by Alyssa Clark
I could see the excitement light up in his eyes at the prospect of what that might entail. We finished dressing him and making sure that he looked as impeccable leaving as he did when he arrived. “I will do the homework that you've assigned,” he smiled then looked somewhat hesitant as I went about gathering the implements that I used against him during our session. I would spend the next few hours in this hotel room cleaning them as well as any other evidence as to what we did here.
I had my cleaner out of my travel case when I noticed him watching, “Was there something else?” Though, there may be something to watching a woman in leather lingerie tidying up a hotel room.
“I gave your card to a colleague,” he swallowed as if he were nervous about my reaction. “I did not tell him what exactly you do, but I did say that you helped with my stress and blood pressure.”
“Our involvement is a professional, private arrangement,” I assured him, and he looked visibly relieved. “Was there anything else?”
“No, no,” he smiled and came to kiss my cheek. “You have put me at ease, darling. I have a meeting to get to. I will see you again soon.”
And with that, he left me.
I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my equipment and going on to scrub up any stains that I could find on the carpet.
2
Matt
I was just starting out at my first real firm that wasn’t charity based. I was eager to get work done and learn what I could from the older partners. Things they didn't teach you at school about dealing with clients and the pressure of leading a case. I hadn't handled my first one, yet, but I had been assisting Allen Franklin and his small team of paralegals for three months. So far, he hadn't taught me anything I didn't already know. It felt like he was holding me back and it was starting to eat away at the little patience I had.
“Let me take on more,” I said, confronting him the day after we had a meeting with a client. The client was suing for malpractice on what she thought was a botched injection. Franklin and I weren't so sure she hadn't botched the healing process herself. No one liked to be wrong, so because she had the money, she thought it was alright to sue.
“If you put too much on your plate, more than you can handle you will find yourself either balding or going gray before you're thirty,” he looked up at me with a smile, he had a head full of gray hair, and his mustache and goatee had started to follow suit. “Too much and the stress will kill you.”
“The only stress I feel right now is your decision to treat me as if I were still fresh from college,” I frowned as I eyed the wall of degrees and achievements he had. The only thing I had on my office wall was my diploma. There were no plaques or letters from big names that were worthy enough to frame. “It's hard to build a name for yourself when someone is holding you back.”
“The next one you can lead,” he sounded like he was giving in as he stood. He made it like he was doing me a favor, “With the way Miss Owens keeps talking, and her story keeps altering itself, it's a good chance that this one will fall through.” He came to me and gave my shoulder a solid pat, “How about I take this loss instead of you?”
I tried to keep my frustration from showing but nodded nonetheless. “You calling it an early day?”
“I have a private appointment to attend to,” he said simply. “Something I do for my blood pressure and stress from taking on far too much too soon.”
I grimaced, I had a feeling he was probably cheating on his wife. It was something I had noticed with a professor. They would end class early to tend to an ‘appointment’ that would usually be to bend students over their desk. Something about being in a position of power that too many people took advantage of. Here I was, having to suffer through it simply because the firm head thought I could use a mentor. I tried to mask my disgust, but I think he caught it because he gave me a sharp look. “You have a problem?”
I shrugged my shoulders and went to open the door for him, “Not at all. Enjoy your appointment.”
He made a noise and took the time to pull out his wallet, offering me a card. “Save your judgments. If you are so curious about what my appointment is, feel free to investigate it. I’ve got nothing to hide from you,” with that said he left me standing alone in his office.
I looked at the card curiously, seeing only a name on it and a number. Angela Winters. It could be an escort, I went to my own office as I considered the simple card. Or it could be a masseuse. Why would he give me the card to a prostitute he was seeing? I found my way through the maze of offices and cubicles until I could find my own closet that had been assigned to me. I sat at my desk and tucked the card into my planner. I wouldn’t bother with it. It wasn't really my business.
It was a week later, after a long sleepless night that I found the card again. I stared at it, finding the curiosity gnawing at me. At worse, it was a prostitute. As sickening as the idea was to me of sharing a woman with someone who was essentially my boss, it had been more time than I’d like to admit since the last time I had sex. Relationships weren't something I had focused on during school, or now that I was struggling to find a foothold in the career I decided to pursue.
Was I desperate? Not yet, but the need to know got the best of me. I picked up the phone from my desk and punched in the number.
3
Angela
It was well over a week since Mr. Franklin admitted to handing over my card to another person before I had an unfamiliar number calling my work phone. I kept two cells, a personal one that friends and family had and my work phone. I was sitting on my bed painting my toenails a pretty pale pink, something little less severe than the bright red I usually sported. I had no appointments for the rest of the week, so I thought I could soften up. It was time to relax and pamper myself.
I answered on the third ring, “Hello.” The greeting sounded a little more sensual than I was going for, but it wasn't the tone that I usually took up when speaking with my clients.
“Hello,” a male voice echoed, pausing to clear his throat as he seemed to take the time to decide what to say. “I was referred to you by a coworker, but he didn't really elaborate what you did. He suggested that you aided in stress relief?”
“I'm not at liberty speak about the services that I offer to my different clients. However, if you are interested in making arrangements or an appointment I would be happy to meet you at my office,” I offered lightly as I continued to paint my toenails.
“How soon would I be able to meet with you?”
I paused and tried to keep from sighing, I had hoped to take the day off. But, when you worked for yourself it's never a good idea to brush off a potential new client. Days off meant no money was coming in. I glanced at the clock and tried to guess how long it would take me to put my face on, “I could be available in an hour. If that's what you mean?”
A rumble of noise came over the phone, and I could hear him go through things that I could only assume were on a desk. “I can do that, where is your office located at?”
“I’ll text the address to you,” I offered, “I’ll see you in an hour.” With that, I hung up the phone and took the time to blow on my freshly painted toenails. I guess I wouldn’t be able to wear my new peep-toe pumps like I wanted.
I took my time getting ready because there’s never a good reason to rush for a man. Or that’s how I felt about it, anyway. I curled my brown hair so it fell in delicate waves around my shoulders, I put on enough makeup to cover any imperfections I saw and to make my blue eyes pop. I changed into a black pencil line skirt, something that hugged my hips but wasn’t so tight that I couldn’t move or bend down. And decided to go with a darker gray camisole and then I tied it together with a sapphire blue blouse. I gave myself one last appraising look before I walked out the door of my apartment.
I arrived at my office after a short cab ride. Usually, I opted for the bus, but the area that I had my office in wasn’t entirely on the up and up. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe, it was just
that the businesses in the area had a high chance of being broken into. I learned when I first rented the place to not keep anything expensive in the front part of the building and bolt down or lock up anything expensive in the back of the building.
My office also offered a place of … play for my clients. Part of the reasoning for its location was for things to remain discreet. Sometimes they opted for a hotel at their own expense, but I preferred my office; even if it was in a bad part of town. It held all my bigger toys that weren’t practical to tow from hotel to hotel.
I approached the door, giving a cautious look over my shoulder. The street looked clear, save for a dark blue sedan parked further down. I waited a moment before turning to unlock the door. I dawdled about the door, sure that the person that requested this meeting was hiding in the vehicle. Because, of course. If men are anything, they’re predictable. When I cast a glance over at the car again, I saw a man stepping out of it.
Ah, how it feels to be right. I went ahead and stepped in, flicking on the lights and preparing myself for when he decided to join me.
Given my choice in professions, you would think I had a better grasp of people. With observation, they’re not hard to read. But there was still something about meeting a stranger that would set me on edge. Men were predictable to a degree, but there was always that one little lamb that would stray from the flock.
I sat my bag on the built-in desk that hid a filing cabinet. A bad part of town gave reason to decorate the front part of my office sparingly. I hadn’t been broken into, yet, but I made the effort to appear like there was nothing worth stealing. The front part had two waiting room style couches and the built-in desk. There was a pretty painting of water lilies on the wall, but that was it. The door to the back was heavy and had not one, but two deadbolts on it. Paranoid, maybe, but I had quite a bit of money invested in the equipment behind the door.
I waited patiently behind the desk, feeling awkwardly like a receptionist. It wasn’t long before I saw a man approaching the outside of the building. He eyed me with obvious curiosity through the glass. I tried to maintain a confident appearance, but I was kind of struck by what I saw. He was younger. When Mr. Franklin advised that he had passed my card to a colleague I assumed it would be to someone that was a similar age to him. The man standing outside my office couldn’t be that much older than me. He was in his early thirties at the most. He had short cropped sandy colored hair and a bit of the same colored fuzz on his face. He seemed to have an average height and build to him, had a few inches on me even in my heels. It was a little hard to gauge his physique in his suit and tie, but he didn’t have any apparent pudge to him.
I offered a smile and nodded towards the door, there was something to not opening the door for him and making him accept the decision to enter. While what I did was sexual, there was also something psychological about it. If he knew what I did and wanted it, we would make an agreement and arrangement for him to submit to me.
He opened the door, the glass was bare of any sort of calling or business name. As far as any passerby may see this was just a nameless waiting room. “Angela Winters?” he asked curiously, the voice was familiar. This was the man that had called me.
I made my smile brighten and placed both my hands on the desktop, I would make him come to me. “That’s me,” I assured him. “Unfortunately, you didn’t clarify who you were.”
He approached the desk with an air of confidence that bordered cockiness. A slight smile tugged at his mouth as he eyed me, I could see the appreciation on his face, but I chose to ignore it. I made an effort to make myself look beautiful, but it wasn’t for the sake of picking up a guy. “Matthew Clarke,” he offered me a hand that I accepted out of politeness, giving his firm grip a squeeze as he raised a brow at me. “Allen Franklin suggested that I call you and, well, meet with you for stress relief. As I said before, he didn’t say what it was that you did. I assumed you were a masseuse, was I wrong?”
Something in me twitched, and I tried not to be insulted. He was asking if I was a prostitute without actually saying it. I smiled icily at him now, he didn't know better. “Yes, as I said to you on the phone, Mr. Clarke, what I do for Mr. Franklin is confidential. I’m not at liberty to speak on the details.”
“Of course not,” he agreed with a smile, though there was something to the way he looked at me. Maybe he hoped I was a prostitute. I tried to keep from sneering in disgust. “If you’re not a masseuse, what is it that you do? How do you exactly help with stress?”
More suggestive jabs. My smile tightened, and I stepped back briefly to fetch a contract from the filing cabinet. I set it on the desktop between us and pulled out a pen. “The services I provide are confidential, as I said. If you would like to inquire about their details, I would be happy to supply them to you, even provide you a demonstration. Of course, after you sign an agreement that would detail what happens here is not discussed with anyone else.”
“So,” he picked up the contract and seemed to scan in curiously. It was a standard nondisclosure agreement. “Franklin comes to you for sex then?”
There was something about his tone that made me want to slap the smirk off his face. “No, Mr. Clarke,” I tried not to growl at this bastard. I decided to try a different tactic because he hadn’t signed the contract just yet, and while I was ready to beat his ass until it glowed red, I wasn’t ready to tell him just what I would do to him unless he asked for a demonstration of what I did. “I am not a prostitute,” I adopted the tone of voice that seemed to drive Mr. Franklin during our sessions. “You will find that if you make the insinuation, again, that I will not be so polite in brushing off the insult. As I said before if you want an understanding of what I do you will have to take the time to sign this agreement.”
He seemed to recognize the tone of voice I was using, on some level, and his brows drew up. He didn’t offer any sort of apology, and I found myself realizing the reason why he seemed to be responding to me in the fashion that he was. I was dealing with a man that considered himself an alpha. Ugh. Why would Franklin give my card to him? I watched as he picked up the pen and messily scribbled a signature after placing the paper on the desk. Curiosity got the better of him.
Once he finished, I turned the paper around and plucked the pen from his grasp. I neatly put my signature on the appropriate line and dated it. That done, I decided to make him wait now, pulling my business phone from my purse and taking a photocopy of the document. That done I offered him the hard copy of the contract, “For your records.” He looked confused but took the contract and folded it, before sticking it into the front pocket of his jacket. “What I do for Mr. Franklin is not sex, Mr. Clarke. And, should you decide to hire me for my services, you will find it in your best interest to not suggest that I am a prostitute again.”
“Oh?” he looked intrigued.
I couldn’t help but smile, there was temptation here. I could see myself stringing him up and having all sorts of debauched fun at his expense. “Yes,” I replaced my phone and retrieved my office keys from their pocket. “Mr. Franklin sees me for a certain type of stress relief. I am a Domme,” I said evenly as I placed my keys on the desktop.
Confusion crossed his features, and I could see he wasn’t aware what I was talking about. “A domme?” he had his phone out of his pocket, and it looked like he was going to do a quick search. I fought not to roll my eyes.
“A domme,” I supplied for him. “Is a dominate. As in a person that dominates a submissive in a private and sometimes sexual means.”
“But you just said you didn’t have sex with him,” he pointed out.
“I don’t,” there was a temptation to bare my teeth at him. He was trying me. “Mr. Franklin acts as a submissive for me. For some people, submitting to another person in different ways can be considered a form of stress relief.”
“Does his wife know he sees you?”
“That is for him and her to know, not you,” I said sternly. “And you will not inform
her, or else you will be breaching the contract you just signed.”
A hand drifted up to cut through his hair as he eyed me. He was curious, but there was something he was unsure about. “I don’t know what the domme or submissive thing means,” he admitted as he tried to sneakily put his phone away, though it was placed in a pocket closer to his hand than he had gotten it from. I’m guessing so it would be readily available to look up anything else I may mention that he was unfamiliar with. “You offered a demonstration?”
“Normally, a visit into my backroom would require paying a fee. However, this time I’m willing to overlook it,” because bending him over was something I wanted to do. “Are you sure you want to find out just what I do?”
His brows drew together, and he stepped closer, eyeing me in a way that I could practically feel them combing over me. “I want to know,” he said, and with the tone of his voice, I could tell easily that he desired me. Flattering, but I wasn’t going to allow it to affect me. Not after his insinuations.