Molly Templeton took a moment to puff herself up and put her nose in the air before knocking on the stage door to the Vixen Club. Once one of the employees opened it for her, checked her journalist's credentials, and beckoned her inside, she had to struggle not to scrunch up her nose in disdain. Just walking through the backstage of the exclusive, lesbian-only, adult venue, she could see all kinds of scandalous costumes and indecent bondage gear, all of which was plainly inappropriate for any kind of entertainment. It was enough to make her want to storm out.
But she wouldn't. Molly Templeton was a journalist. She had a job to do.
Some would have said that it was a little rich for Molly to call herself a journalist. After all, she was just a college freshman at FCU who was working an internship for a local magazine. Molly didn't listen to people like that, though. She was determined to leave a mark and make a name for herself, and she knew exactly how to do it: by finally ridding the town of that awful witch, Alexia Ice.
Alexia Ice - or Mistress Alexia, as she styled herself - was the Vixen Club's headline performer. According to their adverts, she was an unmatched dominatrix and an irresistible hypnodomme. Molly didn't believe a word of it, of course. She didn't care how tacky Mrs Ice wanted to be, of course, but one thing she couldn't stand was the way she insisted on using FCU students in her perverse performances. Molly had been shocked when she'd heard about it. Students should be studying, not prancing about on a stage behaving like sluts! Clearly, the whole situation was in dire need of an intrepid journalist to step in and condemn this preposterous display of immorality. It was in the public interest!
So, Molly had written a piece accusing "Mistress Alexia" of being a fraud. Which she clearly was - hypnosis wasn't real, after all. The only possibility was that she was doing something untoward to get students to act the ways they did in her shows, behaving like animals or dressing up in jaw-dropping revealing outfits. Molly's article had spelled it all out very clearly, but unfortunately most people didn't seem to appreciate her bold style or her aggressively moralizing commentary.
One person, though, had taken notice: Alexia Ice herself.
Just a few days after Molly's article had gone to print, she'd received a strange invitation. Mistress Alexia Ice wanted to have an interview with her. It was to be an attempt to set the record straight, apparently. Molly had been thrilled, and had accepted with stars in her eyes. This was the perfect chance for her to make waves and take her journalism to the next level! She was sure that she could find some way to trick the dominatrix into revealing her secrets and condemning herself out of her own mouth.
That interview had brought Molly here, to the Vixen Club.
Offering to host the interview at her performance venue was a transparent attempt to throw Molly off her game, but it wasn't going to work! In fact, Molly was pleased to see that Alexia Ice was trying to throw her off her game. It was proof she saw Molly as a threat; proof she was on the right track. As a journalist, in search of truth and public decency, she would walk into the lion's den and come back with a winning, front-page piece - even if it meant having to set foot in a house of depravity like this.
"Miss Ice?" the stagehand guiding Molly around said, knocking on the door to the hypnodomme's dressing room. "Your guest is here."
"Send her in!" called a smoldering, mature voice from behind the door.
As the stagehand opened it for her, Molly braced herself to face her foe, and stepped across the threshold.
The dressing room itself was fairly tasteful. It was a small space with a desk, lights and a mirror, along with a number of personal touches and several racks of clothes. Its inhabitant, though, was anything but tasteful. In spite of that, as much as Molly hated to admit it, Alexia Ice was far more impressive in person than she was in pictures. A still image couldn't capture the dancer-like, self-assured way she moved, even just sitting in front of a mirror and touching up her makeup. Nor could it convey just how imposing her figure was.
Alexia had the kind of body that was built and sculpted for the stage. There was no other way to put it. She had an unbelievable hourglass form that went one step beyond what you usually saw on models and actresses. It was virtually impossible not to stare at her large, full, perfectly-shaped breasts, and the way her hips flared out from her side to give way to a truly breathtaking behind was enough to make anyone's eyes bulge. She looked like an avatar of sex. She clearly knew it, too; the older woman was wearing a tight-fitting, leather bodice, laced around her front like a corset. It left some of her midriff exposed, and pushed her tits up and together in a way that gave her enough cleavage to drown in. Beneath the waist, she was wearing little more than a pair of panties, some fishnets, and some thigh-high boots, polished to a black mirror sheen. Her ravishing, dark hair, cascading around her face in perfect waves, completed the picture.
She was every inch the perfect dominatrix.
"Well hello there, Miss Molly Templeton," Alexia Ice purred, without taking her eyes from her mirror as she finished applying her eyeliner. "I'm glad we can finally meet face to face."
"Likewise," Molly replied, as the stagehand closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. She was determined not to be intimidated. "I'm sure my readers are very interested to see what you have to say for yourself.
"I'm sure." The ghost of a smile danced over Alexia's plump, suggestive lips. "Please. Have a seat."
Putting her eyeliner away, she gestured to the other chair in the room. Molly nodded and pulled it up, reaching into her backpack so she could retrieve her notebook and her pen. Armed with those, she briefly adjusted her glasses and flipped one of her ginger, braided pigtails over her shoulder. Molly liked the way she looked just fine. She was neat, modest, and cute. Everyone said so; everyone liked her cute button nose and her round, rosy cheeks. But in the presence of someone like Alexia Ice, it was a little difficult not to feel dorky. At least her boobs were a match for the older dominatrix's.
"So," Alexia said. "Shall we get started?"
Molly nodded. "Let's begin with a few basics. Miss Ice, how would you describe your work here at the Vixen Club?"
Alexia laughed; it was a rich, full sound. "Miss Ice? Please, call me Mistress Alexia." When Molly showed no sounds of amusement, she answered: "I sell fantasies. Arousal and satisfaction. The erotic is such an under-served need, in this day and age. I give people an experience they can't have anywhere else, and allow them to indulge in desires that they might feel ashamed of outside of this building."
"I... see," Molly replied skeptically, as she noted that down. "And apparently, those, ah, fantasies must be very lucrative." She glanced meaningfully around the dressing room. There were a couple of bottles of expensive champagne on display, along with a crystal vase full of roses and numerous pieces of expensive jewelry.
"Oh, these?" Alexia lifted a diamond necklace, as if to serve as an example. "Those are simply gifts from some of my subjects."
Molly cocked an eyebrow, her pen scratching at her notebook. "Do you really expect anyone to believe that people would willingly offer such expensive gifts?"
Alexia shrugged disarmingly, a simple motion that had her chest heaving. "Many people find it enjoyable to offer up something precious to someone they consider to be superior."
"I'm a little confused about that," Molly retorted at once, as she noted down the dominatrix's response. "Why, exactly, would someone consider you to be their superior? You claim that you can control people with hypnosis, but we both know that isn't true. What's your real secret?"
Now, it was Alexia's turn to cock an eyebrow. "My hypnosis isn't real? You've claimed as much before, Miss Templeton. You're quite mistaken. It's all completely real."
Molly snorted. "Oh, please. Do you really expect me to believe that you can control someone's mind just by waving a pocket watch or saying a few magic words? My readers aren't going to fall for that."
"Perhaps you should help them see past their skepticism," Alexia replied coolly. "A journalist should really be a little more open-minded, don't you think?"
