'Jack! Come back to the Manor! There's a party going on!'
The pallid woman clutched Jack's arm. Her smile was alarmingly wide, and her eyeliner was smudged. Her hair was long, dark and unkempt. He couldn't tell if she was high or crazy.
The busy 2pm traffic rushed past them on the main road, oblivious to them.
She wore an old black Guns 'n' Roses T-shirt, torn off at the shoulders with extremely low arm holes. She wasn't wearing a bra. Jack noticed that one of her breasts was poking out of the hole. He caught a glimpse of a nipple on one of her pale breasts.
Her black miniskirt and fishnets were partially torn. She was barefoot. Dried blood congealed around the cuts on her feet.
'Have we met?' asked Jack.
'Don't you remember me, Jack? You were in the Manor. I was there, Jack! You haven't forgotten?'
The rest of her pale breast seemed to be jiggling it's way out of that hole as she pulled tightly on his arm. She didn't seem to notice, even when Jack was blatantly staring at it.
'Yes, I was there,' Jack admitted. 'But I don't remember anything. Did we meet?'
Jack felt her long, chipped fingernails dig into his bicep, as her eyes widened. Jack started to regret engaging her.
'Come with me, Jack. Come with me back to the Manor. I can help you to remember.'
Jack pulled away from her. The smile left her face. She suddenly looked gaunt.
'I can't,' he replied. 'Not now. I have to go to work. Some other time though, yeah?'
'You've seen her haven't you, Jack? The one who dwells under the earth, beneath the forest?'
Jack walked off towards the office, looking behind him nervously. The woman stood hunched on the pavement, staring at him as the traffic went past. He didn't see her move.
Half an hour later, Jack was sat at his desk, logging into his PC. He was too busy processing his surreal experience to give a shit about the two assholes sat near him.
How the hell did that woman know his name? Did they really meet in the Manor house? They must have -- no one seemed to know about that place. Perhaps she was another captive, or one of the other prostitutes?
'Did you hear about Gareth?' said Norman, a skinny guy who looked like a meth addict. 'That dickhead went to the managers again, complaining that we were bullying him or some shit. Saying I'm homophobic, just because he overheard something I said about the gay agenda.'
'Fucking idiot. Why was he listening?' said Will, the middle-aged man in a Limp Bizkit T-shirt.
'I know! The managers pretended to listen to him, and just laughed at him as soon as he left.'
'Wankers like that never learn.'
Jack plugged his earphones in again. His mind went to Danielle, the dominatrix that Olivia told him to contact. She seemed polite and business-like over the phone. They had arranged a "session" for the following Saturday.
Amber walked into the office at her usual time. She looked over at Jack and flashed a smile at him as she walked over to her desk. Jack returned the smile. He pretended not to notice when the douchebag in the Limp Bizkit t-shirt raised his hand to wave at her and then put his hand down again, realizing it was Jack she was smiling at.
Jack wondered if Amber would approve of him visiting a dominatrix. She didn't need to know this. They weren't dating. Yet.
Saturday came. Jack found himself stood at the front door of a nice semi-detached house, in one of the more affluent neighbourhoods on the outskirts of the City Centre.
Normally he should be training with Olivia at this time, but she seemed to think this would be important. He wondered if being trained by a dominatrix was Olivia's idea of wax on wax off, like a hornier Mr Miyagi.
The door opened and a busty woman with wavy, dark hair stood in the doorway.
'Jack? Come in!'
For an escort, Danielle was dressed casually, her black T-shirt tucked into her faded black jeans.
And somehow it worked. Her T-shirt was tight around her ample breasts, the first thing that Jack noticed about her after her smile. Her slim figure was was accentuated by her wide hips. He checked out her ass as she led him into the lounge.
'Here, take a seat.'
Danielle directed him to a white leather sofa, and sat next to him. In front of him was a glass coffee table with a few copies of Playboy on it. A 40" flat screen TV was mounted on the wall in front of them.
'So Jack, I understand that Olivia sent you my way.'
'Apparently I need help in bringing out my dominant side,' said Jack.
'So I heard. What did she mean by that?'
'She told me I was too passive, not taking charge enough, that sort of thing.'
Danielle paused, a thoughtful look on her face.
'Hmm. I think I can help you with that. Normally I'm called to play dominatrix to submissive guys, but there have been times where I have been called to bring out a man's dominant side. Not often, but I've done it successfully enough.'
'How?'
Danielle smiled.
'I have a thing for roleplay. Many of my clients do as well. It's my thing. I have a wardrobe full of bizarre costumes.'
'Is that what we're doing? Roleplay?'
'If you're okay with that.'
Jack shrugged.
'Hey, if it works.'
'Excellent!' Danielle beamed at him. 'I have an idea. I'll be right back.'
Danielle left the room, leaving Jack to sit on the sofa, flipping through an old copy of Playboy.
Danielle reemerged in what appeared to be a schoolgirl costume -- her white shirt pulled tight around her bust, creases around the buttons where it didn't quite fit her. Her top button was undone, and the knot of her tie was loose, hanging sloppily over her untucked shirt. She wore a very short, grey skirt, revealing her legs in white, knee-high socks.
Jack could make out a black bra beneath her shirt, and he felt a little nostalgic.
Danielle leaned against the door frame.
'Can you guess what kind of role play we're doing?' she smiled.
Jack smiled back.
'You want me to be the teacher? Or the janitor?'
'Teacher. We're bringing out your dominant side, not your creepy side. How does this sound?'
'I can work with that.'
'Good! Now, observe. I have entered your classroom in a state of disarray. My shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, and my tie is barely done up properly. You won't have this type of slovenliness in your classroom. What will you do?'
Jack paused. Teaching was on his list of professions to avoid, precisely for this kind of bullshit.
'Uh...well...look at your shirt. Tuck it in before I...'
'Before what?' replied Danielle. 'Who cares about my fucking shirt?'
'Well, young lady, I won't have that kind of language in my classroom.' Even Jack was unconvinced by his own words.
'Well, sir,' replied Danielle, 'What are you going to do about it? Just be a bitch as usual?'
'What the fuck is this?' blurted out Jack.
'I have called you a bitch in front of the whole classroom,' said Danielle, breaking character. 'You need to put me in my place, otherwise there'll be chaos, right? Perhaps you should make an example of me. Any ideas how?'
'You mean, old school corporal punishment?'