This story contains themes of dominance and submission in a lesbian setting. If you think you might be offended by such material please try a different story.
The Catalyst
Chapter One
It had been at least fifteen years since I last interviewed a candidate in person, certainly not since I had taken the company public, and I was twenty-four then. Those fifteen years had seen the company grow from a single office to world-wide representation and a current staff of more than three hundred.
I checked myself in the mirror and decided that, whilst those years had brought a fair measure of stress, time had been kind to me. Unless they actually knew very few people could guess my real age.
My mother still had people thinking she was in her fifties when she had, in fact, turned seventy and I shared those same genes and much else besides. Most women do not get to see their mothers naked body that often but mine had been a life model of some renown during her twenties and she had been the subject of a couple of moderately famous portraits.
It was obvious that we were both slim and long legged with the large breasts that seemed to be a family hallmark but I also knew that we shared the same prominent nipples and, courtesy of the immodest Clarke portrait, very noticeable labia.
She and I were facially similar and she, in turn, had often been mistaken for the silent film star Louise Brooks hence the scandal that had attached to the Clark portrait when it was first hung at The National.
Melanie, my p.a., looked in at the door and announced the candidate's arrival and I noticed that she seemed a little flustered which was at odds with her normally cool demeanour.
I stood up to greet Jade and was immediately struck by the fact that she was not intimidated by my office. Even I am prepared to admit that it is a little ostentatious but then, nowadays, I am called upon to entertain captains of industry and others amongst the great and good.
Jade looked at me fixedly as she crossed the room and I reinforced the impression I had gained from her photographs that she might scrub up nicely. Her make-up was cheap and not well applied but she had ice blue eyes over high cheek bones and a nicely shaped mouth. She also had lovely blonde hair but it was uncaringly styled.
I instinctively locked eyes with her and so I only noticed the way she was dressed in a peripheral way. She slouched a little as she walked but that did little to disguise the fact that she was nicely proportioned and the unkind thought flitted through my mind that, if all else failed, she could make a nice living with the aid of a pole.
She wore a mismatched jacket over a very short skirt with a blouse that struggled to contain her ample charms. I had to remind myself that she was barely nineteen and her experience of interviews was extremely limited.
I was going to try and keep things informal by inviting her to sit on the sofa but she immediately opted for the visitors chair on the opposite side of my desk. She did not attempt to shake hands and I was struck by the way that she moved the chair away from the desk to establish a personal space for herself.
As I went through her spartan résumé she gave terse one word answers and I had to remind myself that she was only attending the interview in order to tick the box and retain her entitlement to a job seekers allowance.
Unbeknownst to her I had accessed some of her more personal records and had established that she had been raised by a series of foster parents and had a very patchy school attendance. A word that came up more than once was 'manipulative' but she had a very high intelligence quotient; indeed, so high that she was suspected of cheating and had been retested.
She looked bored and unbuttoned her jacket as if to suggest that the office was too warm and that she was anxious to leave. As she did so my eyes flitted to her chest. Beneath her blouse she wore a cheap uplift bra so thin as to suggest the darker shading of her nipples.
It happened in the space of a split second but there was the tiniest glint in her eye letting me know that she had caught my glance. I felt awkward for an instant but I collected myself and carried on with my questions.
"Do you have any hobbies or personal interests?"
"I like to go out... but I have to find someone willing to pay for me."
It was the longest sentence she had strung together and I wondered just exactly what she meant but then, as if to illustrate her point, she sat up a little straighter and crossed one leg over the other. Her skirt rode up revealing an expanse of pale thigh and I could see her almost daring me to look.
It was hard not to but my mind was racing. On paper, she seemed a prime candidate but if she was prostituting herself in order to live it was a complete non-starter. I was in two minds as to whether or not I should carry on the interview process or simply bring things quickly to a close.
"That sounds a little dangerous. There are some very strange men out there."
She paused and half smiled before she replied.
"Oh believe me, I am very choosey when it comes to men and, besides, women are far easier prey."
If she was attempting to shock me she succeeded but years of negotiations had enabled me to perfect a poker face. Even now there was no confirmation that she was referring to sexual favours but then, very slowly, she recrossed her legs.
It was all I could do to hold her steady gaze but the flash at the edge of my vision suggested that she was either wearing the sheerest of panties or was not wearing any at all.
Had she come to the interview looking for an opportunity to pimp herself?
She had chosen the wrong woman. After two failed long term relationships I had been ready to give up on the male of the species and focus fully on my business. I still had a lot of men coming on to me but I tended to choose the younger, more virile, specimens when the fancy took me and simply kicked them out of the door the morning after.
I stood up and gave a neutral smile.
"I would like to thank you for coming in today and we will be in touch. My assistant will look after your travel expenses."
She rose from her chair without a word and walked out of the room leaving me to make a final note on her file. I gave it a further ten minutes and decided that I needed some fresh air. Melanie was not at her desk in the outer office and so I scribbled a post it note and stuck it on her screen.
My office occupied the top floor of five and I decided to take the stairs but I caught my heel on the very first flight and felt it go. I cursed, took off my now useless shoes, and headed back upstairs to the ladies room where I kept a pair of trainers in my locker.
As I walked in I heard a distinct groan coming from the single cubicle. It could only have been Melanie as we were the only two situate on the fifth floor. I wondered if it was her time of the month and I was about to creep back out again, to save her embarrassment, when it came again.
On second hearing I knew that it was not the sound of someone in discomfort, rather, it was something from the opposite end of the spectrum. I froze to the spot and I felt my heart beating faster.