The Parlour (VDB #1) by Charlotte E Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

‘Yeah, cool,’ I’m his. I still haven’t found one that knows how to use his dick properly, though. In fact, before I ended up on the streets, I’d pretty much given up hope that men like that existed. Most are useless in the bedroom. I seem to have spent my life telling them what they need to do to get me to orgasm. I normally just did it myself in the end.
    Mind you, I‘m not sure I’m supposed to care about what I need from sex given this situation, am I? I’m certain it’s all about what they need. Hopefully, I’ll at least get an orgasm out of the experience at some point. It’s not like I’ve got any fucking choice, is it? God, what have I gotten myself into?
    Teabag in, and a quick stir of my sweet black tea, and I cross over to the window again to watch the world go by. That woman’s out there again, flinging her washing around and still smiling. What’s she got to be so happy about? I bet she’s got two point four children and a husband who adores her. She’s probably got a nice car, too, living the dream. The damn dream I came here for.
    Not that I’ll ever get it.
    “Lilah!” A voice comes screaming through the door behind me. My body spins in shock at the noise.
    “Hold on,” I reply, floundering across to the door and trying not to throw tea all over myself as I trip in the heels again. I unlock and open it to find a mass of red hair looking at me. She’s wearing overly heavy make-up, and some sort of blue leather outfit, which I can only describe as atrocious, if not sexy, in a strange sense of the word. She smiles and barges her way past me. This definitely isn’t a woman who knows anything about the word finesse.
    “Lovey, do not make me shout again. I get pissed when I have to shout.”
    I’m not even sure why she shouted in the first place.
    “Perhaps you should have just knocked then. That’s what normal people do.” The slap that reverberates off the side of my face has me stumbling backwards in defence.
    “You ever speak to me like that again and I’ll do worse than slap you.” She snarls. “And don’t behave like such a weak fucker either. These boys aren’t going to pay for that shit.”
    My body recoils away from her until I’m backed up to the sofa and still clinging onto my cheek. Fuck, that hurt. And what the hell does she mean about looking like a weak fucker? She’s just slapped me for God’s sake. What am I supposed to do? Hit her back? I’m fairly certain she just told me to never speak to her sarcastically again, let alone attack her.
    “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Why? What...” Why the hell am I saying I’m sorry? She’s just attacked me! “In fact, no. Fuck off. Why did you just slap me?”
    “Better,” she says as she taps her foot and stares at my body. Up and down, she gazes, repeatedly, as if she’s sizing me up, or maybe getting the measure of me. “You’ve never done anything like this before, I assume.” She’s right there.
    “Nope, and why the hell did you just slap me?”
    “Rule one, no matter what they ask for or how absurd it might seem, you say, ‘Yes, Sir’. You even batt your fucking eyelashes at them if you like. You do not, and I’ll repeat this for you, lovey, you DO NOT have your own sarcastic comeback, or any form of disrespect.”
    “You didn’t knock. I was just–”
    “Honey, some of ‘em ain’t gonna knock and ask permission. They ain’t gonna do a damn thing you expect. Your job will be to expect that, to be ready, pliable. You get me?” she says, now smiling again and walking towards me. “And actually, I did knock. Twice.” Did she?
    “Oh…” My response is stupendous as I rub at my cheek and frown a little. “I didn’t hear. Sorry.”
    “Okay. Let’s start again then, shall we? I’m Vixon, and I’m going to be training you a little. I’m a Domme and proud of it. I’ve been in this lifestyle since I was fifteen, runaway brat and all that. I’m from England, like you,