Client Satisfaction High Heels

Samantha was worried that she'd be wobbly in those new heels when she slid them on her feet that morning. As she tightened the straps around her ankles, she wondered if she should have gone with the more sensible flats that she normally wore for work. But she was feeling a little more dangerous today. Besides, she was damn proud of these new heels. They were Jimmy Choo heels, after all. The new collection, in fact.

Samantha had confidence in her appearance; years of running had rewarded her with a toned and sculpted body, and these new heels had really sealed the deal. Glancing down at her new prized possessions, she was pleased that it perfectly complimented her gray short sleeve dress.

After a short Uber ride downtown, she reached the entrance of the building and steadied herself, taking a deep breath as she walked in. She loved the sound her heels made as they clicked along the tile floor, announcing her arrival. To Samantha, it was the sound of power.

***

At first, she scoffed at the idea of ever stepping foot in

Satisfaction

. Now, it seemed mildly amusing.

She still couldn't get over the fact that Doug had sent her for this story. But Samantha had learned long ago that it was no use trying to argue with her Managing Editor. So here she was, stuck with reporting a story on a highly exclusive sex club which had recently opened downtown. It was "a surefire way to garner more readers," according to Doug.

In the end, work was work, and this was a legitimate news story.

And now, after nearly two weeks of intense research and a brief phone conversation with Caleb, the club's operations manager, Samantha was ready for her first visit to the newly opened branch of

Satisfaction.

She had familiarized herself with this franchise, mostly from her connections in America's financial world, about how this place makes fantasies come true.

Unlike most sex clubs in murky areas,

Satisfaction

was located on the top floor of a commercial building, the first of its kind. It was meant to be a place where financial big shots, men and women alike, could take time from their busy days to "relieve stress," as discreetly advertised.

It was 10 am on a Monday when Samantha made her first trip there. Typically, for these types of personal on-the-record interviews, she'd wear something casual like skinny jeans and a button-up shirt. Stylish, yet professional.

She hoped the height of her heels and the length of her skirt wouldn't diminish her status in the eyes of the people she'd be meeting. Her legs were stellar and she also secretly hoped that they'd garner some attention from people with high taste. It always give her a little thrill, though she'd never admit that.

She made her way up to the top floor, expecting a dimly lit, seedy lobby with overweight greasy men.

Instead, she was astonished to see an upscale lobby with a professional ambiance, with sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Since it was morning, there was even a table in the waiting room with an array of breakfast pastries, coffee, and freshly squeezed fruit juice for the guests.

Samantha was greeted by an ordinary receptionist whose hair was in a librarian's bun. She was escorted down the hall by a staff member in a suit - they all wore suits - and hoping to see something salacious, she couldn't help but peek into each room. But much to her secret disappointment, there was nothing going on this early in the day.

She soon found herself in the main office, sitting across a large, mahogany desk from the branch manager and co-owner of

Satisfaction

. Caleb appeared to be a few years older than she was and everything about him was groomed and polished. Even the pens on his desk were lined up perfectly.

Samantha placed her phone on his desk, glad that he had agreed to let her record their interview. The conversation was cordial at first. Nothing out of the ordinary. When she had him laughing at her jokes and leaning back in his chair, relaxed, Samantha knew it was time to work. His guard was down and it was her chance to finally sink her teeth into the story. Journalism, after all, was about exposing the truth.

"So, what does it feel like running the most controversial sex club in the city?" she asked with an almost disarming manner, batting her eyelashes in the process.

Caleb played along. "Controversial? Why? Because of our location, or the clients we cater to?"

"Both. It's a gutsy move to locate a sex club in the financial district, marketing to men with a lot of money."

"Are you implying we don't cater to women?" he smiled with a questioning eyebrow raised.

Samantha fired back with a smile of her own. "Are you denying that the vast majority of your clients are men?"

"Not at all. It's true; the majority of our clients are men."

"Doesn't that bother you at all?" she asked in earnest. "In the age and cultural climate of the #MeToo movement, don't you find it a bit tacky to run a business where powerful men use women as their playthings? Just a few months ago, there was a massive march on the street right around where this building is located, with tens of thousands of women showing their support for one another."

Despite her slightly hostile interview approach, Samantha was no prude. In fact, she had done a few stories in the last few years about sexual liberation and equality. Her issue, as she was sure Caleb had realized, was with the potential power imbalance a place like this could have.

He remained firm. "Are you honestly asking me that? That seems like a bit of a low blow, don't you think?"

"Speaking of blows, this club has rooms specifically for oral sex, with some being traditional 'gloryholes' so men can have quick relief during their coffee breaks from the office. And as I recall, there are rooms for spankings, group activities and so forth."

"May I respond to that?" he asked curiously.

"Please do."

Caleb measured his words. "I'd be happy to go on the record and state that men and women are 100% equal here. We firmly believe that a woman's pleasure is just as valuable as a man's, regardless of money or stature."

"Is that so?"

"You don't believe me?"

"I only believe what I see," Samantha stated. "And from what I've read, women here are nothing more than holes for men to stick their penises inside."

"Well, that's the problem. You haven't actually seen anything. We've only been in my office so far."

"I think you may be a little over confident." She paused. Was she pushing him too far? Was this strategy working?

He checked the time. "It's a quarter past 10. By this hour, we should have clients down the hall. As you must know, the markets have been a roller coaster lately and there's a lot of stress to release."

What a scoop - this would elevate her story to the next level instead of just doing a crummy interview. Her interest in seeing this place in action had piqued. Maybe she could convince her boss to host a piece in a more prominent area of their publication. Shrewd decisions usually paid off, in her experience.

And if she was honest with herself, she had felt a twinge of arousal and a slight dampness between her thighs, thinking of what she might see. She crossed her legs and hoped Caleb hadn't noticed her bodily reaction.

"That could be interesting," she said courteously. "I would love to have a peek at the services you provide."

He smiled, "Hopefully not to tear us apart in your new article."

"Is that what you think I'm planning to do?"

"Not exactly. I've always been good at reading people, and I think you have... well, maybe I'm too much of a gentleman to say it."

Samantha lifted an eyebrow. "Like most journalists, I've received my fair share of hate mail. Whatever you want to say, I can handle it."

"It's a fairly racy comment."

"Even better. Go on."

Caleb carefully analyzed her. "You strike me as a fairly open-minded woman. Curious. With a tendency to try new things."

"That's obvious, considering what my job is."

"Yes, but you also have a sexual side," he said bluntly. "As evident by those stylish black

Fuck Me

heels that you're wearing."

Samantha's jaw nearly dropped and she uncrossed her legs, planting her heels firmly on the ground. She considered pressing the screen on her phone to end the audio recording because she knew this was headed off the rails. But she changed her mind and kept the recording going. After all, if this guy was a jerk, she'd want that documented.

"These are $500 dollar heels; nothing like

Fuck Me

heels," she politely scoffed. "Maybe a notch or two below, at best. These are

check-out-my-legs

kind of heels. There's a difference."

"In my book, it all leads down the same road."

For the first time in her professional career, Samantha suddenly felt self-conscious about her wardrobe. Had she revealed too much? Or had she finally met her match?

But at the same time, her plan to bait him was working. Was Caleb the giant prick she expected him to be? It would be an even bigger scoop, and best of all, it was all being recorded too. She could just imagine all the local headlines she could make with this article.

"I thought my heels would be a nice change of pace today," she said, trying to play it smooth.

"Sam... Can I call you Sam?"

"Samantha," she said firmly.

"Okay, Samantha, I'll be straight with you. The moment you walked into my office, I was floored by your legs. I love a great pair of legs and yours are truly exceptional. I can tell you're a runner."

"Five miles each weekend," she said proudly. "Sprints on weekdays. You have a good eye for calves."

"I have a good eye for the whole package. Your beauty. The way you walk. The way you carry yourself. Those heels."

"You keep coming back to my heels."

He nodded. "I can't help but think that it really says something about you."

"And what does this have to do with the tour?"

"I think you're a total package."

Outwardly, Samantha maintained composure. Keeping a straight face is an important part of conducting a good interview, in her book. It kept things professional, yet combative when necessary.

Inwardly, she relished the praise. Whether Caleb was bullshitting or not, Samantha always appreciated a well thought-out compliment, especially to those hard earned legs of hers. They were her best attributes.

"Caleb, I have a job to do," she said diplomatically. "This is my first time at a sex club, and I hope it's my last. No offense. This is a classy establishment you've set up. But I'm not that kind of girl."

"Perhaps not yet."

"Excuse me?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

Caleb stood, walked over to her, and extended his hand in a polite fashion.

"Please, follow me," he said. "I'm going to give you a tour."

Taking his hand, she rose from her chair and stood on her heels.

"About time, I'd say."

She took her phone from the table and kept on recording their conversation as they went down the hall. This interview, it seemed, was headed towards a deeper direction.

***

By this hour, there were a few clients being shown to their rooms. They were mostly men of various ages, as Samantha had expected, wearing sharp suits and had come directly from the office on their breaks. Some were openly giddy about the "services" they'd receive. Some were straight-faced and had conversations about work.

She was also surprised to see that a few corporate women had shown up. Would they be 'giving' or 'receiving' as they headed into their rooms or waited for their appointments, she wondered.

"You seem displeased," Caleb said as the tour had taken them to a private room, which was used for all sorts of sexual practices.

"Not exactly. I have to give you credit. You've done a lot with this place."

"Be honest. Say what's really on your mind. I want to hear it."

"All of it?"

"Only the juicy bits," he said. "I love feisty women."

Samantha measured her tone and ignored the belittling comment, careful not to go overboard with an interview subject. But since she was given permission, she went for it.

"I personally find this place to be misogynistic," she said. "Frankly, I'm only doing this assignment because my boss is making me. We both know that sex sells and this club is the talk of the town. Otherwise, I'd never dream of setting foot in a place like this."

"And what do you think about me?"

"Off the record?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Handsome, smart, kind of an asshole, and a good businessman. You know how to give people want they want and how to satisfy their desires, no matter how dark or brazen."

"Well that confirms one thing," he said.

"Which is?"

"That you do have a sexual side as well," he replied. "A woman like that can be a very dangerous thing."

"Now you're twisting my words."

"You're an intelligent woman, Samantha. Wouldn't you want to tell your readers first hand what it's like to explore a club like this? From a woman's point of view? Since, as you know, a lot of respectable women come to a place like this. The least you could do is give them honesty."

It was a fair point. Samantha had always strived to give readers in this city the truth, especially her female readers when it came to issues of sex and equality. Her eyes surveyed the room again. This seemed like sex on another level than what she was accustomed to.

Caleb pointed to something at the end of the room, a steel table cushioned for someone to lay on, and Samantha turned to look at it. Then she felt Caleb place both hands on her shoulders to rub.

Her instincts went into full gear. Grateful that all those years studying karate as a teen were still imprinted in her muscle memory, she was prepared to throw a roundhouse kick in his direction at any moment, as she was being touched. Samantha made a mental note to thank her mom for insisting she take those classes back then.

"Samantha, you're obviously an expert journalist," he continued, still rubbing her shoulders. "But even I can tell you that experiencing something is the best way to report on it. I know you have reservations about

Satisfaction

and I understand where you're coming from. Now, if you want to give your readers the truth, rather than your uninformed opinion, then I suggest you do as I say."

She could tell he was being genuine. She also knew what he was implying as well. She wondered how far she was willing to go for this story. Her career and reputation meant everything to her, and a scoop like this could only help her grow.

It was time to stop recording. She pressed the screen, turning the recorder off, and she put her phone away. This wasn't something she wanted saved-- ever.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"You see that bar hanging on the wall?" he asked, gesturing to the side of the room. "It's called a Spreader. In my opinion, that'll be right up your alley, no pun intended."

Following his gaze, Samantha saw a black bar, maybe two feet long, with clasps on each end.

"A

Spreader

? I hope you're not intending on holding my legs open with that, are you?"

She felt her left thigh twitch. The kick, it seemed, was still an option that a part of her wanted to exercise.

"What if I told you that a submissive woman is really the person in control? She's the one that has the ability to end everything with one simple word. You keep thinking that women who come here aren't in charge of their bodies. That's narrow-minded. Especially for a smart journalist like yourself. Think about it. If you don't feel comfortable or want to stop, that's in your control."

Her pussy clenched at the thought. As scary and degrading as it sounded, it was also an enticing thought. In her wheelhouse of fantasies, this was definitely on the list. Though she never thought anything like this would ever happen.

She shook her head and blushed. "Even if I wanted to, and I don't, my reputation is too important. I can't risk being seen doing anything here-- not that I'd even want to."

"Not if you're face down. Our male clients never ask about true identity. We take client confidentiality very seriously here. Usually, our male clients just want a woman's hole; her mouth, pussy, or ass."

The thought took her breath away.

"Hypothetically, which should I expect to happen?" she asked with caution.

"Well, you'll be face down and your bottom will be pointed outward. I'm sure you can use your imagination for that."

Her thighs clenched together, nearly crossing. "Oh..."

"We have a couple of appointments soon. Our staff members are set to take care of them, but perhaps you'd like to help. Since you're worried about your identity, which is understandable, I'll have you bent over that table, with the Spreader holding your legs open so they can fuck you. There's no way that they'd see your face."

"They?"

"Two businessmen," Caleb replied, like this was so normal. "They'll take turns with your posterior. They are returning clients, so everything will run smoothly."

She gulped. "Why would two successful men want to share the same woman?"

"Ego. There's an odd sense of power in double-teaming a woman. Plus, I'll tell them you're semi-famous. They'll love it. And they'll have

no

idea that they'll be fucking an award-winning journalist."

There was a sense of seductiveness and sincerity in his voice, especially in his last line about her being an award-winning journalist. Samantha wondered if Caleb was actually a reader of her work.

She sighed. "Don't say anything about my career or where I work."

"I'll only tell them that you're doing 'research' for something."

"I take great pride in my research." The self-respect was evident in her voice. "I always deliver the truth, and sometimes the truth comes at a cost."

He nodded in agreement. "Our secret."

She could tell from the look in his eyes that he meant every word. In a place like this, confidentiality was everything. As a journalist with many sources, she knew a lot about trust. Her instincts told her that this was a man of integrity.

"Okay," she managed to whisper.

"But first, you need to decide on your safe word."

"

Asshole

, comes to mind."

"Okay then.

Asshole

is your safeword. Keep in mind, if you say 'Asshole' while a client is fucking you, they might get the wrong idea and shove a cock up your ass."

Her sphincter clenched and she brushed off the notion. "If this place is as empowering as you say it is, then it won't come to that."

"You'll be in good hands, especially with me in the room, I can assure you. Now, with that out of the way, I'll need you to undress. You must be naked."

Her body tensed. "What?"

"That's part of what they're paying for. Nudity from a woman as beautiful as yourself. Get them hard."

"Just like that? I'm supposed to strip?"

"Yes, Samantha. Just like that. My clients also pay a lot of money for promptness, and their appointment starts soon. Leave your heels on. A lot of classy men love seeing heels on a woman, myself included."

She still wanted to kick him with her expensive Jimmy Choo heels, but if what he said was true, if she was still in control and could stop this at any moment, why not give it a try? She was more than capable of defending herself, should the need arise. And if anything got too far out of line, she could always sue. Her boss had one shark of a lawyer.

Aside from her rightful cautiousness, she was also extremely horny as well. It had been a while since she had last gotten laid, as she was too busy with her career, and this place seemed like the perfect avenue for exploring amazing sex. Most of all, she had never experienced sex under the guidance of a true professional, and she did consider Caleb to be a professional at this.