Chapter 1
I was sitting in my bathrobe with a towel wrapped around my wet hair in the tiny kitchen of my apartment. I was "enjoying" eating my usual breakfast of dollar store oatmeal when my roommate Brenda came in with the mail. She dropped the newspaper onto the table and sat down beside me. She flipped through a small stack of envelopes.
"Bill, credit card offer, debt reduction counseling..." she said, ticking off the envelopes as she worked through the pile. "Student loan bill for you," she quipped, handing me an envelope.
"Damn," I snarled, opening the envelope. "I can't believe it's been six months already since I graduated." I had been dreading the arrival of my first student loan bill, especially since I hadn't yet managed to land a job in my field.
"What's the damage?" Brenda asked?
Reluctantly, I withdrew the letter from the envelope and opened it. "Geez!" I said. "Looks like my monthly payment is going to be two thousand dollars! They jacked my interest rate up to twenty-five percent!"
"Greedy bastards," Brenda mumbled as she continued sorting the mail. "That should be illegal. Oh no!" she said.
"What is it?" I asked.
She handed me another envelope. "It's from the state department personnel office."
"Shit!" I sighed. It was another rejection letter. It made me furious. Here I was, a Summa Cum Laude graduate of the top state university law school, and I couldn't even land a job as a legislative aide. Their standards must be unbelievably high for even an entry level position like an aide.
"I'm sorry Jen," Brenda said. "Something will work out." She picked up the newspaper and turned to the classifieds.
"I'm going to have to get a second job," I said. "There's no way I'll be able to make those student loan payments on what I make at 121 Main and pay my part of the rent and other living expenses." Brenda and I had been working at 121 Main for four years. It was a great job while I was in law school. The hours were flexible, and my pay was quite good for the hours I worked. Brenda worked in the business office, and I was a dominatrix. The dungeon was discretely located on the entire top floor of the office building located at 121 Main. Mistress Jones, who owned the operation, was a savvy business lady who strategically chose the location because the building was also home to several corporate offices. It also held rental space for government agencies. The high-profile clients could go in and out without raising suspicion.
"You could ask Mistress Jones to schedule you in for more hours," Brenda suggested, still poring over the classifieds.
"Yeah, but I doubt I'll get more hours. There are several other girls with more seniority than I have who already put in for more work."
"Well, you won't know for sure until you ask," Brenda said, trying to encourage me. "Look here, the governor's office is advertising for a secretary." She laid the newspaper onto the table in front of me and pointed at one of the ads.
My heart sank. "Brenda, I can't take a secretary job. It won't pay enough to cover my student loans."
"Maybe not, Jen, but at least you could get your foot in the door of state government. Once you're there, you can meet people who may be able to help you get a better job. Once they see how qualified you are, they'll want you on board."
She had a point, I had to admit. Nothing else I had done seemed to make a difference in my getting a job in my field, and I'd worked my ass off. "Okay, I'll print out a resume tonight after work. I'll mail it in the morning."
"No, you'll do it now. You can apply online. You've got thirty minutes before we have to leave for 121."
"You know Brenda? Sometimes I think you're the domme, and I'm the support staff." I smacked her on the ass as I made my way to my bedroom.
I logged onto my computer and navigated to the state government's personnel website. It took me only a few minutes to complete the online application because my profile was already in the database. I had applied for so many jobs in various branches of government that it wasn't funny. I clicked the submit button, and the application was on its way.
I went into the bathroom and dried my hair and started getting ready for work. I felt like a double agent in this job. I had to wear conservative business clothing on the way into the office, and I would change into my domme persona after I arrived at the dungeon. It was all part of the image Mistress Jones insisted upon. I dressed quickly and left with Brenda to work. She'd been great about letting me share a ride to work with her on days we worked together. She knew how deeply in debt I was, and I was ashamed to admit that I had allowed her to take on more than her fair share of our living expenses over the last few months. I vowed to make it up to her someday, and she had just smiled and said it was okay.
We arrived at 121 Main, a sleek, modern-looking skyscraper with pristine marble walls and floors in the ground floor foyer. As usual, a crowd of well-dressed businessmen and women stood waiting for the elevators. Several of the people standing in the group worked at 121, but we were under strict orders not to converse with each other in the foyer. Discretion in front of the other building tenants was critical in keeping our clients' confidentiality.
By the time we made it to the top floor, six 121 Main employees remained on the elevator, and we all visibly relaxed. We exited the elevator and entered the reception area of the dungeon. Like the rest of the building, the reception area was sterile, sleek, and all business. The receptionist, a plump, middle-aged redhead, sat behind a marble counter. As we walked in, she de-activated the electronic door lock to the north wing, allowing us to enter. There was a long hallway with back entrances to the twelve different dungeon rooms, the security and business offices, and the men's and women's dressing rooms. Clients used the south wing, which led to the front entrances of the dungeon rooms.
I entered the women's dressing room. The female cast members were busily doffing their business attire and checking their assignment clipboards. I checked my assignments and found that my first session would be a tag team scene. I was glad to see that I would be working with Mark, a master who'd been with 121 only a few months and was incredibly hot. I had been hoping to get the chance to work with him.
We had been specially requested by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, of course. So many of my clients were Smiths. My assigned session wear was already neatly folded on the top shelf of my locker. The house took a fairly large cut of the proceeds from our sessions, but we were well taken care of here. I liked the fact that my costumes were always ready and clean. The place was efficiently run and very secure. The guard monitored the sessions on closed-circuit television to ensure that none of the clients got out of hand. Sessions were taped, and the tapes were erased at the end of each day if there were no incidents requiring a legal record.
I carefully read over the session script noting the clients' preferences for the specific experiences they wanted. I removed my business clothes. My instructions said to remove my underwear as well, so I took off my bra and panties. I withdrew a shiny, black latex catsuit and black, thigh-high stiletto boots from my locker and began squeezing myself into the suit. The material was stretchy, but it was still a challenge getting it on. Even though I worked out and was in excellent shape, Mistress Jones insisted that our suits be tight, and I suspected she ordered them a size or so too small. I managed to pull the suit up to my crotch, and I was glad I'd just had my pussy waxed. It would make zipping the suit much easier. I slid my arms into the suit and worked my tits into the underwire cups. The suit had a two-way zipper so it could be opened from my crotch or my breasts. I was to leave my pussy exposed, so I inched the bottom zipper upward. I'd finished dressing and went to dungeon room two to wait for the Smiths, who had scheduled an hour long session.
I found Mark already in the room, which was a classic set decked out in black leather and red velvet. He was wearing a leather torso harness and military boots. His body was tan all over. Mark was a criminal justice major who was on the university wrestling team, and it showed. His muscles were well-defined. He was adjusting his cock ring and pumping his dick to an erection. I couldn't help but stare at his huge, bulging prick. He turned to look at me as I walked in. "Hi Jennifer," he smiled, flashing a perfect grin as he followed my gaze to his erection. "Darn thing is too small," he said.
"What?" I asked. "You've got to be kidding!" I heard myself saying.
"No," he said. "I was talking about the ring. They really don't make them big enough."
I was a little embarrassed as I felt my crotch getting moist and beginning to tingle. That hadn't happened to me in quite awhile. But then, it wasn't often that I got to work with a master--and this was a fine one indeed.
Shortly, the Smiths were escorted into the room by Mistress Jones, who personally welcomed clients to their sessions. She also set the stage for the session. I doubted that the Smiths were actually married. He looked about fifty, and was quite attractive in a mature way. She, on the other hand, was probably about twenty-five and beautifully voluptuous, busty and blonde.
"This is Doug and Candy Smith. The Smiths are from a country where sex is forbidden, but they are unable to control themselves and will begin having sex. You, Jennifer and Mark, are sex security, and you are to stop them and punish them for their misbehavior," Mistress Jones said. She turned to the Smiths. "Remember that our standard 121 safewords are green for okay to continue, yellow for less intensity, and red to stop the activity. Enjoy your session." She left, closing the door behind her. The buzz of the electronic lock signaled the set was secure. Mark and I retreated to the back and stood behind a black room divider to allow the Smiths to begin their role play. I peered around the edge of the divider to watch and wait for the best time to intervene. Mark moved in close behind me and I could feel the hardness of his body against my back. Up this close, I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck and could smell the deliciously musky scent of his cologne. Damn he was turning me on, but I had to focus on the Smiths.
The couple must be special clients, I assumed, because sex was rarely allowed among clients at 121. Technically, if the clients had sex with each other, it wasn't prostitution, but it was risky for business. Mistress Jones didn't want to get busted by the vice squad. My guess was that the Smiths, or a least Mr. Smith, paid very well for today's session. He was probably a very powerful man, one of our very own untouchables.
