It was dusk when she woke up. The automatic blinds rose at 6:40 P.M., causing a small whirring noise that served as her first alarm. She was nude in bed, as usual, and resisted waking up. The built-in stereo system started, and she smiled. She loved waking up to this song.
Hey there little red riding hood
You sure are looking good
You're everything that a big bad wolf could want
Sliding out from black silk sheets, Varla rose. Ablutions were needed. The home was a modern, brutalist thing and the black tub sat on a concrete riser in the bathroom. It was surrounded by glass on three sides, and overlooked the sprawl of Los Angeles below. She'd designed this bathroom specifically so she could practice her exhibitionism without any consequences. The property sat high in the hills, and theoretically half of Los Angeles could see her naked at different points of the day, with a high powered telescopic lens and her coordinates. She liked being nude in this bathroom, lounging in the tub for hours, being waited on by a few lucky slaves, and thinking about all of the horny desperate men in the city below, who theoretically could have seen her like this, being worshiped on her throne.
The house slave had heard her get up, and had started drawing the bath. He had also brought in a tray with a hot green tea, several warmed towels, and a small bowl of finely made chocolates. She was pleased with him. He'd been with her for three years now, and he was perfectly trained. He exited the bathroom without a word to her. Getting into the hot water, her playlist continued. It helped her get into the mindset and remember who she was: The highest paid Domme in the world. She checked her messages while The Allman Brothers' Band's "Whipping Post" started.
I've been run down
And I've been lied to
And I don't know why,
I let that mean woman make me a fool.
She had a new candidate she was auditioning for a spot in her roster. This one was an investment banker in San Francisco. As part of his audition, he was to buy one of the classic cars on a list of a select few that she had provided to him. After purchasing said vehicle, he was to send photos of the vehicle, inside and out. This was, of course, a final step. The candidate had already undergone a complete physical, several psychological evaluations, a background check, and had submitted his full list of assets, including detailed bank statements and investment account reports.
He had done well so far. He listened well, followed her detailed instructions and purchased the perfect vehicle: a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle in pristine condition, with only 4,800 miles. She was black with white racing stripes, and a black convertible hood. Looking at the pictures of the car, Varla felt high. The car had cost the potential client over $100,000. She was excited, thinking about driving the car down the Pacific Coast Highway, cold air blowing her hair around, black leather gloves gripping the steering wheel. Her nipples hardened thinking about her ass sitting on the leather seat, her high heeled boot pressing the clutch and releasing, shifting into a higher gear. This was a blissful thing for her, the anticipation of the thing. The anticipation was almost better than even having the thing.
She opened her messaging app and started a facetime call. She was going to surprise him.
Her camera was off, but she wanted to see what he would do. He answered after the fourth ring. His camera was on, as she had instructed it should be any time she called. He looked flush.
"Miss?" He said, talking to a blank screen.
"Boy," she replied. He gulped. She'd started calling him this, and allowing him to give her the honorary of Miss. He didn't say anything. He noticed that she liked to take the lead in conversations, as she did in most things, and he needed to respect that as her potential sub.
"I called to check on you. What are you doing?"
