The Submission of Alison Cho

By Alexandra Lee

At 33 Alison Cho is the youngest VP in the history of her company. She has treated herself to a long overdue Parisian vacation when a consortium of wealthy and reclusive sybarites suddenly kidnaps her. Alison is abducted into a secret world of private jets and luxury hotel suites and passed around like a party favor in Monaco, Dubai, and Tokyo. Instead of escaping her bonds, she finds herself possessed by an insatiable sexual frenzy that almost frightens her. With every orgasmic encounter Alison’s lust for sexual adventure and debasement blossoms and she finds herself slipping away into an erotic dream of rapturous ecstasy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Lee
• Release date: Jun 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311116475

Alexandra Lee

ALEXANDRA LEE was an underpaid and overworked graphic designer and illustrator for 10 years before she decided to reinvent herself as a yoga instructor, a part-time cabaret singer and a writer of erotic fiction. She lives in Northern California.

Book preview

Day 1

Agent Provocateur

Alison Cho was wearing a simple light grey Armani suit in a silk and linen blend and a white silk blouse. The tight skirt stopped above her knees and showcased her slim legs. Her shapely calves were exquisitely displayed in her four-inch black Christian Loubouton heels with blood red soles. She had just turned 33, a slim, 5’6" woman with short, silky black hair. Alison was Irish and Korean, which could be discerned from her wide, exotic cheekbones, her golden-caramel skin tone, and her green eyes.

But Alison was most proud of her dancer’s body, which she worked out 6 days a week. Her long, lean arms and legs and well-toned stomach were the product of an obsessive routine of Pilates and Yoga. As a girl she had been painfully self-conscious of her small breasts and half-Asian heritage and she had over-compensated by throwing herself into swimming, gymnastics and scholarship. The overachieving athleticism of her school days had left her with a fantastic work ethic and an even more fantastic body.

She boarded the huge Air France Airbus that seated over 800 passengers directly, along with the rest of the first class passengers. Her flight from San Francisco to Paris was on time, and she had swept through security and the line at the gate without incident.

A tall man with dark hair and darker eyes in a slim dark blue suit by Tom Ford flashed her a quick smile as he politely allowed her to step in front of him, and Alison wondered if she would get to sit by him on the 12-hour flight. She wasn’t averse to some random flirtatious conversation, which would be a welcome distraction from her high-pressure job as the youngest female VP in her investment company’s 50-year history of operation.

Her carry-on luggage consisted of an orange Hermes Birkin, which housed her passport, MacBook Air, Ipad and Iphone and a sleek Zero Halliburton aluminum case on rollers. She also had a Louis Vuitton garment bag in the traditional monogram that she had checked earlier. She found her oversized seat in First Class and quickly settled in.

Alison sipped the complimentary glass of Veuve Cliquot champagne as she reviewed her lunch choices; crab salade nicoise, roast chicken with rosemary or steak frites. She chose the steak; she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten potatoes, or any carbs in general.

Fifty weeks out of the year Alison subjected herself to a strict vegan diet consisting of salads, grilled vegetables, fresh fruit, raw almonds and soy protein shakes. But now Alison was on vacation, on her way to Paris and determined to enjoy every aspect of her trip, including the world-class cuisine. Plus she was absolutely certain she could burn off the extra calories when she returned home to San Francisco.

Alison Cho was looking forward to her vacation, her first time off in over 18 months. It was very difficult for her to turn off her work-mode. She had instructed her assistant Brianna to explicitly not contact her during the next two weeks, under any circumstances. Even if the building was on fire, she had written in her last email.

She wrapped an orange Hermes pashmina shawl around her shoulders and sipped her champagne. Her nipples were hard from the air conditioning, she could feel them rubbing pleasantly against her lacy blue Agent Provocateur bra. They had been a source of embarrassment since she was a teen. Her nipples would stiffen at the slightest breeze, turning at once into attentive, rosy brown acorns that yearned to be kissed, sucked and pinched.

Hidden under the luxurious shawl she pressed her palm tightly on her clit and pubic mound for a moment, and softly sighed. Alison was lonely and unhappy, though she would not care to admit it to herself and to others. At home she had her trusty Hitachi vibrator to take care of her needs before she fell asleep but abroad she would have to rely on her fingers, or actually make an effort and try to meet someone suitable.

Alison always said she was too busy to meet someone and that her career came first. It was true she worked 12-hour days, often coming in on weekends. Her job demanded it and she was compensated generously for her time in salary, stock options and end of year bonuses. The rest of her day was spent at her Pilates or yoga studios, or at her Nob Hill condo, asleep. A part of her was aware that she filled her days with work and exercise to avoid thinking about relationships and her emotional life entirely. But Alison was indeed unhappy, and she had no idea what to do about it, or even where to start.

She brushed her thick black hair back, feeling flushed. Alison kept her hair short, boy-short, and trusted in her lipstick, jewelry and designer clothes to convey her natural femininity. She also indulged in her collection of beautiful lingerie and her passion for the most expensive shoes she could afford.

Alison checked her gold Bvlgari watch; she still had over four hours of flight left. On her right hand was a rose gold Hermes chaine d’ancre bracelet. She liked the look of gold against her soft crème brulee skin.

Alison dressed the part of a sophisticated world traveler and elegant professional woman but in matters of seduction and the heart she felt like an awkward schoolgirl. She had cultivated her image to armor herself against all but the most confident advances. Most men dared not to approach her, unless they were drunk. But even in the men who had the courage to introduce themselves she found something lacking; a spark, a chemistry, a zing that she could feel from her heart to her pussy.

Maybe Paris will be different, she thought optimistically.

Alison breezed through customs and down to the baggage claim at Paris Orly airport, conveniently located a mere 19 km outside of the City of Lights. She had hired a car and saw a limo driver in a black suit and cap holding a whiteboard with her name.

Mademoiselle, he said quickly as he touched the brim of his chauffer’s cap.

The driver was tall, with dark eyes and white teeth that gleamed brightly against his dark skin. He quickly loaded her Louis Vuitton garment bag and aluminum Halliburton onto a luggage cart and wheeled them to the car, a long, vintage, mid-century Mercedes Benz limousine. The car looked more suited to a visiting Cold War diplomat or foreign dignitary. The only concession the vehicle had made to the modern world was the dark, almost black window tinting that obscured the interior from curious eyes.

Regardless,