Getting in early like I always did, I grabbed another cup of coffee and went to my office to prepare for the task ahead. Taking off my sneakers, I sat down in the middle of the floor, “Travel in Woods” on repeat in my earbuds. I did my best to get into a meditative state, which turned out to be a lot easier than usual.
I was so deep in my own internal realm that I almost didn’t hear the knock from outside. Hitting the pause button, I tucked my iPhone back into the front pocket of my hoodie and went to answer the door.
“Yes, Mary?”
“The, uh, first applicant is here, sir,” she said, staring at the ground as usual.
“Send her in,” I replied, going to sit at my desk.
And so began the long process. The first few were obviously wrong for the position. I felt bad rejecting them basically out of hand. They had perfectly solid academic backgrounds and work records. I really hoped they wouldn’t think that I was judging them negatively on those grounds.
The real issue came into play in terms of the “extra duties.” I suspected that more than one of them might have actually been virgins and inexperienced in regular “vanilla” sex, let alone what I had in mind.
Despite the reputation people like me were starting to get, especially thanks to certain asshole posers in the media, doms really are capable of empathy. BDSM isn’t really about pain. It’s about connection and power exchange.
It’s an oddity, to be sure, and so it takes a certain kind of strange and wonderful person to really understand that. Let alone to be able to do it with any kind of dedication or conviction. There were dabblers and trenders, of course, but they didn’t tend to last very long.
I tried to let them down gently, saying I would keep their information on file. Implying that I would contact them if they were chosen without giving the false hope of actually saying it, while also making sure they knew exactly how many applications I had gotten and how stiff the competition was.
The next group was more promising. Sturdy, steely, and seemingly ready for anything, in both business and the bedroom. I made note of the ones that seemed like the best candidates. None of them was exactly what I was looking for but, as Freddie Mercury once said, “you can’t always get what you want.”
I was about ready to pack it in and pick from the most optimistic prospects when the first of the last group came in. Normally I probably wouldn’t have looked twice. To be fair, I rarely did. She was pretty, in a gentle way.
A large portion of her face was obscured by dark bangs and black, rectangular glasses. Even through them, though, I could tell she was quite attractive underneath. I tried to imagine what she would be like with her glasses off and hair swept to the side, and really liked what my mind showed me.
She was more petite than the others, maybe 5’2 tops. She was curvy, and her proportions were more than lovely. Nice big hips, which I’d always liked; and breasts that, while not very big, were certainly noticeable, firm and well-shaped.
Angela Weiss. She introduced herself to me as Angie, and we shook hands. I tried to remember what she had written, rifling through my internal filing cabinet at near light speed.
Suddenly I found her. She was the nature-loving UCLA graduate who had won a programming award at 19 and had made a point of how young and healthy she was. I was certainly interested in finding out how accurate that was.
We made small talk, and I went through the usual set of questions, Angie giving the right answers to all of them. Suddenly, I noticed something I should have spotted right away. Angie was wearing a corset under her shirt. For me not to have noticed it meant it must have been a custom job, fitting her figure perfectly.
“Did you build your corset yourself?” I asked.
“Oh! Yeah,” she said, appearing surprised but still jumping up and lifting her shirt to show me her handiwork. “It took weeks, but I figured I might as well do it right.”
“Very nice,” I said, not just talking about the corset.
Angie sat back down and lowered her shirt, her look of slight embarrassment unmistakable. I didn’t think this was the first time something like this had happened. It wasn’t that I thought Angie to be an exhibitionist, just someone who was really proud of what she was able to do. Nothing wrong with that.
“Sorry,” Angie tried.
“Oh, don’t worry. It is a really nice piece.”
“You think?”
“Definitely.”
“Thanks! I’ve been at it a couple of years. I just made my first full costume a month ago. I dabbled in clothes before that. Did a Norse coat and walking skirt before I even attempted the corset.”