Flesh: Flesh Series, #1

By Sky Corgan

Looking to explore the lifestyle for the first time? Want to experiment without having to commit to a Dominant? Then come to Flesh.

Flesh is the perfect entryway to all things kink related. Come find out what the lifestyle is all about in a safe, controlled environment.

We'll tailor your scene to your needs. Whether you're new to the lifestyle and just want to get your feet wet, or you're into the hardcore stuff, we can create the perfect experience for you. Simply fill out a list of the things you want to try, and we'll pair you with a Dominant who will fulfill your desires.

It's all about you. Let us introduce you to the pleasures of the lifestyle without all the stresses and worries of having to attend munches constantly and search for that one perfect Dominant. At Flesh, everything is arranged for you. Safe, sane, and consensual.

Heat level: Hot!

This is the first book in the Flesh Series by Sky Corgan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sky Corgan
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386059615

Book preview

Flesh

Book One

––––––––

SKY CORGAN

Text copyright 2016 by Sky Corgan

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

CHAPTER ONE

––––––––

I wait on the bed with bated breath, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the ribbon on my apron babydoll lingerie. It's the sexiest thing I've ever worn for a man, and I'm more than a little uncomfortable in it. If I had known how I would feel now when I was buying it, I would have gone with a nightgown or something else far less revealing and far more frumpy. As it is, all I want to do is cover up.

What does it really matter though? If what I've been told throughout my entire adult life is true, men don't care what a woman looks like as long as she's willing. That's not really what this is about though. I'm willing to try some things, not others. Not most of the things that were on the order form I scanned through before I came here.

Waiting is torturous. My eyes flit to the cheap Dollar Store clock on the wall, and I scowl at the realization that he's late. I paid money for this, and he's late. Hopefully, I'll get my full session. Either that, or they'll have to take off the time that he was absent.

Just thinking about handing money over for something like this makes me feel pathetic. There won't be any sex, but it still feels like prostitution to some degree. Oh well. This is what I wanted, wasn't it? To stop being boring. To try new things. And I have been curious about this for quite a while.

Footsteps approach from down the hall, and my breath catches in my throat as I hear the door handle jiggle. My arms wrap around myself, covering as much of my scantily-clad flesh as I can. And my mind instantly flips to wondering who is going to walk in. It shouldn't matter, due to the nature of the session, but it does, somehow. I paid good money for this. I want to be turned on, not repulsed. It's a horribly vain thing to think, and looks should never matter, one way or another. Just moments ago, I was worried about being judged, and now...

The door swings open, and I exhale with a whoosh, quickly trying to compose myself, though it's difficult when my hormones are suddenly going off the charts. This isn't what I expected at all. Not someone like him.

He smiles at me, his gorgeous blue eyes never leaving me as he steps inside the room, then reaches behind himself to close the door. My cheeks burn, and it takes everything in me not to turn from him in embarrassment. I curse my body for giving my desire away. It only reacts like this when I'm extremely attracted to someone, and men don't get much more attractive than him.

Good evening, he says politely.

Hi, I reply shyly, staring at the back of his suit as he bolts the door.

To be honest, I expected him to be wearing leathers. Isn't that half of what BDSM is about, the dress code? Leathers and vinyl and tight shirts and harnesses. This guy looks like he might have just gotten off from work. His style is impeccable. There's not so much as a wrinkle on the dark-gray business suit he's wearing. His hair is almost black, and it's gelled to be mussy but still looks kept—one step above just fucked sexy. He's tall and broad, and all I keep wondering is if I'm going to get to see him naked...or at least close to naked. Shirtless will do. Finding out if he wears boxers or briefs, even better.

I chew my bottom lip nervously, my eyes fixed on the way his slacks mold around his ass. When he turns around, my gaze shoots up to meet his, and I can't fight back my surprised expression, as if I've just been caught. If he knows I've been staring at him, it doesn't show. A charming smile curves his lips, the kind that sends signals straight to my nether region to gear up. It annoys me that my body is reacting so strongly to his presence. Perhaps it's because I'm so attracted to him, but also because I know those large deft hands will eventually be touching me. Just thinking about it makes my sex clench—makes me wish I would have signed up for more than what I did. I couldn't be sure though at the time if I'd actually want it, if I'd actually want him.

He approaches me, and I feel myself shrinking, my legs pressing together, my arms hugging tighter around myself. I'm clamming up, my shy nature getting the better of me. Already, I'm beginning to panic. While I did willingly sign up for this, my confidence is waning. Never before have I allowed a man whom I'm not romantically involved with to touch me. And it can't get anymore not romantically involved than this. He's my paid Dom for the night. I'm just another girl on his list of clients wanting to experience the seemingly new phenomenon of BDSM—new to mainstream, that is.

You can relax. I'm not going to hurt you. He stops right in front of me. Provocatively close. Our legs are almost touching. My eyes are resting on his crotch, but I'm staring more through it than at it. Shit, I'm starting to shut down. The intensity of the situation is too much for me, and we haven't even started yet. Unless you want me to.

No. That's alright. I shake my head, my mouth feeling like a desert. I'm pretty sure he sucked all the air and moisture out of the room when he stepped inside. Except for the moisture between my legs. There's definitely something going on down there, which is why it's imperative that I keep them closed. This stupid lingerie is so sheer that he'd probably be able to see it.

What's your name, beautiful?

I feel his fingertips press beneath my chin, lifting my face up to look at him. His touch is soft yet demanding, and it sends electricity pulsing through me, perking my nipples and making my grip tighten around myself again. I don't want him to see what he's doing to me. But if that's really the case, then why am I even here?

Janice, I lie. It's not my name. It's not even the fake name I had planned to use. I wanted to be Angel, but that went out the window the moment that he touched me. It was like my brain dripped into a puddle of mush on the floor, and all I could recall was my roommate's name. Internally, I curse myself for saying it—wonder why that was the best I could come up with. Now I'm going to have to listen to him calling me her name throughout the entire session.

Janice, he repeats, saying it in a way that I've never heard it before. Sexy-like. How I wish he was saying my name like that. Why couldn't I just give him my real name? It's not like we'll ever see each other again after this.

And what should I call you? I let my eyes lock onto his, and a shiver rolls down my spine. So blue. So impossibly blue. Almost unnaturally pale, setting off his porcelain skin, strong jawline, and dark brows. He looks kind of like a vampire, the sexy kind you see in television shows. The kind you actually want to bite you. He looks dangerous.

You'll call me Sir. He holds my chin and brushes his thumb delicately across my bottom lip, his eyes boring into me with confidence the likes of which I've never felt from a man before. Reflexively, I open my mouth slightly, a small gasp escaping my throat from the sheer arousal I'm feeling from his touch. His thumb travels back over my lips, the tip teasing across my top lip before he presses it inside my mouth. Suck.

My cheeks heat up as my mouth closes around the thick digit. My tongue presses against the pad, and as I massage it, tasting his skin, I realize that his fingers aren't calloused. He most likely doesn't have a difficult profession. Hell, he's probably a model. There are plenty of them here in Florida.

I bet I have something else you'd like to suck, he muses as he begins to slide his thumb back and forth. I can think of something I'd like to see you suck.

His arrogance is amusing. If he was anyone else, it would be a total turn off, but we both know what I'm here for. Unfortunately for him, sucking what I'm sure he's thinking of wasn't on my list. Even though I find him attractive, I'm glad. While I do want to start being more adventurous, I'm not sure I'm quite to that level yet. Maybe next time, if I order another session with him.

The thought that I'm actually considering it makes me feel scandalous. Surely it's my hormones talking. This is supposed to be about trying something new, not creating an addiction. A woman could definitely feel the need for seconds, though, when faced with a man this sexy.

He pulls his thumb out of my mouth and swipes it across both of my lips, wetting them. Maybe my mouth wasn't as dry as I thought. Or perhaps being close to him has made it water, and I hadn't realized it.

This is very pretty. His hand falls to the cups of my lingerie, and he traces the top of them with the back of his index finger, causing goose pimples to raise up on my skin.

Thank you, I mutter, looking down to follow his hands. The way my arms are wrapped around myself makes it seem like I have more cleavage than what's actually there. I think about putting my arms down so that I don't disappoint him with the illusion of big breasts, but I'm too embarrassed of my body.

Oddly, now I'm wishing that he wasn't so attractive. To an average guy, I would be a prize. This guy is probably used to sleeping with gorgeous women though, bottle blondes with perfect bikini bodies. The thought that I am going to eventually have to let him see my less than flat stomach fills me with dread. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

You're shy.

I refuse to look up at him, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

We can't have that. He grabs my arms at the wrists and starts to pry them from around me. For a moment, I struggle. He's too strong though. I let out a few brief grunts of discomfort, but I don't tell him to stop. Within seconds, he has captured my wrists and is holding them above my head, exposing my scantily-clad body. You shouldn't struggle, he warns, looking me up and down.

I turn my face away from him, not wanting to see him judging me. I'm certain that my stomach is rolling. Not sexy at all. And my small breasts are probably less than satisfying to him.

Look at me, he tells me, his voice full of dominance.

I hesitate. In truth, I don't want to look at him. It's awkward. But I remember the rules. I'm supposed to obey his every whim. It's for both my safety and my pleasure. Right now, this doesn't feel very pleasurable. Sure, the fact that he's holding me in place is