by Anarie Brady
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Author’s Note
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Tasting Pleasure
ISBN # 978-1-78430-997-8
©Copyright Anarie Brady 2016
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2016
Edited by Shannon Combs
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 3.
Pleasure
TASTING PLEASURE
Anarie Brady
Book one in the Pleasure series
There’s more than one kind of pleasure, and Alicia is eager to learn them all.
Finding herself divorced, without a job and in a foreign country, Alicia decides to open her own business as a personal chef specializing in American-style food. Little does she know that her first important client, famed photographer Maverick Devonshire, will become far more than just her employer.
Unable to resist his commanding manner, she follows him into his playroom. Once there, she discovers true empowerment and gains the confidence to become not only a successful businesswoman but also a true submissive. Learning quickly from the consequences administered by Mr. Devonshire and his associates, Alicia finds out that her clients are not the only ones who are Tasting Pleasure.
Dedication
To my family, those still with me and those traveling a different world. I love you
Author’s Note
I want to assure the readers that each and every recipe has been developed, tweaked, and/or enjoyed by my family. My mother wasn’t a great cook, but my grandmother was. From her I learned how to tell if a tomato was ripe, a strawberry sweet or milk soured. She taught me to roll dough, test for doneness of a roast, bake a cake from scratch and to always use the freshest ingredients I could. I once asked her why she spent so much time in the kitchen making food from scratch when it would be easier to just buy a batch of cookies rather than make them herself. Her answer, “What we eat becomes part of our body and all that junk food is just that—junk. Why would I want the people I love to become full of junk? They’d be nothing but junk themselves then. Yes, it takes longer to cook like this, but then I know the people I love are a little healthier, a little happier. They’re full of real food, not fillers. I want real people in my life, not a bunch of fillers.” Makes perfect sense to me.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Hide-A-Key: Hudson Lock, LLC LTD
Mini Cooper: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft
Chapter One
Warm Apple Pie
6 cups peeled and sliced granny smith apples
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon each cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
2 Tablespoons flour
Pastry for a two-crust pie
Line a deep-dish pie pan with one crust. In a bowl, toss all other ingredients. Pour into crust. Lay second crust on top of apples. Seal edges with a fork or fluted design. Paint the top of the crust with an egg wash and sprinkle on sugar. Cut a few slits in the top so that the steam can rise. Bake in a hot oven (420 degrees Fahrenheit) for about 50 minutes or until lightly browned.
I can do this, Alicia thought as she suppressed the urge to lift her head and glance at the door. She knelt on the floor, her knees resting upon a large pillow, leaning forward with her forehead on her crossed hands and her long hair draping the entire length of her back. Her arse, with the word toy still readable on both cheeks, was slightly raised over her ankles. She had assumed this position half an hour earlier.
Maverick had called forty-five minutes before, instructing her to prepare for him. She had not expected him to call. Usually after an encounter as intense as last night, he allowed for a day of recovery. Nonetheless, Alicia had immediately tied up her hair, taken a quick shower, given a small prayer of thanks that she did not have to shave, administered a cool enema, dried herself, applied an oil lightly scented with patchouli and, after relieving her bowels, had assumed this position—all within fifteen minutes. She didn’t wait long before hearing Maverick open the door of the flat, which she had left unlocked in anticipation of his arrival. She had hoped he would come to the bedroom where she patiently knelt before the door, but today he was in no hurry for his greeting.
Alicia felt her back begin to cramp, but she refused to move in order to relieve her discomfort. If Maverick needed time to unwind, so be it. He had trained her well enough that she could endure a short wait. Besides, she estimated she had only been in this position for thirty-five minutes now. She’d waited longer than this before.
Damn! She could feel her heavy hair begin to slide down one side. Now her appearance would be uneven, and she knew how Maverick appreciated symmetry. Her hair was one of her greatest treasures but also one of her greatest trials. Why did it have to be so heavy? The length was challenging enough to deal with—the ends of her curls brushed against the small of her back—but the thickness added a weight that was difficult to control. Normally she would have braided it, but Maverick had expressly told her he wanted it unbound and flowing down her back.
Well, she thought, I did the best I could. She decided she would rather leave the hair unevenly draped than risk moving out of position.
A moment later she was glad of her decision as she heard Maverick’s footsteps. Had she adjusted her hair she would have been out of position and that, more than the hair, would have earned her a punishment. She quivered slightly as she felt him run a single finger along the curve of her buttocks. She lifted her gaze enough to see his shoes—he was wearing his black work ones. That meant he had just finished a shoot. No wonder he hadn’t come to her immediately. He had probably sipped the whiskey she had left waiting for him and simply relaxed in the sitting room for a w
hile. Maverick worked hard and his models often needed coaxing into position.
“Greet me,” Maverick instructed.
Alicia smiled momentarily then raised herself into a kneeling position. She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. She gently lowered both them and his boxers to the ground and took him into her mouth, cradling his balls in her hands. Remembering his preference for symmetry and balance, Alicia tried to keep an even pressure and rhythm, savoring the taste of his flesh. When she felt him expand within her mouth, she sighed, knowing she had brought him pleasure. This knowledge also gave her exquisite joy. After a few more minutes, she felt his hand on her head and regretfully pulled away from him. She sat back on her heels, keeping her head down, and folded her hands in front of her.
“You please me, Alicia. You’ve grown into an almost perfect companion.” He reached down and stroked her cheek.
Alicia rubbed her face against his hand, thrilled with the unexpected compliment.
“Last night you exceeded even my expectations. I’m very proud of you. Considering the state you were in when we met, I’m astounded at your progress. Stand up, my dear. Tonight we will celebrate your success.”
Alicia was so flustered, she stumbled a bit as she stood. She too was proud of her performance last night but had not been expecting Maverick’s praise. She blushed with the pleasure of his words. She knew, though, that he spoke the truth. When they had first met, she had been a mess. Now she was a successful businesswoman and a perfectly trained companion.
* * * *
One year earlier
“And is there anything to which you are allergic?” Alicia asked.
“Shellfish,” Maverick replied.
Alicia scribbled this important information down in her notepad.
“Well then, I believe I have everything I need. If it’s okay with you, I’ll work up a possible menu—for Friday, Saturday and Sunday—and call you tomorrow. You can approve it at that time or make any adjustments you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Maverick answered. “I have given you enough information—my likes and dislikes, the number of people I will be serving, my budget requirements—that I trust you will devise an appropriate menu. I don’t like being interrupted when I’m working so I would not answer the phone anyway.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll be here early Friday afternoon to prepare your meals. Will you be here to let me in or will you hide a key somewhere?” Alicia asked.
“I will give you a spare key. You may come and go as you please. You may supply the pantry or perishable items whenever convenient.”
“Goodness! That’s generous of you. Not to mention quite trusting,” Alicia stated in surprise.
“Not at all. If you steal anything or otherwise damage my property, your business will fail. Since you are just beginning in the personal chef business, you will want to do your best to please me. If you succeed, I will likely recommend your services, or rather those of Tasting Pleasure, to my friends, and you will be able to expand your business. If you do not please me, not only will you not be rehired for next week, but I will hardly recommend you, thereby harming this fledgling endeavor,” Maverick explained.
“I didn’t see it that way, but you’re right,” Alicia commented. Why did this man affect her so? True, she was somewhat shy when she first met people, but Maverick Devonshire certainly disconcerted her. She smoothed her braided hair and ran a hand down her knee-length skirt, trying to hide her nervousness. Briskly, she packed up her papers and stood.
“Thank you, Mr. Devonshire, for this opportunity. If you like American-style cooking, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results,” she said as she held out her hand. She jumped slightly at the tingling sensation that coursed through her when Mr. Devonshire grasped her small hand firmly in his.
“I have every confidence I’ll be pleased,” he answered.
Later that night, Alicia fretted over the menu. Since her degenerate husband had divorced her, she had struggled to manage on her meager finances. She had tried working as a secretary, a store clerk, even a crossing guard, but had failed at each of those jobs. Having always considered herself a good cook, though, she had decided to try her hand at becoming a personal chef. Of course, she would specialize in American cooking, being American herself. She hoped that by offering a unique service, she could build up enough clients to support herself. So far, the business, Tasting Pleasure, had lagged behind her expectations, but with the addition of famed photographer Maverick Devonshire on her short list of clients, perhaps all that would change.
Mr. Devonshire had said he would only require her services for the weekends, since he ate out or with friends during the week, so she need only prepare three dinners, one to be served on Friday and two which could be refrigerated and heated whenever he wanted them. She would include an appetizer, soup, meat, vegetable, starch and dessert for each meal, although she certainly could plan for leftovers from one meal to be utilized at another. Her conservative, Middle American upbringing had taught her that to waste not was to want not. Still, Mr. Devonshire had allowed for a generous budget, so she felt confident she could please him.
The next afternoon, Alicia put the finishing touches on an apple pie. She glanced around Mr. Devonshire’s kitchen, impressed by the tidiness and organization. Rarely did a man who lived alone take the time to equip a kitchen so thoroughly. This attention to detail certainly had made her job so much easier. She hummed to herself as she sprinkled the top of the pie with sugar and placed it in the oven. The sugar would crystallize as it cooked, making the crust shiny and crisp.
The other meals were already in the refrigerator, ready to be reheated according to the typed directions placed on the counter. As she waited for the pie to finish cooking, Alicia began on the dishes. She was just finishing up when she heard the front door open. Quickly, she glanced at the clock.
“Mr. Devonshire,” she called, “I’m so sorry. I thought you would not be home until six tonight. If I had known you would be early, I would have started sooner.”
“Not to worry, Alicia. I finished earlier than expected. Take your time. I’m just going to grab a drink and relax in the den for a while,” Maverick said.
Alicia waited nervously as Maverick walked into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently massaged it. She stiffened as shock waves ran through her body.
“Good Lord! It smells heavenly in here. I certainly hope whatever is in the oven is for tonight’s dinner,” he said.
Alicia relaxed slightly. “Yes, it is. It’s an apple pie. I’ve also placed a pint of vanilla ice cream in the freezer in case you would like it à la mode.”
“Sounds wonderful. Why don’t you join me in the den after you’ve finished in here?” he suggested.
“Of course, Mr. Devonshire,” she answered. Now why were her palms suddenly sweaty and her heart beating faster?
What on earth could he want? She glanced around the kitchen, noting that everything was clean and neat. He had liked the smell of the pie, and she knew that his pot roast, potatoes and carrots for tonight’s dinner were cooked to perfection. Maybe the ice cream had been a bit over the top. Alicia nervously dried her hands. She removed her apron and placed it on the table, next to her purse. Better go see what he wants. She had been trying to overcome this terrible shyness and lack of self-confidence for years, but didn’t seem to be making much progress. Despite having just dried her hands, her palms had again become somewhat clammy.
If only he didn’t make me so nervous! she thought.
Glancing into the den, Alicia gently rapped on the doorframe, even though the door was open.
“Come in, dear,” Maverick said. “Would you like a drink?”
“Ah, no, thank you. I…ah…I still have to drive home. I’m not really much of a drinker anyway. I mean with my limited budget—not that I’m complaining about what you pay me—but— Oh gosh. I’m babbling,” she ended in a blush.
Damn! This man must think she was an absolute lunatic.
Maverick chuckled. “You certainly are. Try to relax a bit. You’ve done a fine job so far, and from what I can see by the budget you left on the counter, you’ve managed to purchase all your needed supplies even more economically than I allowed for. That pleases me.”
“Good—I mean—thank you,” Alicia stumbled. She shifted self-consciously as Maverick continued to stare at her. “Well, sir, if that’s all you require, I should be heading home.”
“Of course. Please, drive carefully. I’ll be e-mailing you my requirements for next weekend no later than Tuesday evening,” Maverick said as he sipped his whiskey.
“That would be fine,” she replied as she turned to leave.
“One more thing,” Maverick added.
“Yes?” she answered, facing him once more.
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Involved?”
“No.”
“A lesbian?”
“No! Goodness, why on earth would any of that matter?” she asked.
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why ask?”
“To see if you would answer. That will be all.”
As Alicia drove home that first evening, she wondered about his questions. What she wondered about even more was her unhesitant answering. Why had she felt compelled to answer Mr. Devonshire? He had contracted her cooking services but he had no right to know such personal information about her. Nonetheless, when she stood before him, she had an almost uncontrollable urge to drop a curtsey. Perhaps she was just nervous about the job. Next week would be different. She’d be more confident and more refined. And, she sternly told herself, she would pointedly ignore his sapphire eyes, his soft, muscular hands, his deep voice.