Rosycheekz

By Severin Rossetti

Caning and chastisement, the pleasure of pain, the joy of subjugation. These are the business of Rosycheekz. Her employment there sees the previously mild mannered Pru transformed into the dominant Mistress Prudence. She has an innate talent which her boss, Charles, quickly recognizes. He is slow to realize the true extent of her ambition, however. Prudence will not simply be content with taking control of her clients but will ultimately seek to control him, and even his business. Charles trains her too well, cherishes her talents too much, and this will be his downfall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Piblokto Books
• Release date: Nov 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301629909

Severin Rossetti

Severin Rossetti was a teacher of fine art, but now works in a Liverpool museum/gallery, less money but a lot less stress. At the same time that he turned from teaching fine art, he also turned from its practice -have you seen the crap that passes for fine art these days?!?- to concentrate on writing. After many rejection slips he finally had some encouragement. 'Interesting,' said one editor, 'but it lacks passion. Spice it up a bit.' Which he did, only to be told 'wow!'... 'well!'... 'spiced up, yes, but we can't possibly publish this!' Fortunately, others could, with the result that his erotic stories have been published in the UK and the USA in various magazines and anthologies. Novels and short story collections have also been published in the US by Renaissance Ebooks.com. If the erotic genre is not your thing, however, please note that also available on Smashwords are more 'serious' works, some for sale but many for free. Strange, though, that the erotic genre is proving the most popular, and especially the free ones. So... a cry from the heart... feel free to try the free ones but PLEASE, also, splash out a dollar or two if you can afford it! And if you want to know any more, please contact the author at [e-mail]

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ROSYCHEEKZ

Published by Severin Rossetti at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Severin Rossetti

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

It was an unprepossessing building, some six floors high but narrow, pinched, the windows on each floor becoming progressively smaller, grimier and more secretive, so that it seemed to taper up to the sky. The brickwork was a dirty brown blackened in places by city pollution; though on certain autumn days it might almost take on a cheerful aspect for the most part it seemed to sulk with shame, flanked by buildings which bore their age more grandly, cleaner and better tended, or faced by the newer buildings opposite, more spacious and more opulent.

In the lobby of the building there was no room for a reception desk or a caretaker's office, just the cage of the ancient elevator–more often than not out of order–the staircase which wound its way around the shaft, and on the wall to the left the etched plates which described the tenants.

In pitted plastic and tarnished bronze they were stacked one on top of each other, a variety of scripts and typefaces naming the attorneys and accountants, the loan firms and credit agencies, the shysters and the sharks and those of a dubious nature. And there, near to the foot of this list, as if ashamed of its purpose and embarrassed by its title, like a child with an affliction or the class slut lurking in a corner of the school-yard, was the dull aluminium strip which bore the barely discernible legend:Rosycheekz.com.

*

Ninety words a minute? Is that the rate that you type at or the rate you talk? asked the woman, looking up from the application form she held, and Pru blushed.

Okay, so the words did tend to run a little freely when she was nervous, and now she was nervous. Pru hated interviews of any kind, she would fluster and bluster with little forethought to what she was saying, the words just spewing out like crap from an incontinent idiot. Oh how she hated herself for it! How she wished she could be calmer! And this was just a preliminary interview with the recruitment agency. How would she feel if they found her a position and sent her for a genuine interview, one to one with a person who could decide her future?

It's alright my dear, just relax, said the woman kindly, her smile comforting, her eyes sparkling, the tiny creases at the corner of each saying that here was a person who could be trusted. Your qualifications seem fine, your references are good, I'm sure we'll be able to find you something suitable. Now tell me, Miss Ford, why did you leave your last employment?

Yes, why? Pru wondered. If she had stayed she wouldn't be putting herself through this torment now, with further torture yet to face if anything came of this first ordeal. But she could not have suffered that pervert of a manager a moment longer, his hands on her buttocks, his eyes devouring her breasts, his fleshy lips slavering over them each time he saw her. Personal assistant to a permanent ass-hole she had been, and he had read far too much into the 'personal' aspect of her job description.

Pru took a deep breath, forcing the words to come slowly rather than gushing out with the venom she felt, was conscious of the rise and fall of her breasts and said simply that there had been personal differences, a clash of personalities. The woman who she was coming to trust nodded and smiled knowingly, with sympathy; she was perhaps twenty years older than Pru and no doubt had experience of similar problems.

The bane of every PA's life, then? she said. The randy boss? All cock, no courtesy and no doubt married? Pru blushed and the woman scribbled down some notes. We'll just say that you are seeking greater challenges, further horizons. Yes?

Yes, let's, said Pru gratefully, warming to this charming person more and more all the time.

The woman scribbled some more, her pen scratching furiously as if she was making an ink-black tattoo of Pru's life on the paper before her. Then slipped the sheet into a folder, closed it shut and set it on the desk between them like a final will and testament.

Fine, Miss Ford, just fine, she smiled. You leave this with us and we'll be in touch soon.

Thank you! Thank you so much!

No problem, dear, you can trust me.

Yes, Pru thought she could, and outside she paused to take a series of deep breaths, feeling the chill autumn breeze cool the sweat to crystal on her brow. She was aware of trickles of perspiration between her breasts, under her armpits, felt grubby and in need of a shower, but across the street she saw a bar and decided a cold drink would do just as well.

The bar was dim after the brightness of the day, she was seated on a stool at the bar before she realized that there was a man beside her, had been so lost in her thoughts that she only truly saw him when he turned to flash his bright white grin at her.

I'll get that, he said, as the barman set a slender glass of cold beer before her.

There's no need, Pru quickly told the man.

And there's no catch, he assured her, placing a bill on the counter.

The money was whisked away before Pru could protest further, so she simply offered a curt 'thank you' and looked ahead, took a mouthful of her drink and then pressed the cold glass against her cheek.

Her neighbor waited until she had drained half her glass, minutes passed in silence before he spoke again.

Shitty day? he asked.

Perhaps it was his patience, not forcing himself on her, willing to allow her the time to relax and unwind, or perhaps it was the soothing effect of the beer, but now she turned to him with a wry grin, said, Shitty life, more like.

Ah, but life can never be shitty, not for someone as pretty as you.

Huh?

Pru glared at the man now, looking hard as if to search his eyes for the motive behind the comment, but he had turned and was looking ahead, sipping contentedly at his drink. There was no hint of a smile as his lips pursed around the rim of his glass; a slight glint in his eye maybe, of private amusement, but nothing she could take offense at.

She turned to her own drink, drained it, gestured discreetly to the barman for another, and one for her neighbor too before he could flash his cash again.

The man accepted the drink gracefully, toasted her, offered his thanks but said nothing else. He was well groomed, smartly dressed, a young executive in his early thirties, and though she was flattered by his attention she was also suspicious of it. Finally she had to ask him, Was that some sort of chat-up line?

Was it? he said, grinning at her, the impish grin of a schoolboy with a smart answer.

Only if it was, how come you didn't take it any further? she continued. It kind of defeats the object of a chat-up line if you don't follow it up.

Perhaps I'm just passing a pretty woman an honest compliment, he said, allowed her a moment to consider this possibility, before adding, Or were you thinking, hoping, that I was trying to get into your knickers?

Pru choked on her drink, felt her cheeks redden, made to feel such a fool by the man's simple answer and forthright comment. And what made her embarrassment all the greater was the possibility that he just might have been right, that she might indeed have been hoping that very thing.

I'm sorry, he laughed, but so enchantingly that she was already forgiving him. And you do blush so beautifully. Such rosy cheeks.

For a moment she was lost in his eyes, drawn by his smile, she missed his next words and had to say, Pardon?

I was asking if you had any success, he repeated, nodding towards the street. I saw you coming out of the recruitment agency.

Ah, she understood, and shook her head. It was just a preliminary interview, to see what I'm suited for. They said they'd get in touch.

I'm sure they will, soon, I'm sure you have lots to offer them, he said, but then was checking his watch, finishing his drink, saying, I really have to go. Good luck with the job hunt. It was nice chatting to you, albeit briefly.

What a waste of a charming chat-up line, thought Pru as she watched him leave; what a waste of a charming man.

*

The employment agency was as good as their word, the prediction of the man in the bar was accurate enough, within days Pru received a letter summoning her to an interview.

Rosycheekz.com? She wondered what sort of business that was, as she dressed in her most professional outfit, the dark jacket