by Mia Moore
She laughed to herself. She was pretty good at indoor sports.
As well as being the proprietor of her business, her body was its prime asset. Even if she was more intelligent, charming and focused on her client’s needs, if she was overweight, she’d be finished. Her physical appearance was the first thing clients wanted to know and see. It was shallow, but she wasn’t the one paying the fees.
After a punishing ninety minutes, using the stair master, glider and weights, she went into the shower area. Glancing at her watch, she smiled. Good timing. She wouldn’t be late for her massage. After showering and wrapping a towel around her body, she entered the massage room.
Constance, a woman in her forties was dressed in her usual mauve uniform. She smiled, welcomed Annik and patted the towel draped table.
“Hi Constance. My shoulders are really tight. I think I may have overdone it with the weights.” Annik’s hands grasped the muscle between her neck and shoulder as she walked to the table.
“No problem. Just get settled here. I’ll untangle them and you'll turn to jelly, I promise.” Constance rubbed oil into her hands. She started at the small of Annik’s back and worked her way upward, kneading, rubbing, using her fingers and elbows.
OW! Annik flinched as Constance’s fingers rolled and probed into the tense muscle.
That was a jolt of reality. Wonder if Constance has ever considered being a Pro Domme, dealing out beatings. She's a natural. She smiled at the mental picture of Constance in a vinyl cat suit, spiked heels and whip.
Constance finished her massage and gave Annik a sharp swat on her bottom.
“You like that don't you? Anyone ever tell you, you’re a sadist?” Annik teased.
“All the time Brown Sugar. That's what makes me good at what I do.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next week, same time? Pencil me in.” Annik smiled.
“Certainement ma petit bonbon!”
Back at home, after dinner and tidying up, she poured a glass of wine and sat in her living room. The focal point of the room was a large picture window overlooking the city and part of the Lake Ontario waterfront. The furniture was contemporary, modern in a deep chocolate color. She retreated to her favorite chair, situated so she could enjoy the evening sunset through the window. After tucking her legs under her, she picked up her book from the small table next to her and started to read. She managed only a few pages before her thoughts drifted off to her past—how she had gotten into this lifestyle, when she was supposed to become a psychotherapist.
It was that damn interview with Jessica that had made her so maudlin.
In high school she had seen the wonderful effect some of the guidance counselors had on students and was inspired. In her last year, she spoke with one of her favorite counselors, Mrs. Kinsey. It was time for Annik to begin to consider University—what would she study, where would she attend. In that meeting Annik told the woman she wanted to become a guidance counselor.
But Mrs. Kinsey had discouraged this and advised. “For a young woman who’s as smart—as really, really smart as you are,” she had gestured to Annik’s grades, “I think that there’s more important things someone with your gifts could be doing.”
She had pointed out that Mrs. Kinsey did important work helping the kids at the school.
Mrs. Kinsey had persisted in explaining that the kids in her school by and large had loving, stable parents, a solid financial footing in the world from the moment they were born. “Sort of like you, because your family is quite wealthy. The kids who attend here have every advantage life has to offer. Once in a while, though, there are students here who are very troubled. Some have drug or alcohol problems. Others have emotional problems that make them sick—depression for example.”
“And you help them too, Mrs. Kinsey. That’s why I-“
“No, Annik, I don’t. The really challenged students, I refer to a professional. Either a doctor or a therapist, who’s another kind of doctor. I don’t have the training, or the credentials to help those kids.”
“So what’s your point, ma’am?”
“It’s simple. With your intelligence, I believe that you could be one of the best doctors or therapists around. You could help people who need someone like you. And that’s a lot harder than becoming a high school guidance counselor.”
Mrs. Kinsey gave Annik a couple of books to read. One was about the training of a psychiatrist and the other was a series of stories by a psychotherapist. When Annik read them, she was sold. She applied to University of Toronto with the intention of becoming either a psychiatrist or a therapist.
When she entered University, Poppa and Mamma settled her in at one of the dormitories on campus. Poppa felt it would be better for her to live on her own. Yes, she was only a taxi ride from home, but Poppa said she needed to stretch her own wings.
The course work at university level was hard. Things turned around in her second semester and by her third year she had an A minus average—good enough for grad school, she hoped.
It was in her third year that Poppa died of a heart attack. Thank goodness he had been lying next to Mamma, asleep in bed; at least they had been together when he passed.
Both Poppa and Mamma, like Annik, were only children and their own parents had passed away years earlier. Their extended families had been jealous of Poppa’s success and not one relative contacted them when things went badly.
And pretty much by accident, Annik became a practitioner of the world’s oldest profession.
How would Poppa feel if he knew? Maybe, he’d be proud of her doing whatever it took to take care of Mamma, right?
Yeah, sure. It would break his heart—who was she trying to kid?
Growing up as a princess of a very successful businessman did give her an edge. Almost from the age she learned to walk she had been learning many aspects of the service industry. She decided that she would treat her hooking as a business. Not a whore. Not a call girl. She would manage an Owner Operated Personal Services business.
OOPS. That was a good name.
It had been some time since she’d thought so much of the past. She finished her glass of wine. Sure, a lot had changed. That innocent girl became a successful Escort, an elite Escort who now called the shots. And made top dollar for her services.
There was a limited window, however. Already, at group events there were women ten years younger than she was.
Pandora’s was a tremendous opportunity—an underutilized asset if ever there was one. The market in the city was ready for the next generation of an exclusive club for carnal delights. And in enough time, she would own Pandora’s. She would become a successful woman, respected for her mind and business acumen. The kind of woman that Tom would be proud to be with. Or would he? She sighed and looked at the floor. Not likely. Being a prostitute would always follow her like a nasty smell. Her mouth was set in a straight line as she got up from her chair, turned off her reading lamp and went to bed.
Chapter 9
Gerald Smithers eyes flew open at the hotel room’s wake up call.
Today he was going to sign papers, along with his team, that would take his company from an established concern and turn it into a one hundred million dollar outfit. The upfront payment was going to result in both Ted and Phil (guys he had known for over fifteen years) having a cool million dropped into their checking accounts immediately. And that was only the beginning.
Heading into the shower, he reflected on how a simple comment a year and a half earlier by Phil had led them to this day. Gerald’s company designed and distributed communication hardware. He had spent twenty years in the military as a communications specialist, and had taken his skills and training into the private sector. As a former ground troop, he knew how important clear radio communication was for the boys in the field. But those damn sunspots…
A year and a half ago, his VP Phil, had tossed an idea out when the three of them were at dinner. He had voiced his frustration at how solar activity often interfered with
radio transmissions.
“You just gotta live with it, Phil,” Gerald said.
“I KNOW that, Gerry. But… but… what if we could?”
“Shit, Phil, if we could, and patent it, you kidding?” Gerald looked at his brothers in arms around the table, now his partners—well, almost partners. “We’d own Motorola in a year.” Every institution, military, police, fire departments, shit—cell phone companies would want a piece of this. If they could pull it off.
That night was when ‘Crystal’ was conceived.
This morning, they were signing with NATO. Gerald’s company was going to revolutionize field communications, and in so doing was going to do a hard reset on the military communications of each member nation.
This deal was bigger than anything Gerald could have imagined when the three of them started his company to repair damaged radios for the Canadian military years earlier. And now, this morning, he knew that this hundred million dollar deal was going to evolve, very quickly, into a multi billion dollar merger in just a few years.
Gerald was set for life. As of today, he was going to be set for life. In a year or two, well, he couldn’t imagine it.
Getting out of the shower, he dried himself, and used the phone in his room to touch base with Phil and Ted. They were good to go, and the three buddies would have breakfast together before heading to the meeting with their lawyers. After, they’d go over to the NATO confab for final signing and money transfer.
And that would be that. Gerald was putting the guys back on a plane after the meeting (he already had a charter from Porter Airlines to take them from Toronto Island to Ottawa booked and paid for). He was going to hang back in Toronto for a day or so.
Because Gerald was going to celebrate his way.
With this woman named Annik.
As he dressed, Gerald thought about how he had come across her name and the plans for this evening.
He had always been an avid squash player, and had been a member of the RA Club in Ottawa for some time. He played squash there regularly, and met Charles Bridges. They became regular players together, once or twice a week for a match. After a while, they became friends, sharing a bite to eat and a few beers after their match. Charlie was a good guy.
Naturally, these two single, older men eventually discussed sex, and Charlie let Gerald in on how he managed his sex life. They were both pretty loopy from the beer, and Charlie just blurted out how he got his cookies off, not by getting laid, but by being teased and beaten.
Gerald tried to appear nonchalant when Charlie said this—which was difficult, because his own cock stood up and took notice. He did, however ask Charlie some pointed questions, and Charlie was drunk enough to just answer them.
The following week, they didn’t play their match at all. Gerald was intrigued and turned on, and instead took Charlie to a bar and pumped him for more information. In the course of that tete a tete between the two men, Gerald learned about ‘Miss Annik’ of Toronto.
“Look Gerry, she’s not a typical hooker, or call girl, okay? She’s porn star hot, but she’s got this… I dunno, this ‘thing’ about her, which you just know, and I mean KNOW that you’re the focus of her game. She’s expensive as hell, man—a couple grand for a session, okay? But boy oh boy, I see her about once every month or so, and I’m hard for weeks after.”
Charlie gave Gerry Annik’s website address, and the password for him to view it. It wasn’t much, just a couple of photos of her—all vanilla. The website explained, “Your intimate images of me will be from your memory. These photos are so that you can determine if my appearance is appropriate for your needs. If you’re looking for a blonde bombshell, that’s not me.”
She wasn’t blonde—not by a country mile. She was gorgeous, however. Killer bod, beautiful long hair in ringlets. Her cinnamon skin was exotic. And those eyes…
Gerald was excited about his appointment for this evening. He had a goddam guarantee for it. Charlie had told him that if Gerry wasn’t over the moon, Charlie would cover his payment. On the other hand, if Gerry WAS over the moon from being with Miss Annik, he had to spring for a steak dinner.
“Look, Gerry, I just feel like a guy who wants to play sort of matchmaker, okay? I know you would get a charge out of meeting her, see? And I believe so much in my own evaluation I’ll cover your risk.” Charlie was a good guy. And it was awesome to have a buddy who was as bent sexually as Gerry was.
As he got dressed, Gerald hoped Annik would punish him. He hoped she would crush his will. He hoped that she wouldn’t let him fuck her though—that she wouldn’t let him even come.
It sounded absurd to him, but he hoped that she would keep it pure.
Finished dressing, Gerald headed downstairs to hook up with his team and change some lives. Christ, it was great to be alive.
****
When Annik woke, she went through her morning routine, with one exception.
When she dressed, she didn’t put panties on. Instead, she took a men’s medium leather thong from a drawer in her dresser and wore it. She completed dressing and then performed her morning rituals. Finishing at her desk two hours later, she sat back in her chair. Okay, it was time to start getting her head in the game. She was going to be meeting her client at seven PM, and so had eight hours to get herself mentally into the role of a Domme. Her subbie clients paid absolute top dollar for her services—she would earn over several days worth of fees for three hours work, and like a Broadway actress, or a ballerina, she would spend her day ramping up mentally and physically for this encounter. Gerald Smithers was not a trick, and Annik Dandridge was not a whore. If she went in prepared and ready, she would create a memory for him that would last his entire life.
And, in all likelihood, bring him back for more.
She prepared and ate a large lunch as she wouldn’t eat again until after her scene with Gerald tonight. She ate slowly and methodically—salad and soup, entree with vegetables and a starch, finishing with a fruit salad and coffee for dessert. The process of cooking and eating the meal gave her mind a break, and when she finished, it was early afternoon.
She took a novel from her bookshelf, and curled up on the big chair in her living room and spent almost an hour reading. It was a novel about a female Domme’s memoirs of her life in BDSM. Annik was not a natural Domme. If given her druthers, she preferred the role of a submissive. However, she was a professional, and could get into the role her client needed. Reading the novel helped get her head in the game.
She finished the chapter in which Jacqueline severely disciplined an older gentleman by playing the role of the evil teacher and naughty schoolboy. Annik was going on her gut instinct about Gerald, supported by the data she had studied, that such a scene would be thrilling for her client.
As the sun went down, Annik prepared herself and dressed.
She selected a short, black, vinyl, low-cut dress, four inch stiletto heels and black vinyl gloves. In her bureau drawer were dozens of pairs of stockings. She selected a pair of black fishnets.
After dressing, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror for the final check. Hair and makeup were good—her eye shadow accentuated the slight upward slant of her eyes, hair glistened with the pomade she had applied, the tops of her breasts spilling over, showing ample cleavage. The snug fit of the dress revealed a narrow waist above round, full hips. Her legs were strong and shapely in the stockings, with shoes adding to the illusion of extremely long length. The vinyl gloves on her arms were the finishing touch. She smiled at herself, damn I'm hot. Hello Miss Annik.
She retrieved the leather satchel which was her toy bag, from her closet. All of her necessary ‘tools of the trade’ were in there, having been sanitized after the previous session. She added the leather thong she had worn all day, wrapped in a ziplock baggie. She selected a mid calf London Fog overcoat. The elevator deposited her on the first floor where she could see the street and Eddie’s waiting taxi. Good. Right on time.
He got out and leane
d forward to hug her before opening her door. “So Pandora's tonight is it?”
“Yes, my appointment is not until seven but I'd like to be early to ensure that everything is as I requested. Meeting a client who wants a little discipline.”
“Yes, Miss Annik,” he said, opening the door.
“How’s Shelley?”
“She’s fine. May we talk about that afterward, please? It would only serve to distract you now, wouldn’t it?” Eddie eyed her in the rear view mirror as he drove.
“Very well, Daniel. Thank you.” Eddie was right. They’d be going for coffee after, anyway. He was a dear friend, helping her get and stay in role.
The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence. She knew Eddie didn't worry about her when she was at Pandora’s. Security there was tight and their staff was available in case things got out of hand. It was a classy place. He slowed to make the turn into Pandora's driveway, pulling up to the front door.
At the front gate, a large muscular man in a navy blue uniform, approached the car and leaned forward motioning to get Eddie to lower his window. Eddie lowered the window and informed him he was dropping Miss Annik who had a booking there at seven. The attendant stepped back and opened the door for her to alight.
Annik paid Eddie and got out of the cab.
“Thank you, Miss Annik,” said Eddie, pocketing it.
She walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. As usual, it was the Major who opened it and greeted her.
“I have a room booked for the evening Major. Do you know the room number?” She asked.
“Yes, Miss Annik. It's room 204. Would you like me to show it to you?”
“That's not necessary Major. I know the room. I’ll just pop up there now to make sure everything is set up. Gerald Smithers will be arriving at seven. Perhaps you would show him to the room when he gets here?”
“Certainly.”
Annik walked up the large curved stairway to the second floor. A few doors on the left she opened 204. She glanced at her watch. fifteen minutes to go. She inventoried the room and was satisfied that everything was as she had requested. There were candles laid about the room and she busied herself lighting them. Turning down the lights, she then laid her instruments on the bed. She took the leather thong out of the bag last. It was brand new this morning when she put it on, and it would be Gerald’s memento of this evening. The spanking bench was on the far side of the room past the double, four poster bed. Opposite that was the suspension gear hanging from the ceiling, and the imposing X shape of a St. Andrew’s cross. Near the door on a table was the food and drink she had ordered. She hung up her coat and sat in the upholstered chair, facing the door.