It was 8:30 PM, thirty minutes from closing, and Ian sat at his work station in the kitchen design studio where he worked, a portion of a long counter facing out toward the showroom. His place at the end in the corner by the wall was a perk of his rank as assistant manager and it allowed him to the turn his computer screen at such an angle that it could not be seen by others. It was a slow evening and he was passing the time by viewing videos depicting his secret longing, to be dominated and enslaved by an iron willed, cruel and lustful woman. It had inhibited his love life for all his 23 years. A handsome, sandy haired, blue eyed and muscular young specimen, he dated and had sex often. But the woman of his fantasies eluded him and no relationships formed of the nature he longed for. He had pretty much concluded women "like that" were just the figment of his fantasies and he would spend his life unfulfilled. And he wondered too if he would really want to suffer the extreme pain and degradation he fantasized about such women inflicting on him.
He made a quick last check of his email and there was an urgent message about an issue on a cabinet installation that would require his attention first thing in the morning. But he had to find the blueprint and that meant going down to hands and knees under the counter to dig it out from the jumbled pile of them he kept there. As he ducked under he heard the click of heels on the tile floor, the sound of someone approaching. He continued rummaging among the pile of prints until he heard a woman speak.
"Excuse me young man! I require your assistance."
Her voice was low pitched and imperious in its tone with a distinct eastern European accent. He peered up over the edge of the counter and was pierced by a pair of steel blue eyes set in a face with a fixed expression of arrogant certainty of command. Her hair was coal black, tied back severely in a ponytail that fell half down her back. Heavy dark brows arched over her eyes, her nose was aquiline, cheekbones high, mouth wide and full lipped, chin strong and jutting. She was of a mature age but timeless in her beauty.
Her gaze seemed to lock into him and he rose to his feet to face her, still finding himself looking up at her even when he stood to his full six-foot height. She wore a long black leather coat that fell to mid-thigh and black stiletto boots that came to her knees. Black fishnet stocking filled the space between. Her hands were large and strong looking but finely manicured, long nails, blood red, filed to sharp points. In one of those hands she held a cabinet drawer with guides dangling loose due to missing screws.
He found himself sweating and trembling, and feeling a growing bulge in his pants, but managed to stammer: "Good evening...madam. How can I help you?"
"I need this drawer repaired. It will require you to come to my house."
He swallowed, mouth dry. "Well, I'm sorry but we don't do repair work like that. We do design work, sales and installation. I can see that isn't even a product we sell so we really have no obligation to become involved."
"Do you know how to fix this?"
"Yes but..."
"Then why won't you do this for me?"
"It...it's just not what we do here. I'm sorry I can't help you but...
"You will help me and you will do it this evening! I am expecting guests tomorrow and I can't have my kitchen in such a state. When do you close?"
"Nine o'clock but still..."
She held out a business card. "Here is my address and my phone number. I will expect you by 9:30. I can see to it there will be consequences if you do not come and even if you are late! Now give me your card as well!"
He fumbled in the card holder on his desk with shaking hands, dropping several cards on the floor before he managed to pick one up and hand it to her. She turned on her heel and left. Ian plopped down in his chair red faced, taking deep breaths to calm himself. She was an apparition born of his every fantasy and he wondered if she had been real or had he lapsed into some wild waking dream? But there, still in his hand, was her card. He looked at it. Her name was Anica Dimitru.
After a few minutes, he regained his composure and laughed about the incident and at himself. He decided she was nothing but a bitch and a nuisance and he wasn't about to waste his time with her problem, intriguing though she was. He dismissed his excitement over her as the product of his own imagination. He was sure none of the fantasies he already had about her would ever come true. But he put her card in his pocket.
As manager on duty he was last to leave and locked up at about 10 minutes after 9. As he walked to his card his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and saw her name on it. With a sigh, he answered and heard that iron voice again. It gave him goose bumps and shivers and he felt the stirring in his pants once more.
"I trust I can expect you to be punctual Ian. I hope you were not so foolish as to dismiss me."
He took a deep breath and grimaced in resignation. "Yes. Okay. I'll be there. Fifteen minutes."
Her house was in an outlying neighborhood, hilly with large wooded lots. He found her driveway at the base of a steep slope with large trees overhanging. The drive was winding and dark. He reached the house, a brooding old stone Victorian mansion with a large attached double garage to its left, obviously a later addition to the old house. The door rolled up as he approached and he saw the right parking space was empty, the left being occupied by a large black Mercedes limo. He took it as a cue and drove inside. The door closed.
There was an entrance door in the center of the wall adjoining the house and he knocked. He heard the click of her bootheels as she came to the door and opened it, withering him with her steely glare again. She wore a fine black silk robe tied off at the waist and the same boots as earlier.
"You're late!"
He glanced at his phone: 9:01 and stammered an apology despite finding her unreasonable. She sniffed in contempt.
