Amelia's Awakening: Expect the Unexpected (Erotic Novella Series: Ultimate Control Book 2) Read online

  ULTIMATE CONTROL

  An Erotic Novella Series

  AMELIA’S AWAKENING

  “Expect The Unexpected”

  by

  Maggie Carpenter

  (Based on a True Story Provided by James Collier)

  ADULT ADVISORY

  This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book also contains scenes of violence. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.

  Published by

  Dark Secrets Press

  Formatting

  Polgarus Studio

  Social Media Links

  www.Maggie Carpenter.com

  www.facebook.com/MaggieCarpenterWriter

  www.twitter.com/magcarpenter2

  CHAPTER ONE

  Something was buzzing. Groggily lifting my head I tried to figure out what the hell it was. It buzzed again. Then it hit me. Someone was at the door of my building. What the hell? It was the middle of the blasted night!

  Totally irritated I glanced at the eerie blue lights of my bedside clock; 2:18 a.m. The buzzer sounded again, and in my sleepy confused state several thoughts flashed through my head; the police, a random thug with a very big knife, or some drunk asshole who had lost his key. As it buzzed yet again it dawned on me that my dislike of buildings with doormen could be seriously misplaced, and cursing under my breath I half-walked, half-staggered down the hallway to the speaker by the door.

  “Who is it?” I grunted, having no qualms about making the annoyance in my voice abundantly clear.

  “Amelia!”

  What? Amelia? Not the police? Not a thug with a very big knife? Not a drunk? Maybe it was a drunk and the drunk wasn’t a him but her.

  “Come up.”

  Pressing the small black button allowing her entry, I wondered what the blazes Amelia Campbell was doing at my door? I had to admit her unexpected appearance held a certain intrigue, but it was a complete mystery. I barely knew the woman. She’d glowered at me across a conference table for a month, and had acted slightly bored over an extremely expensive dinner, but as I returned to my bedroom and pulled on my robe I reminded myself she had relaxed at the end of our evening. She’d still been weird, but she had relaxed.

  A knock at my door announced her arrival, and opening it up I found her in a heavy, dark green, floor-length coat, and very sexy high-heeled black boots. At least that wasn’t surprising. It was late October and in the low 40’s outside.

  “You’d better come in,” I said, stating the obvious.

  Without saying a word she glided past me, turned around, and to my absolute shock began unbuttoning her coat revealing her completely nude body—except for the boots. Have you ever seen a completely nude woman—a beautiful nude woman—wearing only boots? Bloody Hell! It’s rare that I find myself at a loss, but at that moment I had neither words to say, nor action to take, and for a fleeting moment I wondered if I was having an x-rated lucid dream.

  The coat slid off her shoulders and fell around her feet, and stepping over it in those unbelievably erotic high-heeled black boots, she began walking slowly towards me. It was an extraordinary sight, and in spite of my shock, my best friend—the one that stares at the world from my crotch—was not suffering the same stupefaction and was eagerly sprinting to life.

  “Amelia,” I finally managed, my eyes wanting to devour her body as she walked towards me, “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but…”

  The cold air had brought goosebumps to her skin. Her nipples—delightful cherry tips on gloriously full breasts—had deliciously puckered, and before I could finish my sentence her lips were pressing against mine and her arms were encircling my neck. I’m a red-blooded man, and I am sure almost any red-blooded man would have done exactly what I did. I wrapped her up and kissed her back.

  It was, in a much over-used but highly appropriate word, amazing.

  Her body was perfect. Toned, but not so toned she felt like a piece of gristle, and she smelled incredible, like raspberries and cream. I know that sounds bizarre but I found it immensely appealing. Her carnal hunger was oozing out of her, and she was making muffled mewling sounds as she pressed her crotch against my leg, but…!

  As I stated in my opening sentence I am an English gentleman, and while I may have indulged in the all-consuming kiss, I needed to find out what she was doing there, besides wanting to devour me of course. It was just too strange, especially considering how she’d behaved during our one-and-only date. Taking my hand to her hair I clutched a fistful and gently tugged it back.

  “Amelia, what on earth has brought you here in the middle of the night? We barely know each other.”

  “Spank me,” she whispered. “Please, spank me and make love to me.”

  I did think about turning her down and sending her away. I did, I swear. It may only have been for the flash of a moment but I did think about it.

  Then my logical mind kicked in.

  She was a grown woman, she seemed perfectly sober, there was nothing about her behavior, odd though it was, that suggested she was on drugs or in any way impaired. She may have been coldly professional at work and uncomfortably aloof when I’d taken her out to dinner, but my brain (and my best friend) decided her earlier demeanor was nothing but a facade. The woman in my arms, pleading with me to redden her backside and take her to bed was the real Amelia.

  “Since you begged so beautifully,” I purred, breathing the words into her ear.

  She let out a grateful moan, and lifting her up I carried her down the short hallway, into my bedroom, and gently deposited her on the bed.

  “Spank me,” she mumbled. “I need it.”

  The craving. The addiction. I lived on the other side of that same coin and it was a feeling with which I was all too familiar. She was a submissive, one-hundred percent, and she needed her fix.

  CHAPTER TWO

  She was laying on her back, and when I began to climb on the bed next to her, she immediately shimmied her body over my legs. I’d barely had a chance to settle before she raised her backside in a silent, ardent plea. I hadn’t turned on the bedside lamp, letting the ghostly light of the clock suffice, and as I stared at her lusciously poised, glorious backside, and those sexier-than-should-ever-be-allowed black boots glinting in the silver-blue light, I felt as if I was starring in an erotic film Noir production. A low mutter shook me out of the moment, and resting my hand on her glorious bottom, I called on my stern, authoritative, dominant voice.

  “Let’s not forget who’s in charge here,” I said firmly. “I will spank you, but I’ll decide when to start, and the position I want you in.”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  Her voice was a whimper, and while my natural instinct was to make her wait, it was two-thirty in the morning. I had a breakfast meeting at seven-thirty. This wasn’t the time to draw something out. Raising my hand, I brought it down with a solid smack, quickly following it with a second and a third, then paused, just to get a measure of her state, and what I heard was a very long, very heavy sigh. This was what she wanted. No. This was what she needed. Moving to her opposite cheek I repeated the triple, and fell into the pattern, landing a volley of three in various areas of her lovely backside. It was beginning to turn from pink to red, but I hadn’t heard the usual cries of protest, no begging me to st
op, no fervent apologies, nothing but muffled moans into my bedspread. Dropping my fingers between her legs, I found her deliciously wet, and though she wriggled against my fingers, she didn’t utter a word.

  It was curious, but then, the entire episode was curious, and after rubbing her for a minute, easing what was obviously, a keen sting, I helped her off my thighs. She immediately lolled on to her back, closed her eyes, put her arms above her head, and spread her legs. It was all a bit weird, but my best friend wasn’t complaining, and the bright blue digits on my clock continued to remind me of the time. I am, however, a dominant, and aching to do more than just spank her, grabbing the tie off my robe I bound her wrists. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing, and I was about to slide inside her when I remembered, thank goodness, that I wasn’t wearing a condom. It was a steadfast rule. I blamed it on the strange circumstances, and reaching across to my nightstand I fished out the package and suited up, then placing my cock into her soaked pussy I thrust home.

  Based on her lack of conversation when she’d arrived, and her almost non-reactive behavior as I’d spanked her, I wasn’t expecting much, but again, she took me by surprise. She moaned, and writhed, and squirmed, breathing the often-used, breathy phrase, yes, yes, oh, yes. As much as I was enjoying the unexpected nocturnal interlude, in the back of my mind I was still wondering what the hell had precipitated her visit, but nature took over, and I started to get lost in the joy of making love to her. Had I the time, I would have brought her to the edge many more times than I did before allowing her to climax, but the situation did not allow for such luxuries. Telling myself I was sure to have another opportunity, when she closed her fingers into fists, and wildly exclaimed that she was going to come, I pumped her vigorously and happily exploded into my raincoat.

  I had no idea if she would fall asleep, or if she’d leave as mysteriously as she’d arrived, but rolling off her I opened my arms to offer her a snuggle. Post-coital affection is important, at least, it is to me, and certainly to every female with whom I’ve had the pleasure of sharing my bed, but she wordlessly slipped off the bed and headed for the door.

  “Amelia?”

  She didn’t turn around, she didn’t speak, in fact she didn’t acknowledge me in any way, and pausing to grab the robe I’d left laying on the floor, I wrapped it around me and hastily followed. This was just too weird. When I caught up to her in the living room she was already buttoning up her coat.

  “Amelia, you’re welcome to stay. It’s late, I don’t like the idea of you out there at this hour,” I offered, genuinely worried. “Did you bring a car? Is there a taxi waiting. Should I call you one?”

  “I’m in a limousine,” she replied walking to the door, and dumbfounded, I watched her leave.

  Weird. Totally weird.

  My windows overlooked the street below, and striding across the room I pulled aside the drapes. There was a town car double-parked, and a moment later Amelia appeared. The driver hurried around and opened her door, and a moment later the car slowly pulled away and headed off.

  “What the hell was that?” I muttered, ambling back to my bedroom, but as confounded as I was, I needed to get some sleep. The breakfast meeting was important. I needed to be sharp, and I certainly couldn’t show up yawning. If the sharks on the other side smelled blood, they’d turn into full-fledged great whites.

  Slipping out of my robe I crawled between the sheets. I could still smell her. Raspberries and cream. Was that her perfume? Rolling on to my side and staring at the pillow that showed where her head had rested, I couldn’t wrap my brain around what just had happened. The aloof woman I knew, or rather, barely knew, was nothing like the submissive creature who had shown up at my door, but as the thought crossed my mind I realized that wasn’t true. She had been aloof, it was just a different kind of aloof.

  Closing my eyes I pushed her to the back of my mind. It wasn’t easy, but focusing on the breakfast meeting and then other work-related issues I soon found myself drifting away.

  But her smell was still tickling my nostrils.

  CHAPTER THREE

  How I Met Amelia

  When I was offered the opportunity to work for a venture capital firm in New York for a ridiculous amount of money, I jumped at the opportunity. My life had no strings, and though I knew I’d return to England, the famous quote, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, was, with the exception of the threat of bodily harm, completely accurate.

  New York is one of the world’s great cities, and I’ve always thought the financial center to be its heart and lungs. Billions are traded daily, fortunes made and lost, and some of the personalities are bigger than life. It’s an exciting, vibrant place, with outstanding shopping, incredible restaurants, and of course, beautiful women.

  My introduction to Amelia was a moment I’ll never forget. I’d been waiting in a conference room on the twenty-second floor of a starkly modern building. My colleagues and I were staring out at the skyline, fully expecting the negotiations we were about to enter would be just round one in a series of difficult debates. We had been warned a new player had been brought in from across the pond, a woman named Amelia Campbell. My ears had perked up. Though I’d never met her I knew of Amelia Campbell. In London I’d heard rumors about her; it was said Amelia could be the next Margaret Thatcher if she wanted to be, and was every bit as formidable as the famous Iron Lady herself.

  So there I was, standing at the window with my three colleagues, when one of them casually remarked that the other side had arrived. Turning around I saw a tall elegant woman in a black power suit with the requisite cream silk shirt, shapely legs in black stockings, and expensive black high-heels sporting a splash of gold across the toe. As she briskly entered the room the actual heels of her shoes caught my eye. This woman wasn’t tall, she just wanted to appear to be tall. How she was able to walk so effortlessly in such footwear bewildered me, but she could, and striding across the room she extended her perfectly manicured hand.

  “Amelia Campbell,” she briskly announced.

  Wrapping her fingers firmly around mine and giving them an almighty squeeze, she followed suit with each of my colleagues, and I noticed one of them, Brad Harrison, covertly winced as she turned away. She had introduced herself before any of her team had the chance, and I guessed it was probably by design. Striding to the conference table she chose the chair that would place her against the wall. I immediately knew why. If she sat in front of the windows our eyes could be drawn to the spectacular view and she wanted our focus on her. She had demonstrated the classic power play. Walk in! Take control! As I looked at the faces of my team I sensed, at least for the moment, she had ultimate control of them. Not me, though, oh no, not by a long shot. All I could think about was bending her over the conference table and spanking her lovely skirt-covered backside, then slowly lifting—.

  “Would someone be so kind as to bring me a cup of tea?”

  Her crisp, heavily-accented British voice snapped me from my lascivious meanderings, and though her request had been the epitome of manners, she had just made herself the Queen. She was holding court and making those in the room follow her commands. I watched as one of the men on her side immediately dashed out into the hallway to bark the order. I had to smile.

  Amelia Campbell was something!

  I liked her. I liked everything about her. Her class, her style, the way her eyes darted around the room sizing up her opponents, and I especially liked that when her eyes fell on me they lingered. I held her gaze. I could read her, and she knew I could read her, and I was the only guy in the room that could. She knew that too, but she didn’t know what I was thinking.

  Forget the conference table. I want you over my knee. I’d keep you waiting and watch you wriggle out of sheer anticipation. I’d slowly shimmy that tight black skirt up to your waist, peel away whatever layers you have over your scrumptious backside, and then I’d spank you very slowly, for a very long time.

  As we sat down I purposely sel
ected a chair at the end, and not surprisingly I quickly discovered the rumors I’d heard about Amelia were true. She was razor sharp and excruciatingly exacting, but her manner was cool and reserved. She spoke softly, making the men around her lean forward and strain to listen. If asked a direct question she would pause, making us wait for her answer. It was calculating and very effective.

  It was because I wanted to observe her that I’d chosen the chair at the end of the table. I also wanted to see how often she swung her eyes my way. To my delight, she did, more than was necessary, and it was not because I had made some brilliant contribution.

  She was making mincemeat out of my colleagues, but besides being a dominant I had another advantage; I was British too. The subtle disdain she used to unnerve the person to whom she was speaking didn’t faze me; she was being my very old-fashioned, very proper grandmother. Just like her, Amelia’s slightly supercilious air was used to suggest we were all dolts and she was the smartest woman on the planet. That didn’t faze me either, but she was also using her beauty. Her body language was suggestive, and though subtle it was profound. I admit that even I found it somewhat, shall we say, bewitching? It was certainly distracting, and after an arduous hour or so it was obvious things were going their way. The confidence in the eyes of the men sitting across from us was blatant. Amelia was their secret weapon and they could smell blood in the water.

  “That clause is wholly unreasonable,” Brad Harrison declared, his frustration giving his voice an edge.

  “Unreasonable, Mr. Harrison? Read it again,” she said calmly, though matching the edge in his voice. “It’s actually too generous, and I’m thinking we should expand it rather that cut into it.”