Pleasing Mr. Sutton
Naughty After Hours Series, Book 5
Copyright 2014 Jasmine Haynes
“I have only one rule, Miss Dawson. You will do everything I tell you to do precisely when I tell you to do it.”
Chairman of the board Rance Sutton is looking for a new playmate, an untried submissive he can train to do things his wicked way.
Miss Dawson, the chairman’s personal secretary, wants to get a lot more personal. What better way than becoming his new submissive? After all, she already does everything his way. So really, what’s a little spanking, flogging, handcuffing, and blindfolding if the payoff is Mr. Sutton in her bed? And that’s something she’s dreamed about for the entire five years she’s worked for him.
The problem? This will be no love affair. He will be her master. And she will be his slave. Miss Dawson’s desires aren’t part of the bargain; everything will be about pleasing Mr. Sutton...
“Miss Dawson, your number one task this week is to find a new submissive for me.”
“Excuse me?” Monica Dawson stared at her boss, Rance Sutton, businessman, entrepreneur, investor, and board member for several multinational conglomerates, both large and small scale. She held the position of personal secretary to him. But he’d never gotten this personal.
“I assume there are websites where you can post my requirements,” he suggested.
His body toned from daily workouts, Mr. Sutton was an extremely attractive man. Monica was tall in her ubiquitous high heels, but he topped her by at least two inches. At forty-nine, he looked a good five years younger, his short hair a dark shade of blond that masked any gray except for a few strands at his temple. Even those you could only make out if you got close enough. Which she sometimes did when she came around the desk to lay out a contract for him or point to a pertinent item in a document. She liked being near him.
To this request, though, she had no idea what to say. “Uh, yes, well…” Sure there was online dating, but a site for connecting submissives with doms?
The office suite was housed in a high-rise building. Mr. Sutton’s domain was decorated like an English country gentleman’s study, the huge masculine desk, thick Persian rugs, dark wood paneling, bookcases packed with leather bindings, a marble fireplace surrounded by a comfortable sofa and wing chairs. The modern exception was the large flat-panel TV over the fireplace mantel, which Mr. Sutton kept tuned to a financial channel. The midmorning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking skyscrapers and San Francisco Bay. Despite the energy-efficient windows provided by West Coast Manufacturing, where Mr. Sutton sat as chairman of the board, Monica felt her skin heating. She often felt warmer in his presence, but this was different, a mixture of embarrassment, disbelief, and irritation.
Standing on the opposite side of his big leather-topped desk, he executed a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Do a search, Miss Dawson. I have no doubt that with your skills you’ll find the right candidate. Here are my prerequisites.” He flipped around a paper that had been lying on the desk. “I’m looking for a woman who is intrigued by the lifestyle but hasn’t yet dabbled. I find the idea of breaking in a newbie exciting.” He dropped his voice, not a whisper, but something that sent a zing along her nerve endings. “I want to teach her to live and breathe for what I can give her.”
Monica’s heart rate rose, her skin flushed, and it was suddenly hard to catch her breath. Maybe it was the intensity in his gaze, the timbre of his voice, or the words themselves.
She’d been his secretary for five years. Day in and day out, she’d lived and breathed her job, and he paid her handsomely. But she wanted things from him beyond money. Things she’d fantasized about.
Except that she was his employee. He had women, several. They were arm candy. And sometimes a bit more, though there were never any serious girlfriends with staying power. Monica was used to buying trinkets for those lady friends. She’d even gone to an exclusive store near Union Square that catered to his sexual tastes and purchased various toys. Sex toys. She was used to that, too. She was, after all, his personal secretary and Mr. Sutton took that literally. But this was beyond belief.
So she wanted to be very clear about this task. “So you want me to post an online personal ad for a submissive. And then what? Do you want me to vet the candidates?”
Mr. Sutton laughed. “Just weed out the ones who don’t meet my criteria.” He tapped the single sheet of paper in front of him, then pushed it closer. “It’s all very clear.”
She picked up the document gingerly, as if it might sting her like a nettle. There were no height or weight measurements, merely that the woman be meticulous about her appearance and make the most of her assets, whatever those may be. The age range was between thirty-five and sixty. At thirty-eight, Monica was at least in his lower range.
She glanced up. “Sixty?”
Mr. Sutton smiled. “A mature woman has fewer inhibitions and limitations.”
“But don’t women lose interest in sex after they reach menopause?”
He laughed, shaking his head. Mr. Sutton often laughed, with fine lines at his eyes that made him even more appealing. “You are so young, my dear.” There was only the slightest hint of condescension in his tone. “It all depends on the woman. Many experience heightened desire. It just needs to be cultivated.”
Her skin twitched at the idea of Mr. Sutton cultivating.
He fluttered his hand at her. “Read on.”
No prior bondage or discipline experience, but a healthy desire to explore all the possibilities including spanking, restraint, blindfold, and various other forms of BDSM. Be willing to accept punishment. No fears or limits.
Well, the last certainly eliminated her. “That’s all?”
“Is there anything you think should be added?”
There were a lot of things she’d like to add, but she took a deep breath and said, “Do you want me to put anything about you in the ad?” If the potential candidates knew he was a multimillionaire, they would flock to him in droves. There’d be so much weeding to do, they’d have to hire another assistant to handle her other duties.
“Just say a middle-aged dom looking to train a newbie.”
“Middle-aged?” She said that aloud, with more than a hint of incredulity. There was nothing middle-aged about Mr. Sutton. He was in his prime.
“I make no bones about my age, Miss Dawson. A woman who’s interested in delving into the daunting world of BDSM will want a man with experience.”
She almost groaned aloud, and the irritation was no longer a mere flash. She was downright seething with it.
How dare he ask her to find another woman for him? Didn’t he know anything? Was he so blind? Or had his head been buried in the sand? Didn’t he see her standing right in front of him?
Or did he simply find her unattractive?
She clutched his list to her chest. “I’ll start the search immediately, Mr. Sutton.”
“Thank you, Miss Dawson.”
She turned so fast on her heel that she came close to stumbling. And she did not stumble on her heels. Ever.
She’d always dreamed about him. His sexual kicks intrigued her. The more explicit the purchase he had her make, the more tantalizing her fantasies grew. And the more tempting Mr. Sutton became. She loved her job, enjoyed working for him. There was travel and interesting people. Though he treated her with the utmost professionalism, he was also quite open with her about his predilections. She’d researched him before applying, and she’d known the job was a perfect match. She liked to think he could no longer manage without her.
Monica already lived and breathed Mr. Sutton. She wanted him for herself, and she’d be damned if she’d let some other woman be the newbie he broke in.