Prisoner of Desire

by Emma Allan

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Julia Farrell's sex life is non-existent. What she really needs is to be dominated by a strong man. But there are no candidates - until she meets Niels Norstrum, the business genius who has just acquired the company she works for.

Norstrum is a charismatic leader whose very presence speaks to Julia's neglected sensual nature - a man who knows just what she wants. And though his plans for Julie lie far outside her job description, she'll do anything to become his prisoner of desire.

Discover Piatkus Entice: temptation at your fingertips - www.piatkusentice.co.uk

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 256

Sample

She wriggled the tight white panties down her long, slender legs. The crotch appeared reluctant to part company with her sex
and she had to tug it away. The panties fell to the floor. Her pubic hair was blonde, downy, soft but sparse, barely covering
the triangle of her pubis. The clasp of her bra was in the front, between the silky white cups that moulded themselves to
her creamy, full breasts. She unhooked it. Her breasts fell free, bouncing as they settled onto her chest, their cherry-sized
nipples already erect.


She extracted her arms from the bra, picked up the panties and tossed both garments at him. They landed in his lap. He picked
up the panties and held them to his face, rubbing the silk against his cheek and inhaling the aroma of her perfume. It had
become inextricably mixed with another, more primitive scent. He always did that. He had taken off all his clothes and sat
in the armchair to watch her. He always did that, too. She liked it. His passivity excited her. She liked being watched. She
liked to strip for him, slowly and seductively, exposing herself to him bit by bit. She wished she had the courage to go further,
to lie on the bed and spread her legs wide open and let him watch her impale herself on the big plastic dildo she kept secreted
in the top drawer of her bedside chest.


Julia stood in front of him, her legs slightly apart. She reached up and started taking the pins out of her flaxen blonde
hair, letting it tumble over her shoulders. She shook her head to untangle it. Her breasts shook too, slapping against each
other. Her hair was so long it brushed the conspicuous curves of her buttocks.


The sight of her naked body had made him erect. She cupped her breasts in her hands, as though trying to guess what they weighed.
Coquettishly, she pushed her left breast up towards her chin, lowering her head so she could take its nipple into her mouth.
She let him see her teeth pinching it.


Derek moaned. ‘Love that,’ he muttered.

Julia dropped to her knees. As her heels dug into her fleshy buttocks she felt a wave of exhilaration. She had never been
able to explain to herself why kneeling, both the image and the fact of it, excited her so much. But it did. She clasped her
hands behind her back to complete the picture.


Derek parted his legs and threw the bra to one side. Without moving her hands she leant forward and opened her mouth to take
in his erection. His cock was circumcised and very smooth. Her lips sank down its length until his glans was right at the
back of her throat.


She wished she could have asked him to bind her hands behind her back. Closing her eyes, she held her wrists together tightly,
trying to pretend they were bound together by white leather cuffs. It was always white leather. In her mind’s eye she had
a vision of herself, kneeling before him, her body swathed in tight white leather bondage. She shuddered as the icon of her
sexuality glowed brightly on the black screen of her imagination.


‘Master,’ she said, but the word was muffled by his cock. She would not have dared to say it aloud.

‘Use your hands,’ he said irritably.

The icon flickered and faded. She opened her eyes and faced reality. Reluctantly, she freed her hands from her self-imposed
bonds. Sliding her mouth back until his glans was poised at her lips, she circled the base of his cock with one hand and gathered
up his scrotum with the other, squeezing it gently.


His cock throbbed. ‘Lovely,’ he said.

‘I’ll do anything for you, Master, anything you want,’ she wanted to say but did not. The imaginary words excited her so much she shuddered.


‘Come on,’ he said. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. ‘I want the real thing.’ He walked over to the
bed and sat on the edge of it.


She had already stripped away the bedding. The mattress was covered with a white sheet. She sat down beside him, and immediately
he rolled over on top of her, pulling her back onto the bed and kissing her on the mouth, his tongue plunging between her
lips. She felt his hard phallus pressing against her belly.


‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said. ‘Fucking gorgeous.’ He pushed his hand down between their bodies until his fingers found the moist
opening of her sex. His middle finger located her clitoris and began rubbing it from side to side. Then the finger slid lower
and investigated the mouth of her vagina, running around the slippery wet opening before delving inside. He thrust it up into
her as deep as it would go, so deep she could feel his knuckles pushing against her labia. His finger wriggled around the
tight tube of flesh, exploring its inner contours. Then he withdrew it, raised himself above her, and thrust his erection
into her cunt.


Julia moaned. Her body closed around the intruder, squeezing it reflexively. Its breadth stretched her labia apart, exposing
her clitoris to the pressure of his pubic bone as he drove his cock into her rhythmically, each inward stroke producing a
wave of sensation.


Derek was a good lover. He was considerate. He was strong. He would not come, she knew, unless she’d climaxed first. It was
a point of honour with him. He had a lovely body, too, firmly muscled and slender. But despite all his exertions, despite
the way his cock reamed her so effectively and hammered against her clitoris with unerring accuracy, it was not enough. It
had never been enough. Not with him. Not with any of her other lovers. She needed more – she needed her fantasy to enhance
the reality.


She closed her eyes again. Slowly, sinuously, enjoying the feeling, she stretched her arms out over her head as if trying
to reach the corners at the top of the bed. She stretched her legs out too, feeling the cartilage elongate until it was taut,
her whole body spread-eagled across the mattress, then made an effort to stretch out even further, her fingers extended, her
toes pointed, every sinew alive with feeling.


In her imagination she could see the white leather cuffs strapped tightly around her ankles and wrists, the cuffs attached
to white nylon ropes that pulled her limbs out to each corner of the bed. The image immediately made her sex spasm, gripping
the erection inside it even more firmly.


‘Yes,’ Derek said, taking the sensation as a sign that she was approaching orgasm, and fondly imagining it was due to his
efforts. He kissed the corded muscles of her long neck, then pushed his tongue into her ear, screwing its heat and wetness
into the inner whorls. ‘Do it for me,’ he encouraged.


She wished she could have told him what she wanted. She had never dared tell any of her lovers what would really turn her
on. She feared they would ridicule her. Or worse, think she was perverted. Women were not supposed to have such unsavoury
appetites, especially not such politically incorrect ones.


The imaginary bonds bit into her flesh. Her muscles ached with the strain. Despite Derek’s weight on top of her, she arched
her buttocks up, changing the angle of her pubic bone, so his cock could penetrate still deeper, striking against the neck
of her womb. ‘Watch me, Master,’ she wanted to say. There was always a shadowy figure in her fantasies. She could never make
out a face but the eyes were clear, their colour the palest of pale blues, their gaze hypnotic. They watched her without expression,
their passivity total. As if their owner didn’t care what she did. She had to make him care. That was the point, to arouse
him from his languor.


She felt the spasms of her sex become rhythmic, getting stronger and more frequent. The hard cock inside her was relentless. Its physical provocation seemed to be intensifying her mental gyrations, the one feeding off the other. The more
acutely her clitoris responded, the more real the image of herself helplessly bound to the bed seemed to become. The expression
in those pale blue eyes changed, registering a flicker of interest. Desperately she squirmed and wriggled against her bonds,
wanting her Master to see her pleasure. In her mind the word ‘please’ was repeated over and over again, a plea for something,
though she did not know what.


The eyes moved closer, watching more intently. She had to come now, so he would see it. With an enormous effort she pushed
herself up off the bed, every muscle taut, her pubic bone crushed against Derek’s, her clitoris trapped between them. Her
orgasm exploded. She saw the expression in those pale blue eyes register mild curiosity, before the image was wiped away by
waves of sheer unadulterated pleasure.


Derek waited for her crisis to pass, then, as her body seemed to melt under him, all tension gone, he began ploughing into
her again, riding the huge wave of liquefaction that her sex had produced.


‘No, wait,’ she said, moving her hands to his hips to stop him. The white leather cuffs had disappeared. She was free again.
‘Will you do something for me?’ She was feeling brave.


‘Of course,’ he said.

‘I don’t want you to come like this.’

‘How, then?’ He rolled off her and onto his back. His cock stuck up from his belly, glistening wet.

Could she tell him? Did she have the courage? She felt herself blushing, her cheeks turning pink. ‘This way …’

She reached over to the bedside chest and opened the second drawer down, groping around inside until she found the black silk
sleeping mask.


Derek looked puzzled.

‘I want to be blindfolded,’ she said.

‘And?’

She couldn’t find the words to tell him. She just held the blindfold out until he took it and wrapped the elasticated straps
around her head, over her long hair. The blackness seemed to envelop her in a cloak of anonymity. No more embarrassment. Not
being able to see him gave her the impression – however illogically – that he could not see her either.


‘Now what?’ he asked.

She replied by groping around until she found his cock. She gripped it in her fist, then began to wank it quite hard. ‘Can
you come like this?’


‘Is that what you want?’

‘Oh yes, come over me,’ she said, lying back. Just saying the words made her whole body pulse. Her sex was alive again, its
wetness leaking out over her thighs. In the blackness behind the mask the pale blue eyes were there again, watching her.


She felt Derek’s weight shifting on the bed as he got to his knees beside her. He replaced her hand with his own. ‘I didn’t
know you were into all this,’ he said.


‘Please,’ she said. She could hear his hand moving up and down the length of his shaft. Some part of her wondered why on earth
she found this so exciting, but most of her couldn’t have cared less. Most of her was content to feel the enormous surge of
pleasure that radiated, like heat, from her cunt.


The pale blue eyes were looking down at her naked body. She spread her legs apart so they could see her sex, the labia parting
to reveal the scarlet maw of her vagina, as wet as it had ever been.


Derek’s breathing was becoming more pronounced. He was moaning very softly. She felt the fingers of his spare hand dig into
the flesh of her left breast, pinching at her nipple. It felt like he had touched her with a live electric wire. She knew
she was going to come again. His hand worked faster.


Suddenly he groaned. Immediately she felt a burning hot liquid spatter over her belly. Gobs of it landed on her thighs and
in her short pubic hair. As easily as if someone had thrown a switch she came, harder and longer than before, her body raked by feeling, every nerve responding to the wave of
sensation, every muscle trembling out of control.


‘Master … Master …’ She heard the word echoing in her head as the pale blue eyes regarded her quizzically. She was too far
gone to know whether she’d screamed the word out loud or not.


It took a long time before the tension melted away. Eventually, she pulled the mask off her eyes. She felt embarrassed. Derek
had not moved. He was looking down at her, at his semen spattered over her naked flesh.


‘Is that what you want?’ he said. There was a detectable hint of disdain in his voice.

‘What?’ she said.

‘A Master?’

‘No,’ she lied. Obviously the word hadn’t only been in her imagination. ‘I don’t know what I want.’

‘Oh? You seemed to know exactly.’

‘I got carried away.’

‘Yes. I could see that.’

Derek’s reaction was what she’d feared most. She had revealed too much, she knew. He did not approve. What he had been prepared
to do in the heat of passion was less acceptable now the passion had cooled. He did not want to know her sexual secrets, and
he clearly did not want any part of them.


Julia Farrell was late. For the second time in a week the alarm had failed to go off and she had woken in a panic, throwing
herself out of bed and into the shower. Derek had not wanted to stay the night and had gone home soon after their sexual encounter,
making some excuse that didn’t sound particularly plausible but that Julia was only too glad to accept.


Drying herself off, Julia stared into the mirror as she concentrated on her make-up. She had big blue eyes, a long straight
nose, high cheekbones and a large but perfectly symmetrical mouth, with fleshy full lips – a combination that easily attracted admiring glances from the opposite sex and
envious ones from her own. She drew a thin line around each eye and brushed shadow under the brows, then painted on a rich
red lipstick with a brush and applied a light blusher to her cheeks.


Julia rushed into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee, then decided there was no time and settled for orange juice.
Her flat was small, the top floor of a Georgian terrace house in Islington that had been badly converted in the late sixties,
but it was all she could afford on her limited means. It comprised a bedroom, just big enough to hold a double bed, a bathroom
that was no wider than the hallway and a kitchen-cum-dining-room-cum-sitting room that overlooked the neat square outside.
She would have liked something bigger, but on her none-too-generous salary was grateful to have managed to buy into the property-owning
classes at all.


She glanced at her watch. Hurriedly she rushed back into the bedroom, clipped on a white bra, stretched tan-coloured tights
over her long legs and stepped into a beige skirt. A cream cotton blouse and a beige sweater completed her outfit. She tied
her long hair into a casual plait, then grabbed her handbag and coat and darted out the front door, double-locking it behind
her.


It was not until she was at the bus stop that she had any time to think about what had happened last night. As she stood under
the bus shelter in a small queue of people, all anxiously looking up the road every time the red shape of a bus loomed into
sight, peering intensely to make out the number it displayed, her mind drifted. Last night had been a mistake. She had taken
a gamble and it had not paid off.


The truth was, if she was honest with herself, that sex had always been a problem for her. Not a large problem that dominated
her life and made it impossible for her to do anything but think about it, but a small, nagging, persistent worry. She was
twenty-two and had been very careful in selecting her lovers from the numerous offers she received. In fact all had proved more than competent – except one. Her first. Brian Lewis
had taken her virginity. But equally she had taken his, and his inability to arouse her was perhaps unsurprising, bearing
in mind that he had found it almost impossible to hold himself back for more than a few seconds.


But her lack of response to the several attractive, physically powerful and experienced men she had picked after Brian was
less easy to understand. The succession of men who had comprehensively and conscientiously made love to her, who had caressed
her and licked her and sucked her and penetrated her with hard unwilting phalluses, who had not stinted in their efforts to
bring her pleasure, had all, without exception, failed in their endeavours. She had flayed about wildly, screamed with delight,
done everything she could think of to express a pleasure she did not achieve. Faking her orgasm was the only reward she could
give them for their sterling efforts.


Until last year.

It had never occurred to her until then that the answer to her lack of sexual fulfilment could be found in a book. She supposed,
if she thought about it at all, that having an orgasm was like learning to swim. At first you flailed about and sank like
a stone, then suddenly and magically one day you floated and would never sink again. She had never bothered to challenge this
assumption. Her knowledge and curiosity about sex were strictly limited. She’d had sex-education classes at school which were
little more than human biology. She knew little of sexual behaviour and nothing of the more outré pursuits. She’d heard vaguely about couples who got pleasure from spanking and being spanked and thought that faintly absurd,
but had never investigated further.


Until last year. All that had changed then. Dramatically.

She remembered vividly when and how. It had been lunchtime and Chloe, the girl who shared her office, had left a new magazine
open on her desk. There was an arresting picture of a naked couple, their genitals carefully covered by a strategically placed sheet, and an intriguing title, ‘Sex Games for Consenting Adults’, that caught her attention as she munched
on her tunafish sandwich. The article was, in fact, an abridgement of a recently published book. The writer dealt with sado-masochism,
bondage and corporal punishment. Then came the section on domination and submission. Julia could remember the paragraph word
for word: ‘It is now generally accepted that just as men genuinely want to be dominated by a strong and powerful woman, women
can have an equally affecting and fundamental desire to be dominated by a man. The Master–Slave relationship appears to be
non-gender specific. It is also a syndrome for which no proper explanation exists. The desire to be a slave, to be not merely
subservient but totally and absolutely dependent, is a sexual urge as profound as the basic instinct to procreate.’ Julia
had felt her face flush as she read the words. Her palms had begun to sweat. It was as though someone had read her deepest
secret and written it down except, of course, that until that very minute she hadn’t known herself what the secret was. She
had been blind and now she could see.


That night she’d had the most vivid and graphic dream she could ever remember. She was standing in the queue waiting for a
bus. A car, a big silver limousine, stopped at the curb and the rear window facing her slid down with a soft whirr. She could
not see inside, however. A man’s voice asked her if she wanted a lift. The next thing she knew she was in her bathroom taking
a shower. There was someone in her bedroom waiting for her. She dried herself and brushed her hair. Naked, she walked into
the bedroom, but it wasn’t her bedroom at all. In fact there were no walls, just heavy scarlet drapes like the curtains of
a theatre. There was a large Gothic fireplace and a roaring fire. She heard a dark, rich voice boom out a single word of command,
‘Kneel.’ She dropped to her knees. That was the first time she’d seen those ice-cold pale blue eyes. She could. . .