A young woman's journey into submission.
*
Author's Note
If you are a regular reader of my work on Literotica then you are no doubt aware of the characters of Mistress Natasha and her lovely submissive wife Charlotte. And if you happen to have read their very first story entitled Girl Friday, then you also know how the two of them met. You may even remember that there was a rather interesting agency that provided the introduction, and that Charlotte had what could be considered a very unique interview experience with Karin, the person Charlotte simply referred to as 'the H.R. lady'.
Well, as Natasha and Charlotte continue on their adventures with their new partner in crime, Juliet, I've decided that maybe Karin could be something more than just 'the H.R. lady', and this tale focuses on her. You can think of it as a prequel to the Mistress and Charlotte tales. In it you will find clues as to how this agency that matches open-minded young women with well-off older clients seeking companionship came into being. You'll also get a peek into Karin's motivation for joining this agency. And let's be honest about it, hopefully you'll get some sexy tingles as well.
I'll be posting rough draft previews regularly on my website which you can find listed in my Literotica profile page. It requires a username and password to keep the under eighteen crowd at bay, so pay attention to that. Also keep in mind that these are works in progress and may not represent the end product or even be completed chapters. Once I am satisfied with the way the chapter is shaping up I will release the final draft on Literotica for your entertainment. I'm also saying to hell with the ratings on this series. You may leave comments, but no stars upon thar.
I hope you enjoy Karin's story.
WaxPhilosophic
* * * *
Prologue
Most people probably think you have to be some kind of slut to work in a place like this -- running around as I do, naked except for cat ears, a diamond-studded collar and a furry buttplug tail -- serving drinks to horny middle-aged business women who aren't exactly shy about putting their hands on me. But I'm not really into the whole slut-shaming thing, and in all honesty it was a simple business decision. Call it supply and demand, risk versus reward, whatever you want, but it all boils down to me getting myself out of this shitty town and into a comfortable life. And I wasn't planning to work here forever, just long enough to get myself through The Academy.
Once I completed my education, I was hoping to settle down with a nice long-term client assignment -- preferably a little older, very wealthy, very beautiful, and not at all shy about getting what she wants. Not that I was terribly picky -- after all this was a business decision not courtship -- but my goal at this point was a nice wealthy woman looking for a cute little piece of ass to keep her entertained whenever she was at home. Entertaining dominant women was something I was good at, and I had made it my specialization during my education.
By now you're probably wondering about this education I keep referring to, and maybe if you come from a situation like mine you're thinking,
Where can I sign up?
Well like I said before, it's all risk versus reward, so let me give you a little background before you make any decisions, OK?
I grew up in Bumfuck, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan in the good old U.S. of A. It's not actually called Bumfuck, but it might as well be. Now some of you might be familiar with Detroit as the automobile capital of the world, or the home of some of the greatest R&B and Soul artists ever recorded -- Diana Ross and Smokey Robinson cruising down the boulevard in a shiny new Chrysler 300. Well, let me put that thought right out of your mind, because that is so yesterday.
These days, the two fastest growing things we've got going are unemployment numbers and the amount of unhealthy particulates in our water supply. Oh, and I suppose crack cocaine and homelessness, but I haven't managed to hit that low just yet. There's really no reason to stick around Bumfuck, Michigan, but home values are so low that most people can't afford to sell and go somewhere else, somewhere nice and less toxic. So those of us who are left have very few opportunities.
College,
you're thinking.
A college education is the ticket to a better life.
It probably is, if you can afford it and if you have a job waiting for you when you're all finished. But I didn't come from such a life of privilege and I've always had to make my own opportunities. Fortunately for me, I'm not the only one looking to make opportunities to get the hell out of Bumfuck and some other clever entrepreneur had already blazed that trail, showing me and others like me a way straight out of here and into the good life.
Not that this trail is paved with gold or any fairy tale shit like that. It's hard work and does not always present the most comfortable of choices, but you may have heard me mention supply and demand, risk and reward. There are many decisions along the path, but the choice is always mine, never forced. Take these cute little gold bells that I have clipped to my nipples right now. Do they hurt? Hell yes, especially coming off. But are they good for attracting the client's attention and keeping my bank account filled with gratuities? Definitely. Risk versus reward, that's all there is to it.
* * * *
Chapter 1: Welcome to The Academy
The first big risk I took was walking through the front door that afternoon on my very first day of education. I was gathered in a small knot of two dozen or so other girls all looking just about like me, like they'd seen it all and this was the last stop on the line. Very few of them smiled or even spoke, and if they did it was just nervous chit-chat like,
What do you think the food is like in the cafeteria?
or
Do you think there's any boys at this school and what time do you suppose curfew is?
I don't think any of us had expected we'd be asked to strip and put our clothes in a box before we would be allowed to proceed in from the lobby.
It was interesting the way it was communicated to us too. Nobody barked orders at us and told us to get naked. There was just this set of flat-panel monitors, the kind you see all over the place these days, monitors that lit up with a short animation showing a cartoon woman undressing and then proceeding through the doorway with a smile. Another animation showed a woman with clothes still on making her way back to the exit, shoulders hunched and clearly frowning. It was a bit much maybe, but it got the point across. The choices were clear, the risks and rewards well laid out.
It took a few moments to sink in, the fact that we were being asked to strip down right here and right now. A few girls glanced around nervously, seeming to be frozen in place. Some of us tried the doors to see if it was some kind of prank, but the only doors that were unlocked were the ones we had come through from the parking lot. After that little discovery, one girl wrapped her hands around the hem of her t-shirt and tugged it over her head. I watched her wad it up and toss it in the box at her feet. As she hopped around on one leg slipping her shoes off, I made my decision.
We lost about a quarter of our group at that point. But not me. I figured what the hell? I'd come this far and I wasn't about to let a little exhibitionism put me off. Plus I was proud of my body and the way I looked. My boobs weren't huge, but they were firm, and I was slim-waisted with an ass that just wouldn't quit. So I shimmied out of my clothes and put them in the box without so much as a second thought. Most of the remaining girls seemed to perk up a bit too, standing a little straighter, chins high and pushing their chests out as they stripped.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle my nerves. It was still weird, standing around naked with a bunch of girls I'd never met before, trying not to stare too long at the various bodies in the room. After a while I kind of gave up and let my eye wander. I could see some of the others had come to that decision as well and we all scanned the room, at first discreetly and then unabashedly as we sized up each others physical assets. There wasn't a bad-looking girl in the room.
There were voluptuous bodies with ample bosoms and nice jiggly asses. There were some petite little things that probably only weighed a buck and change -- still cute though in their own way with their tiny tits and virtually non-existent hips. The rest were made up with bodies like mine, slim and athletic. Average to tall high-breasted girls with long legs that showed the cut of their muscles under their taut young skin.
I felt my nipples begin to tighten as I looked around and watched the eyes crawling over me. I've drawn the eye of a few guys over my lifetime, but never the women. Or at least if they were checking me out they were being tactful about it and I just didn't notice. But here in the lobby the choices were either staring at the floor or somebody's boobs. So I looked at a lot of boobs for the next fifteen or so minutes. Big ones, small ones, perky ones, heavy ones, but interestingly enough no fake ones. And nipples -- big silver dollar nipples all the way to tiny little upturned darts. I wasn't feeling confident enough to start scanning faces yet, but there were an awful lot of boobs to keep me occupied.
In the midst of my categorizing and classifying the profusion of human mammaries, I began to wonder what was next. The admission letter I had received had only mentioned showing up for orientation no later than 3:00 p.m., and did not state what said orientation was all about. But that letter had also offered clear assurance that we would always have a choice in everything we did and that we were free to leave at any time, so I didn't think it would be too bad. And honestly, I was standing around in a cluster of naked girls while we silently checked each other out. How much weirder could it get?
There was a soft chime and the doors between us and the next room opened up smoothly and automatically. We all shuffled forward to find out.
* * * *
The next room on our journey is what I would call the grooming room, and it actually had people in it. I suppose that was one of the perks that came with the decision to get naked, you got to see actual human faces besides those you had entered with. There were a handful of very alluring young women all clad in white lab coats and decked out in nerdy black-framed glasses. Though I suspected that the glasses were more of a prop than anything else, probably orchestrated to complete the sexy lab assistant look, because I could see they all wore coordinated lingerie, stockings, and heels underneath.
The flat-panel monitors above were busy showing us cartoon pussies. I giggled just a bit when I first caught sight of it, the cartoon pussies, but the message was quite clear. There was a smooth mound with a dollar sign next to it and a rather shaggy looking bush with a red X over the dollar sign. Once I saw that, I realized what the lab coat brigade was here for and quickly lined up at one of their tables. I already kept myself trimmed, so I figured how bad could it be? Yeah, right.
My lab coat girl was nice enough about it though and told me whenever it was going to hurt so I could prepare, and she had this really cute Eastern European accent. She said it as,
