Free The Taming of Jessica by Elizabeth Coldwell Page B

Lieberman to conform to the cliché of the high-powered businessman who craved nothing more than to give up all responsibility and be thrashed for his misdeeds by a skilled dominatrix. Instead, he turned out to be as dominant as Jason, never happier than when he had some sweet, submissive beauty grovelling at his feet, though he confined his play to private parties where he didn’t run the risk of being recognised by members of the public. ‘I might own a couple of scandal sheets,’ he’d commented dryly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I want to be exposed in any of them.’
    That’s when he’d first brought up the subject of Isla Barada. ‘You’d love it there, Jason,’ he’d said.
    ‘I’m sure I would. If I could afford it,’ Jason had replied, only half-joking.
    Now here he was, courtesy of Harry Lieberman’s generosity. He must remember to thank the man when he got back to London; after all, it wasn’t Harry’s fault that none of the slaves on display tonight appealed to Jason’s personal tastes.
    After bratty Honey had come Simone, tall even in her bare feet, her russet hair long enough to cover her breasts when her scant covering was stripped from her. From the graphic description of Simone’s various misdemeanours and the severity of the punishment she would require for each of them, Jason rapidly established that Simone was a pain slut. Again, most of the other masters in the crowd would no doubt view that as a virtue, but Jason enjoyed the psychological aspect of domination as much as, if not more than, the physical. He liked to break a woman with his words, as well as his whip, and he couldn’t see Simone responding to that kind of treatment.
    As for Adele, the third slave to step up to the block, she was just too young for him. Barely into her 20s, she was the archetypal trophy wife. With her collagen-augmented pout and improbably big, round breasts, she reminded him of Chelsee King, the reality TV star whose fitness DVD he’d worked on earlier in the year. If it had been the whiny, self-absorbed Chelsee they’d placed up on the stage, inviting someone to claim her so they could spank some sense into her pampered arse, Jason would have been first in the queue. The thought of ordering her lookalike to do whatever took his fancy, whether that was licking his boots clean or sucking his cock, held a certain appeal, but if he was honest with himself, what he really wanted was the chance to indulge his fantasies of dominating a gorgeous MILF.
    Almost as if someone had read his mind, Damon Barada announced, ‘Gentlemen, may I present the final lot of the night – Max Sheringham’s slut of a wife, Jessica,’ and a blonde in her early 40s, wearing the same thin robe as all the other slaves, had been half-dragged on to the stage.
    She wasn’t feigning her reluctance to be auctioned, or her shame at being bared for her audience as the robe was pulled off her to reveal her mature body. Unlike the other wives on display tonight, Jessica was a novice, being paraded and sold for the first time; he recognised that instinctively, and something deep inside him responded to the knowledge. His cock stirred, hardening at the sight of Jessica, cruelly exposed and unable to shield her breasts or her pussy with her hands bound behind her back. She could barely look at the crowd from behind her hair, and he could only begin to imagine the thoughts that might be running through her mind. He wanted her, wanted to bend her to his will and teach her what it meant to submit, and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.
    Or so he thought. When Damon Barada asked who was prepared to start the bidding at 50 dollars, he spoke up confidently enough.
    ‘Sixty!’ came the response from the other side of the room. The German accent gave his rival bidder away, and hardened Jason’s resolve to win this auction.
    He’d overheard Sebastian Voller on his first evening here, complaining loudly about Barada’s insistence