reds and lavish, decadent fabrics. Actually, that velour sofa across the room is almost exactly the same as the one I was bent over last night. Mr Greaves might be at the top of his game in estate planning, and his skills with rope and knots are exceptional, but the hotels he books for our appointments are often far from refined. I giggle inwardly at the memory.

That's better Jess, relax. You've got this. If she hates it, it's no big deal. There are plenty of other fine purveyors of smut to approach.

'Miss Blake?'

The pretty blonde receptionist pulls me back into the real world. I look up and smile. She's like a real-life Secretary Barbie; perfect sleek blonde hair, standard issue black knee length skirt and fitted blazer, made her own with a candyfloss pink sheer blouse underneath and matching glossy lips.

'Ms DeVere will see you now.', she smiles brightly. I return it and follow her towards the large double doors, giving her another quick smile as she ushers me inside.

'Miss Blake!' Katherine DeVere gets up from behind her oversized desk with an outstretched hand and fiery red lips arranged in what looks to be a very genuine smile. She's immaculately dressed in a tailored black trouser suit; a leopard print blouse and killer red heels that match her lips. Her dark hair is piled artfully into a chic up-do and her black cat eye framed glasses are perched on top. She's every inch the stereotypical erotica commissioning editor, and she wears it very well.

'Ms DeVere' I smile back, shaking her well-manicured hand -- crimson polish, obviously.

'Katherine, please. Sit, can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?' she asks, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk.

'Coffee would be great, thank you.' I reply, perching on the leather seat, trying to keep my breathing even and my increasingly faked confidence in tact. She buzzes through to her PA to order our drinks as she sits herself back down opposite me.

'So,' she continues, removing her glasses from her head and perching them on her nose to read, 'Shades of Submission'. She's holding my book proposal in her hand. It's just the synopsis and the first three chapters, but I suddenly feel very protective of it.

Secretary Barbie politely interrupts with a tray of coffee, cream and sugar, attractively served in mis-matched kitschy, vintage looking crockery.

'Thank you, Amelia, that will be all.' Katherine dismisses her with a smile and pours us each a cup from the glass coffee pot.

'Miss Blake,' she starts again

'Jessica, please.' I say politely.

'Jessica.' She smiles warmly, 'I love your book.'

I try to stop myself from grinning like a Cheshire cat, hoping that I'm achieving dignified delight rather than inane joy.

'Thank you!' I reply, 'That's quite an honour coming from someone so well read as yourself!'

Oh, you terrible suck up Jessica Blake -- she reads trashy smut for a living, not literary classics! I scold myself inwardly, and distract from my gushing by adding cream to my coffee, which is delicious.

'It's true,' Katherine continues, 'It's fresh, it's contemporary, and your Amber, she's just wonderful -- strong, sassy, sensual -- a perfect leading lady.'

I smile and sip my coffee to avoid any further gushing. Of course, as far as Ms DeVere knows, Amber is an entirely fictional character, but it's hard not be flattered by her unintended personal compliments.

'I won't waste time beating around the bush, Jessica. I'd like to recommend your manuscript for our summer publishing short list.' She smiles broadly and I feel myself match it as she goes on, 'But, I'll need another three chapters by this time next week before I can put it in front of the directors for consideration, is that possible?'

'Absolutely!' I reply, a little too enthusiastically. 'That shouldn't be a problem at all!'

'Perfect! I'll have Amelia check my diary and call you with an appointment.' She scribbles a note in the leather-bound notebook on her desk before continuing.

'May I ask something, Miss Blake -- Jessica -- off the record', she adds, lowering her voice and re-perching her glasses in her hair. I nod, cautiously. 'Your Miss Amber, and her -- encounters. They seem so real, so well observed, almost autobiographical...'

Oh shit. She's asking if I actually am a call girl.

'Well thank you! Ms DeVere -- Katherine,' I interrupt, looking to shut down this line of questioning as quickly as possible, 'nothing so exciting though I'm afraid,' I lie smoothly, pretending to be flattered by the pseudo-compliment I was so freely enjoying just moments ago. 'Amber and her encounters are all down to an overactive imagination -- and growing up with an older brother who had a fondness for adult magazines!' I add with a smile.

'Ah!' she replies, I think looking almost relieved, 'well, a great writer draws inspiration wherever she finds it, and it seems you have done just that.' Oh, you have no idea Ms DeVere. No idea at all.

I leave the Red Velvet offices shortly after, bursting with pride and excitement. I'm a step closer to being published and I want to tell the world!

I can't of course, because nobody in my real world knows that I'm writing a book about a high-class call girl who works for an agency whose clients have very niche tastes & the various submissive services she delivers. Much less that I actually am that call girl.

So instead, I treat myself to a cupcake from the bakery on the corner (red velvet with cream cheese frosting, obviously) and head home to get ready for work.

* * * * *

I check my reflection in the mirrored wall of the hotel elevator. My usually untameable auburn ringlets are piled into a chic up-do at the client's request, my eyeliner is perfectly winged, my lips are glossed and a respectable black shift dress is clinging to my curves nicely; concealing elegantly simple black silk lingerie underneath.

Tonight's client is a newbie; which is always equal parts exciting and daunting. Crystal, my boss, provides a brief "fact-file" when I'm meeting someone for the first time and I like to think I've become something of an expert at building up a picture of the man each one describes.

However, there's not a lot to go on this time. "Sorry Darling, his approval came through later than I'd hoped!" was Crystal's only explanation. Not to worry; the important things were covered.

His preferences are listed as "Traditional, Compliant Sub, BDSM, Bondage, Anal" (nothing out of the ordinary there) and I noted he'd opted for Platinum Verification, meaning he'd agreed to private health screening to allow him not to use condoms during his bookings. (At the agency, we girls all use our own choice of birth control, but condoms are still non-negotiable without a PV - safety always come first; I can't fault Crystal on that front.)

The extra verification usually means they're at the higher end of the wealth scale too. All of our clients are wealthy, (the standard agency rate is £2000 an hour) but a PV carries an extra five figure fee, albeit as a one-off charge. A lot of Doms, especially those with "old school" tastes prefer to skip condoms because they feel they can ruin the "flow" of a scene -- personally, I'm just a fan of the fact they're happy to go to such extra lengths and expense to have their way with me. Sort of makes a gal feel special, y'know? Anyway. I digress.

The elevator stops on the top floor and I take a deep breath. Goodbye Jessica, Hello Amber. I make my way to the penthouse suite entrance and knock on the door. It's opened quickly by a dark-haired man, who takes me completely by surprise.

As a rule, my clients are in at least their forties, not unattractive by any means, (save for the occasional silver fox), but their appeal lies mostly in their presence and character as opposed to traditional good looks. They're usually dressed in business suits (as they're generally fitting me in after work, or between meetings) and they're always enthusiastic to see me; though in a restrained and refined way that suits their Dominant character. This guy is breaking ALL of the rules.

He's a little over 6ft, I'd guess late twenties at most, dressed casually in a tight black t-shirt and soft dark denim jeans clinging snugly to his toned muscular frame. He's very, very attractive, wearing a sexy, confident smile set in a strong, square jaw line.

His bright blue eyes are twinkling, full of deviant mischief beneath a forest of dark lashes, all topped off with a generous mop of ruffled dark hair that would give my own a run for its money in terms of unruliness. Standing barefoot in the doorway, he's relaxed, aloof almost, self-assured to the edge of arrogance and frankly, hot as hell with it.

'Mr...' I fumble, checking my paperwork. Shit. That's never happened before.

'Byron' he interrupts politely, 'Sam Byron.' He watches me intently, an amused smile playing on his mouth as I push the papers back into my bag.

'Yes!' I smile back, trying to regain some composure, 'that's who I'm looking for. Mr Byron.' I'm still half expecting him to tell me I've got the wrong room.

'Well, you've found him.' He replies plainly. His sky-blue eyes twinkle playfully as he cocks his head slightly, regarding me attentively and all I can think about is how much I want to see him naked.

'Oh.' Get your head back in the game Amber! 'I'm Amber', I smile, '- from the agency.'

'Excellent, I've been expecting you Amber, please come in.' He straightens up and gestures into the room with an open palm that I'd very much like to feel on my behind.

As I step inside the suite, it's hard not to be impressed. It's huge and immaculately decorated, with a massive balcony offering a stunning view over the city.

'You like?' he asks, reading my thoughts.

'Very much' I answer, appreciating more than the view as I continue taking him in, letting my gaze linger a little too long on his pert behind while he pours himself a drink at his fully stocked mini bar area. I smile a little when I see he's adding grapefruit juice and lime wedges to Tequila. I guess I'm not the only person who knows there's more to Mexican booze than Margaritas.

'Can I offer you something - a drink?' he clarifies as he turns to face me holding his own, the ghost of a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. I'm almost certain he caught me staring. That's never happened before either. I need to pull myself together.

'Paperwork!' I blurt, ignoring his question and trying to get things back on track. I hand him the rules for our meeting to sign. 'Standard procedure for first time clients, I'm sure the agency explained when you booked?'

'They did.' He starts reciting the rules from memory as he crosses to a desk on the other side of the room, picking up a pen to sign the document, 'Hourly rates are non-negotiable, Extras are to be booked in advance, no marks are to be left on the submissive, no photography is permitted, no third parties are to be involved, exchanging of personal details is to be avoided, the submissive's safe word is Hardy, cash up front. Right?' He walks as he talks so that when he finishes, he's back in front of me, close enough for me to breathe in the citrus tang of the lime wedges in his glass.

'Perfect.' I breathe, taking the signed paper and £2000 cash from him and slipping them into my bag.

'I couldn't agree more.' He replies, taking a sip and fixing me with a determined gaze and a smile so full of sensual confidence that I'm struggling to not fixate on his mouth.

I can't help wondering how much experience he has as a Dominant though. The agency isn't exactly easy to come by, new business is generally through discreet word of mouth and personal referrals, but he's so much younger than my other clients, how could he be connected? And although he's confident to the point of arrogance, and already doing a good job of controlling me, he seems much too casual to have a Dominant alter ego. I'm intrigued.

'Now that I've signed my life away, what can I get you to drink?' he asks, making no effort to move away. I usually try to avoid drinking with clients; it's not a rule as such, more a personal preference. Everything else is going out the window though and I figure a drink might help steady the effect he's having on me.

'Your Paloma looks delicious.' I reply, working hard to maintain eye contact. His brief smile makes me think he's vaguely impressed for a moment, but it slips quickly back to self-confidence as he moves back to the bar.

'Coming up. Take a seat Amber.' He adds, gesturing to one of the plush arm chairs by the bar. Gratefully, I sit down, relieved to be free from his watch for a moment. I notice there's some soft bluesy music coming from a sound system and as he pours my drink, I try to focus on that as I inwardly steady myself.

'I assume your agency has already briefed you on my rules and preferences?' he asks as he hands me my drink. Oh, we're back to business. Okay, this I can handle.

'Of course.' I nod, taking a sip. It's delicious. He sits down opposite me and I'm back in his powerful gaze, doing all I can not to notice the way his body moves so effortlessly as he leans back confidently to regard me.

'And is there anything you'd like to clarify or discuss beforehand?' He asks. I decide against letting him know that his preferences are fairly standard issue, or that I'm delighted he's as much a fan of bondage as I am and instead reply

'I just need to know how you prefer to be addressed.' Subconsciously, I run the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip. He takes another long sip before standing and moving towards me.

'You may call me Mr Byron, or Sir, whichever you prefer.' He smiles, tilting my chin up lightly and running the tip of his thumb across my bottom lip. My eyes flutter closed at his touch. It's electrifying and I'm completely thrown by how he affects me with such a small effort. Then correcting himself, he takes a step back and gestures to my drink. I take another long sip and place the glass on a side table. I'm tempted to down what's left but I need my wits about me. Mustering all the serenity I can, I lift my eyes back to meet his.

'Perfect. Then, if there's nothing else Mr Byron, your hour begins when you give me my first instruction.'

He smiles lasciviously, unhurriedly finishes his drink, and moves closer to me. My pulse starts racing of its own accord as his whole demeanour changes almost in a heartbeat. His relaxed smile becomes a self-assured smirk across beautifully sculpted lips and those sky-blue eyes visibly darken; not just simply with desire, but with danger and intent. They lock on mine and I can feel every inch of myself being drawn to him as he orders,

'Amber, kneel.'