My Kingdom for a Corner

My Kingdom for a Corner

A Fingertip Fantasies Story

By Melinda Barron

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118

My Kingdom for a Corner
Copyright © 2012 Melinda Barron
Edited by Andrea Grimm and Venus Cahill
Cover art by Kendra Egert, www.creationsbykendra.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-453-6

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: January 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

For Tia Fanning, who late one night said, “What about My Kingdom for a Corner? That title could be a lot of fun!”

Kingdom
– (noun) An independent realm; a place one has dominion over.

Corner
– (noun) The space where two planes intersect; (verb) to take control of a commodity.

Chapter One

Francesca Steele perused the silver tray, trying to decide which treat she wanted to taste. There were white chocolate penises on sticks with dark chocolate covered heads, cookies shaped like breasts with painted on nipples, and something, she wasn’t sure what, shaped like whips. The whip definitely fit her personality. As she picked one up, she hoped it wasn’t licorice, which wasn’t her favorite candy. One bite confirmed her suspicions, for that’s exactly what it was.

She licked her lips in distaste and looked around for some place to put the unwanted food.

“Figures you’d pick the whip,” said a familiar voice from behind her.

She turned toward her assistant, Sally McDougal, who had one of the penis lollipops in her mouth.

“I just wish it was something tastier.” She frowned at the taller woman. “Why did you order licorice for a Christmas party?”

“For the whip shape, of course. There are other trays with handcuff shaped cookies and ones shaped like collars, too. Does that meet your approval, Mistress C?”

“Don’t be a smart ass, or you’ll miss your Christmas spanking.” Francesca fought back a smile at the horrified look on Sally’s face. She’d promised her assistant a nice, hard spanking with a taws if the party went well tonight. There was nothing Sally liked more than a spanking, and since she was between Masters, Francesca provided one for her every now and then. If she took the spanking well, Francesca allowed her to masturbate to orgasm. If she cried or begged too much, she could get close, but had to stop right before climax.

After one spanking, Sally had informed Francesca that she was harsher than some of the men who topped the sub. The three men who Francesca kept as subs told her the same thing, even though she thought their interactions were rather light. One sub wanted nothing more than to sit at her feet while she worked, of course, he was required to keep his cock hard at all times, and not allowed to come until he was at home. The second sub liked to watch while Francesca whipped his wife’s behind with a cat. When she was nice and red, the wife would strap on a dildo and fuck her husband while Francesca tortured his cock and balls with clips, rubber bands and anything else she could find. The third sub was a powerful attorney, who liked for Francesca to take him over her knee and take a leather strap to his ass, after which he she made him stand in a corner while he jerked off.

All three events were pleasant, but they didn’t really provide Francesca with the release she needed. Maybe after the spanking tonight, she would make Sally go down on her. An orgasm provided by something not powered with batteries would be nice.

Nicer still would be a good, hard fuck with a real, blood-filled prick. It had been more than a year since she’d had a lover. Finding one who liked a powerful woman topping him wasn’t easy. Maybe she should find a male sub she didn’t know and order him to fuck her.

She fought back a sigh and looked across the room where a man dressed as Santa was taking women, and sometimes men, onto his lap. Usually there was a Dominant nearby, holding the leash of the person on Santa’s lap. She could imagine what they were asking for, whips, chains, and the physical events that accompanied the gifts.

Dear Santa, all I want is to get laid
, she thought as she handed Sally the uneaten whip. “Toss that for me, will you? And where is Mr. Oliver? I want to thank him for letting us use his club tonight.”

“I’m not sure,” Sally responded. She took the whip and put the tip into her mouth, letting it dangle out. She giggled around it as she sucked it into her mouth. Francesca smiled at her enthusiasm. When the whip was gone, Sally continued to laugh.

“Little tease,” Francesca said. “Do I need to find you a dick to suck?”

“That would be wonderful, Mistress C,” Sally lowered her gaze to the floor, “but back to the original question. Mr. Oliver said he might not make it tonight. He said to send you his regards, and to thank you for using his club for the
Salacious
party. He said he hopes to meet you one day.”

That was a disappointment. She had hoped to meet him, too. She’d heard the Dom, who’d opened his club in Seattle a little more than a year ago, was very talented, but somehow she’d never been at the same event as him. She needed to remedy that.

She glanced around the space, and remembered what a fuss he’d caused when he’d built this. It was out in the country, near a small lake. He’d bought two Victorian three-story houses and had them moved here, settling them on either side of the warehouse-type gathering area he’d already built.

The main room was cavernous, but it kept the style of the ladies who sat on either side of it with wood flooring and hand-crafted railings on the “widow’s walk” that ran around the second floor, giving people a bird’s eye view to activities on the ground floor. On either side of the room were circular staircases that led to the houses.

“He must make a boatload here,” Francesca whispered, wondering why her twin brother, Francis, had not tried to get Fingertip Fantasies into the action here. They had a good relationship with Mr. Oliver, true, but if they had a slice of the pie, that would make things really sweet. Maybe she could talk him into letting them invest. Fingertip Fantasies was a perfect business, as far as Francesca was concerned. She handled the publishing end, and Francis ran the fantasy-based reality business, where people could have their fondest desires fulfilled, either as a Dom or a sub. Mr. Oliver’s would be a nice compliment to the business.

“Call him tomorrow and set up a lunch. Make sure it’s before the New Year.”

“Yes, Mistress C,” Sally replied. “May I go and sit on Santa’s lap?”

“Of course,” Francesca said. “I’ll go with you. Who’s playing Santa this year?”

Sally turned toward the area where the “fat” man in a red suit still held court. “I’m not sure. Mr. Oliver said he’d set someone up, and for me not to worry about it.”

Francesca surveyed the crowd as they walked.
Salacious
employees and advertisers, their spouses or Doms/Dommes or submissives had filled the room, which made Francesca smile. The magazine had weathered the financial storm very well; their advertising was steady and their subscription rates hadn’t fallen. One of those reasons was Mr. Oliver, who was a huge advertiser, putting a color double-truck in monthly.

Thinking about his ads reminded her that she’d failed to thank him properly. She’d do that at the luncheon.

Santa had just finished with a submissive as they neared his chair. He reached into a bag and pulled out a box, which he handed to the plump woman on his lap. She opened it and squealed in delight.

“Look, Master.” She held up a glass dildo. “May I use it? Please?”

“We’ll find a nice, public area for you to do just that,” her Master, one of Francesca’s best writers, replied as he tugged on her leash. “Come along, slut.”

After they’d gone, Santa patted his lap and inclined his head toward Sally. “Your turn, pretty one.”

Sally jumped onto his lap and giggled; the light laughter was something she did quite a bit. Francesca knew, if Sally were her full-time submissive, that was a habit she would have to break her of.

“What can I do for you, tonight?” Santa asked her. His deep, Scottish burr sent shivers up Francesca’s spine. What was a Scot doing in Seattle? And what did he look like under that costume?

Francesca shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts. She waited for Sally’s answer, but before it came, he held up her hand. “I should word that another way. It’s what you can do for me. There is a Master in the other room who is waiting for you. His name is Master Thor, and you will let him do as he pleases with you, won’t you? That is, if it meets with Mistress C’s approval.”

“Oh yes.” Sally jumped up from his lap. “May I, Ma’am?”

“Make sure he wears a condom,” Francesca said. “And no matter what happens tonight, you get spanked over my desk in the morning. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am, thank you.” She hurried away before Francesca could say anything else.

Francesca turned her attention to Santa. He patted his lap.

“Your turn.”

“No thank you, Santa.” Francesca turned her gaze away from the man. It was obvious that beneath the suit and padding, he had quite a nice body. He could give her what she needed, she was sure. But, with her luck, he would probably dig another dildo from his bag and ask her to fuck him with it.

“I insist,” he said, his tone edgy. That made her insides tingle. It had been years since a man had talked to her that way.

“I’m sorry, Santa, but sitting on someone’s lap is not my cup of tea. I generally have people draped over my lap, as in the spanking position.” She fixed a stare on him, one that generally made submissive men cower and say, “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Spanking would be good. My black belt would redden your ass quite nicely, I’m sure.”

Francesca laughed. “Your hat must be blocking your ears, Santa. I’m not a sub.”

“You would be with me.”

“In your dreams, Santa.”

“Where you’re concerned, they’re fantasies, darlin’.” He patted his thigh. “Come and sit before Santa puts you on his naughty list.”

Francesca broke into laughter. “The joke I’ve always heard is that Santa is jolly because he knows where all the naughty girls live. Is that not true?”

“Right now, I want one very naughty Mistress C sitting on my lap.” He patted his muscular thigh and Francesca wondered what it would look like naked. Was he hairy or smooth skinned? The only thing she could tell for sure from his costume was that he had very, very blue eyes.

What the hell?
she thought as she sat down on his lap, her ass coming into contact with a hard cock.

“Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

“Very happy,” the burr made her shiver one more time. “Tell Santa what’s on your wish list.”

“A good, hard fuck.” Francesca put her hand over her mouth, shocked that she’d let the words come out so frankly.