Main Attraction

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Main Attraction

ISBN 9781419910326

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Main Attraction Copyright© 2007 Anna J. Evans Edited by Heather Osborn.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication: April 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (Sensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

S-
ensuous
love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

E-
rotic
love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

X-
treme
titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

“Down on your belly!” Edna demanded, snapping her whip with a practiced flick of the wrist and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t way out of her league.

“Make me.” The man who knelt before her almost whispered the words, but that didn’t make them any less menacing. Even at a low volume his voice was a daunting entity that smoothed over her skin and made her shiver. The voice alone would have been enough to make her sweat this job, even if the rest of him wasn’t completely intimidating.

Which he was, every enormous inch, from his bald head to the tips of his toes. Sweat rolled off his bare shoulders—his broad, muscled and extremely dominant—

looking shoulders. They were deltoids that never should have seen the inside of a

BDSM club, at least not from the submissive side of the fence. He looked powerful enough to pick her up and snap her spine like a twig, and mean enough to enjoy doing it.

Edna swallowed hard and tried to remember that domination was at least seventy-five percent mental. Too bad something about this man made her mind feel about as wimpy as her decidedly un-buff biceps.

Pull yourself together, woman. Quit being a big baby and give the man what he came for.

You’re
the
Wicked Stepmother. Start acting your part.

“Dare you defy the Wicked Stepmother?” Edna asked, her voice dripping venom as she tried to make each word a warning to her submissive. He would abandon control now or spend eternity suffering her wrath.

Or at least the next fifty minutes.

He had paid for the hour, and Edna didn’t believe in cheating her customers. She might be the Wicked Stepmother, but she had a business to run, and a business didn’t

thrive on unsatisfied clients. Still, she wished she could just let this one go, send him on his merry way without a spanking or nipple torture or a hot wax treatment or whatever else he’d had in mind.

God, she was sick of all of it, every last bit of kink, and even sicker of the whiny, clingy men who tended to make use of her unique services. Still, the man in front of her had her wishing for the usual obedient, boot-licking client. She was a dominatrix by necessity, not by calling, and had never felt like more of a fraud than she did tonight.

“I’d rather not,” he said once again in that voice that dared her to show him what she was really made of.

“I don’t care what you’d rather. Shut your mouth, and start groveling before you piss me off.”

There, that had sounded intimidating.

“Piss you off?” He grunted then, just once, and what looked like the beginnings of a smile quirked at the edges of his full mouth.

What the hell was that grunt supposed to mean? And the smile?

What was she going to do with this man, this giant who seemed to see right through her façade without the slightest difficulty? From the second he entered the room, he had assessed her and quite obviously found her lacking. It was as if he could sense her fear. Even worse, those blue eyes that roved so brazenly over her body seemed to know all too well that he also affected her in a way that had nothing to do with trepidation.

Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and Edna found it difficult to breathe. She wasn’t aroused by this man, she couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. She did
not
feel a sudden tightening low in her belly, her sex wasn’t plumped and aching and her panties weren’t getting suspiciously damp.

“So what happens when you get pissed off?” he asked, his eyes flicking from her breasts to her eyes and back to her breasts with an air of complete ownership.

Who was she kidding? Her panties were practically drenched, and it was nearly impossible to keep from dropping the handle of her whip between her legs to massage her needy clit. She hadn’t been this hot for longer than she could remember, and her sex-starved body screamed for satisfaction, preferably from this man’s thick cock.

“On your belly. Last chance, slave,” Edna demanded, willing her voice to stop its quivering, and her thighs as well. She wasn’t a trembling virgin. For god’s sake, her thighs hadn’t quivered for over a decade. It was embarrassing.

And completely exciting. She’d never before felt the urge to cross over to the submissive side of the fence, but she couldn’t deny that the thought of this stranger overpowering her aroused as much as it alarmed. What would it feel like to have those large, calloused hands on her body, demanding that she bend to his will or suffer the erotic consequences?

Would he kiss her? Stroke her? Or simply bend her over the side of the couch and ram into her from behind? If he were as well endowed as he looked in his slave’s loincloth, it would hurt to be penetrated without any foreplay. It might tear her a bit, make her pussy sting and burn even as she climaxed with a ferocity that made her vision blur. She had no doubt her cunt would be dripping by the time he finished his relentless assault on her body, her body weeping for more sweet, sensual pain.

Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Edna?

Edna struggled to listen to her outraged inner voice, to remember that she didn’t like pain with her pleasure. She ignored both the fresh rush of heat between her legs and the way her already sensitized nipples tightened until it was torture to feel them brush against the leather of her corset.

“You’re shaking,” her client said, his voice soft and husky, almost inviting, as if he knew where her thoughts had been a moment before. “Are you all right?”

Was she all right? God no, she wasn’t all right. She wasn’t going to be all right until she was naked, pinned beneath his body, with his cock positioned to ram into her

dripping slit. His voice seemed to offer that relief, if only she would break for him, show him the real woman behind the Wicked Stepmother.

Never, not in a million years.

The real Edna never showed her face at work, and she wasn’t about to start now, not for a cocky man without the sense to play by the rules. He should never have come in here, not with his obvious contempt for a female Domme. She’d give him one last chance to play nice, and then she was finished with him. This was her place of business and she called the shots.

“Silence. Now.”

“I’ll say it again—make me.”

“We’re finished here. I won’t tolerate a slave who doesn’t know his place.” She turned to leave—a part of her relieved to have an easy out—but was stopped by an impossibly large hand closing around her wrist.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get your hands off me,” she demanded. The fear inspired by how tiny her arm looked engulfed by his fist was overshadowed by the sharp bolt of desire that swept over her skin and zinged straight to her clit.

Yes, god, yes,
this
was what she wanted. She wanted him to grab her, take her, force her to succumb to the raw need that filled her. She wanted to know what it felt like to have her clothes brutally ripped from her body until she was laid bare, completely exposed to the man who would conquer her. A mental image of herself, tied to her four-poster bed, her legs spread wide for him to see her shamefully wet, dripping pussy, flew through Edna’s mind.

She fought to suppress the moan that the vision engendered, and wrenched at her wrist again. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t stay in the same room with this man for another minute. He was making her want things, crave things, that she’d never even imagined, and it was starting to seriously mess with her mind.

“You have to stay.”

“I don’t have to do anything, I’m the Mistress here, and—” “Then show me. Show me, Edna.”

Edna’s jaw dropped open, the shock of hearing him use her real name finally bringing her to her senses. He wasn’t even pretending to play by the rules anymore. In light of current events, it was madness to stay here a second longer.

“Let me go, now!” She brought her whip down on his arm, hard, but the damn man didn’t even blink.

Fear conquering all other emotion, Edna brought the whip down again and again, finally landing a blow to the giant’s shoulder that made him hiss and release her wrist. She was free, and she knew she should run, but she was paralyzed by the sight of blood welling in the cut she had made. She’d never cut anyone, never drawn blood before— ever. It only made it worse that he hadn’t fought back. Sure, he’d held onto her arm, but he hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t even tried to block her blows. But she’d made him bleed, beat him like she was some sort of monster.

Edna suddenly felt sick, and her stomach roiled inside her leather corset.

“Are you finished?” The words were tight and controlled, the voice of a true Master. He hadn’t flinched when she struck him and now, as the cut on the top of his shoulder began to ooze, he remained calm and still, in total possession of himself.

Edna, however, watched with mounting panic as a single drop of red hit the floor. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am.”

“I…
hurt
you.” Her throat went tight and her stupid thighs started to shake in earnest as she watched another droplet join the first on the white carpet.

“You didn’t intend to bleed me?” he asked, almost casually. “No.”

“You lost control.” The words were soft, offering some sort of escape that Edna couldn’t begin to understand.

“No, I…” She let her words trail off, unable to tear her eyes away from the blood.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, she wasn’t really supposed to hurt people. It was a game, a farce, an elaborate way to capitalize on a reputation that she hated.

But that. That was real blood. It sickened her all the way down to the tips of her six-inch spiked heels. It was proof of what she feared most, that Edna Emily Argent Rella was getting lost inside the Wicked Stepmother role she played four days and five nights a week. The woman she’d been, the woman she wanted to be, both were becoming irrevocably changed and she hated it, more than she hated anything.

Even being poor as a church mouse.

“I’m sorry. Get up,” she whispered, her voice trembling along with the rest of her. “What?”

“Get up! And…please leave.” Her voice was thick with emotion and what sounded like the beginnings of tears.

Shit, she was losing it, really losing it.

Edna let the whip slip from her hands and crossed to the window, the window that looked out on a sea of city lights and a castle far in the distance. There, the girl responsible for her misery had set herself up as the new queen. For the hundredth time, the unfairness of it washed over Edna, a thick wave of bitterness she feared she might eventually drown in.