Maureen Roberts strolled through the busy streets of Chicago with a smile on her face the size of the universe. She was exceedingly happy and so was her pussy after being deliciously fucked by the most generous slice of cock in her stable. It was a privilege all who served her dreamed of, but only a select few ever got the chance of turning such dream into an unforgettable reality. Jones - a.k.a. Slave 273 -, had earned his prize after sacrificing an insane amount of money on her the year before, quite an achievement for someone whose first words after they met were "I'm not into Financial Domination." Over little eighteen months of devotion, he had learned he was to like only what she did and now all of his fetishes were an inseparable extension of her will. It was fucking awesome!
Like every woman, she had her routines and beauty rituals, and one of her dearest was starting the year with a tour of favorite stores, a never-ending hunt for both fashion and comfort. If there was one thing Maureen loved more than going shopping was doing so with fresh slave money on her bank account. Yes, for the thirty-three-year-old dominant brunette was living a beautiful life, luxury becoming her every step of the way. It had all begun in her college days when she realized frustrated men were too easy to manipulate. Her older brother was the first to fall for her newly discovered vixen charms, then his hockey team mates, followed by far too many teachers. It was all so simple and better yet, so deliciously entertaining. Being in control just made sense.
In the years that followed, she learned to categorize men in three separate tiers: the "Supreme Alphas" composed of those so far up their asses that the prospect of serving a woman was worse than a deadly sin; the Open Betas who had gracefully accepted their inferiority towards women and were always on the lookout for opportunities to be of service; and the Unknowing Bitches who had yet to discover their true potential under a strong female's rule. Putting the first in their proper place was always great fun, the second served their purpose in the food chain, making her life easier at a snap of her fingers but the third... oh, the third is what she truly lived for! The thrill of being the first to leave a long-lasting impression on an easily suggestible mind to the point where it couldn't no longer function properly without her guidance and command was unparalleled. Some would claim it to be dangerous, perhaps even cruel. To her, it was just another Saturday.
When she entered Bloom's Department Store that morning, it was a little past ten, yet the place was already packed. As expected, most of the shoppers were women, a few with their betas of choice in tow, credit cards on the ready as they should. She liked to watch the young couples as they unearthed the beauty of female-led relationships, but the older ones deserved greater respect. Maureen smiled from head to toe when she noticed the late-fifties woman standing at the eastern aisle while her husband kneeled next to her. His half-dreamy gaze as he held the nth pair of shoes she was trying on was more than love, but rather an expression of years of formal conditioning to her every whim. "Way to go, sister. That's how you do it," she thought.
She was still lost in her cogitations when a petite cerulean-eyed blonde wearing the traditional green and black uniform of the store came to her, plastered smile reeking of the desire of getting a quick sale out of her. "Good morning," she said, the perfect row of white teeth doing barely nothing to contain the rottenness beneath them. "May I help you find what you're looking for?"
Maureen's sultry gaze roved the entire store before acknowledging her presence. She was looking for someone, a very special person and when she found him, drowning in boxes of sandals that should have been stored in the warehouse ages ago, she replied: "No. I want him."
The blonde shrugged, the spirit of unhealthy competition surfacing on her glossy pink lips. "Tim? Are you sure? Because I don't think he's what someone like you deser..."
"I said... him." Maureen shushed her. "Go get him for me. Now!"
"But of course," the blonde replied, fumigating on the inside. "Anything for our customers."
Timothy Rogers - Tim for friends and foes alike, not that he had many of both - was a quiet and unassuming young man whose aspirations of becoming a renowned novelist died the moment he realized he couldn't plot a story over two thousand words no matter how much he tried. A dreamer in every sense of the word, he would start multiple projects at a time only to come to terms with the fact that not a single one of them gave him an inkling of satisfaction. Working at retail, especially in a store mostly aimed at women was far from ideal, yet it helped pay the bills while he pondered on what to do next with his life. He hated the blonde almost as much as she hated him. What was her name again? Jackie? Jules?
"Ah, Janice, how could I forget?", He muttered as he glanced at her name tag when she stopped in front of him. He didn't look at her perfect round boobs, but that didn't stop her from saying he did.
"The pervert strikes again, I see. Someone specifically asked for you. I don't understand why would anyone do that, but there's always a first time for everything. Try not to screw this up, okay?" Janice grimaced, her mean streak in full view. She had been eyeing the position of Store Manager for over ten months now, something he hoped she would never get for, if she did, he would most certainly have to find a new job the day after.
Tim peeked behind her. Maureen was six-foot-three in heels, brown curly hair with golden highlights framing an immaculate face. Her make-up was soft and almost invisible save for a bit of blush and a light brown lipstick. She wore a long-sleeved burgundy jersey top and a pair of tight black jeans hugged her waist, yet the casual look was anything but if one bothered to look at the signature brands on each piece. As a living Goddess, she looked good in everything even fluffy pajamas and bunny slippers but none of her pets had ever seen her in those.
"Do you know her?" He timidly asked.
"No, don't remember ever seeing her before but it's obvious she's loaded so do your best to convince her to buy more than she wants, okay?"
"I'll try." He replied even though he hated that part of the job. Yes, just like everyone else, he received an extra if he could meet his weekly quota and more, but why impose instead of letting things run its course? People often told him he was too good for his own tastes, sometimes, and therefore it was no wonder seeing failures piled up one after the other. "And Janice?"
"What?"
"Do you mind taking care of these boxes for me in the meantime?"
"Hell no!" She turned his back on him. "I would do it if Marjorie asked but since she didn't, that responsibility is all on you. Leave them there for all I care. I still need twenty more sales until the end of the day."
"Typical..." He sighed. It was because of attitudes like that she would never be a good manager but telling that to her face was almost as the same as saying loud and clear: "I have a death wish", and he didn't. Not at that moment, at least.
Apart from his mother and a childhood friend he had lost contact with last Summer, no one knew how those thoughts had once run free inside his mind yet taking his own life was both too easy and too obvious when things went down the drain. Tim was many things, but he wasn't a coward, so he sucked it up, held strong, and was still alive to tell the tale. Whether he would remain that way after meeting an unashamed Female Supremacist remained to be be seen though. He laid down the boxes in a corner, made sure they didn't get in anyone's way and rushed to meet her.
"Apologies for keeping you waiting, Miss. I'm Tim. How may I be of service to you, today?"
"Saying that again is a good start," Maureen replied, dark brooding eyes focused on his drooping shoulders. "Yep, you have BITCH written all over you but you don't know it yet." She thought.
"Say what? How may I be of service to you today?"
"Exactly. Many people seem to forget that very important word but I don't. Service is a wonderful thing and I'm sure you'll serve me well, Tim."
"That's what I'm here for." He smiled though his was genuine.
"I know," she agreed, right hand brushing against his collar. Unlike Janice, the color of the uniform looked good on him though she had other chromatic impressions in mind. All of her favorite pets looked good in pink. So would he sooner than later. "Tim..."
"Yes?"
"I'm looking for this beautiful pair of thigh-high leather boots with two silver buckles on each side that used to be on display until last week and now I can't seem to find them anywhere. I take it you know the item I'm talking about."
"Yes, of course. They're quite the popular model but I'm not sure if we still have them on your size." He looked at her Stella McCartney lace platform brogues. He had never seen them in black before. Custom-made perhaps? Loaded, indeed, if that were the case. "You wear a 7? 7.5?"
"It's actually an 8, dear, but don't tell me you don't have them in stock. I came all the way here on purpose to get them."
"We moved some things around recently because a new collection just came out. I need to take a look. Can you wait here a minute or two, please?"
"If you promise that's all it takes, yes," she bit her lower lip, a flirting gesture that didn't go unnoticed. "Is she mocking me?" Tim's inner voice queried him.
He left her by the entrance under Janice's watchful and prying gaze. Unbeknownst to him, she was thinking the same thing, her natural curiosity firing in all directions. "What game are you playing?" She mumbled.
As if she had heard her which was physically impossible given the distance between them, Maureen stared deep into her eyes, charisma and seduction irradiating like a living magnet. Gaze locked, the Femdom sashayed to where she stood and asked:
"Shouldn't you be working instead of spying on your co-workers? Do I need to make a complaint to your supervisor?"
"I wasn't doing anything of the..." Janice tried to reply but was immediately silenced by a vigorous slap on her right wrist.
