The Nightingale Agency

She sits in her SUV, a block away from Jonathan's condo. All of his neighbors are home from work, a few are out in their yards cutting the lawn, some are watering or tending to plants, small groups of two men or women speed walk up and down the side walk. As she replaces her earrings and her necklace, she can feel a knot grow it the pit of her stomach. Eve spends much of her life as a spectacle, but mostly for those who expect it and only small groups that don't. She isn't entirely sure how this suburban neighborhood will react to her, if Jonathon will be embarrassed about her walking down the block and to his front door. Checking her hair in the mirror, she applies a coat of cherry red lipstick before slipping on her vintage framed sunglasses.

Oh well,

she thinks to herself as she opens the door and steps out, her heart racing. She grabs her purse and her briefcase; holding one while dangling the other from her arm, just as she did earlier in the morning, she keeps her chin up and clicks her way down the sidewalk at a moderate pace. The heels make her hips sway, which makes her hair and breasts bounce accordingly. She ignores the gaping open mouths of the women across the street, pretending that it doesn't bother her at all. As a few close lawn mowers cut off, she guesses the men stopped to watch her perfect body walk by, no doubt each wondering if she was a hooker and praying that she would stop at their gate.

When she reaches Jonathan's gate and unlatches it, she can see the dumbfounded expression on his younger neighbor's face, who is sitting on his stoop drinking a beer with a friend. As her heels click up the stairs, the slickness between her thighs reminds her that she forgot to put her panties back on.

Oh well,

she reiterates to herself. After ringing the bell, it is only a few seconds until the door opens, like he was waiting nearby.

"Thank you for coming," he says politely, opening the door wider to allow her access.

She nods, smiling as she removes her sunglasses; he is dressed the same, though his hair seems a bit more wild and he has a faint odor of sweat lingering about him. He leads her back to the living area, but she takes a sharp right and seats herself at the dining table instead. Quickly he follows her, taking the seat at the head of the table, she having snagged the one to the immediate right.

"Here is the contract, the disclosure agreement and the sheet from my doctor," he says, handing her a stack of papers. As she thumbs through them, he adds, "The blood tests won't be in until next week, but I hope that maybe we can at least plan out a schedule until then?"

Her eyes skim the papers, confirming that he had them notarized. Before she glances at the physical sheet, she looks up at him, "Now, Jonathan, please don't take this as an assumption on your intelligence, but could you please explain to me, in your own words, the general nature of the contract? I only ask because I just gave it to you this morning, and I want to be assured that you actually took the time to review it properly, so that there aren't any surprises for you in the future."

Nodding, he quietly explains what he understands, "Basically, your contract is saying that...you will have total control over the aspects of my life that we agree upon. I am to follow your implicit instructions, and any deviation from that could result in severe correction, by whatever means you deem necessary. If the violation is so great, it could result in total cancellation of our agreement," he hesitates, "there was a section that I'm not entirely sure about..."

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

Drawing in a deep breath, he says, "Something about physical contact. From what I understand, I think it said that there was no guarantee of physical contact, either platonically or sexually, however by signing I am giving you permission to do whatever you see fit to...my body?" His face starts to turn red, shifting uncomfortably.

Smiling reassuringly, she thinks to herself,

He's got no fucking clue what he's getting into,

"That is correct. Plan for the worse, hope for the best. Do you have an issue with physical contact between us?"

"Ahh...no...?" he says.

"Even if you might interpret that contact as being sexual?" She never looks away, enjoying him squirm under her gaze.

"Umm...no, I don't think it will be a problem. It is fine," he says, more to reassure himself than her.

"And you understand that many of the requests I make of you will push you beyond your comfort levels, but I expect you to fully comply to them?"

"Yes."

"At anytime that you feel...like you can't handle what I dish out, you are able to tell me to stop. But I want you to keep in mind that if you do that—the agreement between us is void and we will no longer have a working relationship. Is that clear?"

"Yes," he nods affirmatively.

Finally, Eve looks away, down at the physical sheet. Scanning it over, she continues to talk to him, "Your doctor has you listed as roughly two hundred sixty pounds, citing the ideal weight for someone your height to be one hundred and ninety. Am I correct in assuming this is something you want to work at?"

"Yes."

"It won't be easy, and I will not be lenient with you," she looks back up at him, seeing his face is red and he has issues making eye contact. "Look at me when I am speaking," she demands of him.

Reluctantly, Jonathan looks up at her.

"You are overweight, but that is not your biggest problem. You are uncomfortable with your body and you hate yourself. That will be much more difficult to fix than shedding a few pounds. I want you to understand that I can see you are embarrassed—but please know, that I will not shame you for this and I do not look down on you because of it. Do you understand?"

His brows furrow, seemingly on the verge of tears, "Yes. Thank you."

She nods, moving beyond it to the next question, "You stated here that you haven't had sex for over a year—is that all inclusive? Men and women?"

"Ahh, yes," he shifts awkwardly, "Just women though. My last girlfriend and I split about eighteen months ago."

"Did she cause these issues, or did you have them already?"

"I had them already," he admits, "but she definitely didn't help matters much."

Eve nods slowly, flipping the page, "Well, your blood pressure is a little high, but not horrible. Everything else seems to check out...I should like to wait until we get your blood tests back, before we are able to completely start," glancing over to him, she sees the anxiousness in him, "but we can take care of several preliminary things tonight." Eve slides the papers into her bag, pulling out a notebook, pen, and retractable measuring tape. She rises, pushing in her chair, "Take your clothes off."

Jonathan looks up at her, his eyes growing wide, "Ex...excuse me?"

Continuing to stare right back at him, she has a very stern look on her face, "I know I didn't stutter." Normally, a response like that one would have instantly gotten him slapped, but she reminds herself that she needs to ease into this. Something about him, his humility, his desperateness, makes her believe that he has the potential to be an amazing submissive.

Jonathan glances down to the table for a moment, as if trying to prepare himself. Hesitantly, he rises and removes his shirt. His round belly hangs down over his pants, his pecks more shaped like a woman's and technically would be considered A cups. When she glances back up at Eve, she tilts her head to the side and taps her heeled toe against the wood floor, somewhat impatiently. He takes a deep breath before kicking off his shoes, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop to the floor. As he steps out of them, she eyes him curiously. His legs are thick, but not grotesquely so. He wears a pair of blue stripped boxers and though they are cotton, they appear to have a high thread count. Once he stands back up, he stares at her shoes. Eve would be impressed by this, if she didn't know that he did it from embarrassment instead of respect.

"Do...do you want me to take off...the rest?" he manages to choke out.

Spinning on her heels she walks towards the kitchen, "Not this moment. Come."

She hands him a two page list of food items. As he skims it over, she briefly explains what she expects of him, "It is obvious that you are not capable of making the correct choices. From here forward, you will only eat the items listed. You will text me before anything enters your mouth, with the exception of water. I expect a detailed message explaining each meal and snack. You will not consume anything until I have given you permission to continue. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he says unhappily.

"Good. Now, pull all food out of your cupboards, refrigerator and freezer. Items you believe are approved and on the list, you put on the stove; other items you put on the counter. Begin."

Jonathan doesn't argue about it; it takes him roughly fifteen minutes to accomplish the task because there isn't a lot of food in his kitchen to begin with. On the stove sits mostly spices, condiments and a few packages of frozen meals. On the counter are several take out boxes, a few miscellaneous boxes of dried pastas, a case of beer and a case of soda. Eve drags the trash can over and sweeps a majority of the unapproved items into the trash, plus a few that he thought were approved.

"Put your pants back on—no shirt. Take these," she motions to the remaining items on the counter, "to your neighbor next door. Tell him that he can use whatever he wants and throw away what he doesn't. If he asks why, you will explain to him that you are going on a diet. Understood?"

Jonathan glances at her briefly before complying. With his pants on, but no shirt, he begins to turn red as he gathers up the items and goes out the front door. While he is gone, Eve checks the expiration date on the remaining items, discarding over half because they are all expired. She puts them away by the time he returns. Knowing he is standing in the doorway watching her, she opens the oven and bends over at the waist; her purple dress pulls up over her ass, exposing the majority of her thighs as well as her stockings, showing the garter straps that keep them up. As she looks over the oven, she flatly says, "Pants off."

When she turns back around, she can tell that he is standing awkwardly in his boxers, trying to cover his growing hard on. She grabs a step stool and climbs up it to look into the tops of cupboards. Forced to stand on her tip toes, her dress slides up her legs, the slit in the side reaching the point that her underwear should have shown—if she had been wearing any. Eve calls him over and begins to hand him down all of the dishes from his cupboards. Since he is a bachelor, it doesn't take her very long.

Back on level ground, she jots some notes down in her book, "Your kitchen is filthy. Tonight, I expect you to rewash all of those dishes. You will clean all of the cupboards, inside and out, before they get put away. You will also scrub everything until it shines, including the floor, and I expect you to attend to that light figure," casually pointing up to the light where several dead bugs have collected. When she turns to look at him, he holds onto a cookie sheet, blocking her view of what she assumes is a raging hard on.

She suppresses the urge to correct him for it and continues, "Then you will go to the store before you go to bed. I expect you to purchase as many items on the approved list as you can find. You will need to figure out how to cook for yourself. Understood?"

He nods meekly, avoiding her eyes.

She stays silent for a while, soaking in his awkwardness. Then, spinning on her heels, she returns to the dining room. To give him time to cool off, Eve makes him sweep, dust, and mop the dining room and living room, vacuum all of the rugs and couches, and wash all of the windows. He does it without argument. When she moves to the bathroom, she discovers it to be just as bad as she thought, but doesn't hesitate to make him clean it on his hands and knees, with her standing in the doorway. Roughly two hours have passed before they enter his bedroom.

The lingering odor of stale air, dirty clothes and various man smells hits her immediately. Trying not to show the disgust on her face, she walks to the windows, drawing the shades and opening them wide to air it out. The room is rather large, with a newer four post, king size bed. He has a large fireplace on one end with a TV over it, then a smaller office area with a large desk covered in papers and a computer. The entire floor is littered with various clothes and trash, the adjoining bathroom just as bad. Eve walks to the desk and carefully inspects the chair before she dares sit down. Crossing her legs, she lets her dress drift a little high on her waist; another inch or two up, and he would discover for certain that she wasn't wearing panties.

His face is bright red; mortified, he remains still, disgusted with himself that the room is a pit. Eve pulls his bank statement off of the desk, "Start picking up. I expect you to sort your laundry as follows: tops, bottoms, undergarments, towels and everything else. Since you apparently don't know what a laundry basket is, you may make piles on the floor for now."

Jonathan starts picking his clothes up while she looks through the statement. A majority of the charges are for fast food, and restaurants, gas stations and liquor stores. Her eyes fall on one charge in particular, and she knows exactly what it is—a reoccurring subscription to a porn website. And a rather boring one, at that.

"Stop," she says before pointing to the floor in front of her, "come here."

Though he doesn't like being commanded like a dog, he realizes that he deserves it since he is such a pig. His anxiety starts to build as she flicks his computer on, pulling up the web browser. Her fingers fly fast on the keys, obvious that she has plenty of experience in that area. It isn't long before she goes to the history and skims through it. Then, though it is a hidden folder on his computer, she finds his porn. He is mortified when she opens up the most recently downloaded video, making it full screen and keeps the volume somewhat loud. She turns around and looks at him. Jonathan tears his eyes off of the screen and looks away at the wall.

When Eve glances at his boxers, she sees that the images on the computer don't elicit a response at all, "How many times a day do you masturbate?"

He shuts his eyes, not wanting to answer, but forces it out of himself, "Four, maybe five," he embarrassingly admits.

"And how many times does that produce an orgasm for you?"

Drawing in a deep breath, "Maybe...once...a week."

She doesn't say anything, but just keeps watching him, "This doesn't turn you on anymore?" she points to the screen.

Automatically, he glances at it before frantically looking away, "Obviously not," he says sharply.

Eve purses her lips in a tight smile, irritated at his tone. She turns around and looks at the screen, watching the action for almost a full minute. Typical man on top of woman, gentle sex, lots of kissing and touching. It doesn't even register to her, in fact it seems so plain that it could be on regular television. "It is rather vanilla," she mumbles to herself. When she sees him shift impatiently behind her, she shuts the porn off and brings up a website. Quickly signing in, she clicks the most recent video, making it full screen. The loud crack of a whip draws his attention; he isn't able to take his eyes off of it even when she turns around to watch him.

"What do you think of this?"

He makes a somewhat disgusted sound, despite the beginnings of an erection in his pants. As the naked woman, tied down to a table, yelps when the whip cracks across her breasts, he answers, "I think that is very degrading to women. It is awful."

Eve turns back around for a moment; she pulls up a second video. This one has a naked man, standing upright yet his hands are tied above his head. He has a full blow erection, a beautiful body and screams louder than the previous video, when the leather clad woman behind him cracks a whip onto his back. Eve turns around to see Jonathan's eyes wide, his dick so hard it almost pops out of the slit in his boxers.

"And this?" she says blankly.

"That's...horrible..." he manages to whisper, eyes glued to the screen.

"While your mind says one thing, I'd say your body disagrees."

When he looks down to see his hard dick sticking out from under his belly, he instantly covers himself with his hands, unable to look at Eve.

"You will cancel your porn subscriptions," she says flatly, "and no more masturbating, at all. In fact, you will not touch yourself unless I specifically direct you to," she waves her hand, dismissing him, "now continue."

Awkwardly, he continues to pick up his room. Eve leaves the video playing, turning up the volume a little to make sure he can hear the screams and whip cracks from across the room. She acts like it isn't playing while she continues to thumb through his papers. Turning her attention back to his computer, she deletes all of his downloaded porn, clearing his web browser, but leaves the video running in the background. After Jonathan strips the bed, he takes each pile to the hallway, where the washer and dryer are. Then, he picks up all of the trash, dusts and vacuums the room. Finished, he returns to standing behind her, trying desperately to tuck his dick somewhere so that it isn't obvious. Eve glances up from her notebook briefly, "Now you may shower. Then, I will take some measurements."

He moves towards his dresser to grab a fresh pair of boxers, but she stops him, not even looking up, "You will not need anything else but a towel."

After he disappears and she hears the water running, she pauses the video. Eve can feel the wetness between her legs increase, excited by the well endowed man on the screen and his painful, yet pleasurable yelps. She leans back into the chair, taking great effort to not reach up and pinch her excited nipples, or worse, reach down and swirl her fingers in the wetness. Closing her eyes, she focuses on the sound of the water. He makes it short. Just before he slowly walks back into the room, she hits play again.

He stands there, towel wrapped around his waist. Eve turns to him, and can tell by the whiteness of his skin and the hardness of his nipples that he made it a very, very cold shower, to get rid of the hard on between his legs. But when she sees a slight flicker behind the towel, she knows it won't take long before it returns.

"Towel off," she says flatly.

Jonathan freezes. He has no idea what to do or even what to say, so he just stands there.

She continues to look at him, back turned to the screen, with a very annoyed look on her face. She waits, but when he still doesn't respond, she rises and grabs the tape measure, walking to him, "Is there a problem?"

He clears his throat, "Umm...yes," he admits, "can you please turn that off?"

Standing before him, she has to look up to meet his gaze, but he keeps his eyes focused on her. "Why?" she asks.

His face turns red, irritated that she is making him verbalize it, "Because...because it is making my dick hard," he finally barks out, seemingly mad at her, "and now you want me to stand here naked? Turn that fucking video off and give me a minute to calm down!"

Eve's face doesn't show any reaction at all, aside from a tight smile on her lips. Her eyes pierce him, he staring angrily at her, refusing to look away. Finally, she speaks, "Are you angry at me, because I have found out what turns you on—or are you angry, because you're ashamed of your body?"

Jonathan clenches his jaw, not responding, but still refuses to look away from her.