The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive (13 page)

    Samantha pulled me up and steered me into the television room, where I quickly stripped off my work dress and stockings and pulled on the T-shirt and jeans that she handed me from my bag. The two of them hugged me briefly and hurried me out the door as if scared that I might change my mind, and I could only imagine that they were as relieved as I was once I was out in the harsh and distracting daylight of that Saturday afternoon.

    

    

    After crying my way through the rest of the weekend, I woke up Monday morning with a head that felt remarkably washed clean. As relieved as I was to be mostly over the sorrow of the previous week, I was even more relieved by the thought that popped into my head during my lunch hour.
If you’re there more often, you’ll surely meet more men, more quickly, who will feel as good as Phil did.
It was a brilliant plan, I realized. Of
course
I should start working at the dungeon full time! I used the computer at work to e-mail Hillary and ask for more shifts, and used the last fifteen minutes of my workday to give the boss my two weeks’ notice.

    “I’ve gotten an offer to help my friend with scripts and editing at her new production company,” I lied, hoping it sounded like an offer I couldn’t refuse rather than a rejection of the unspoken boredom I felt in my current position.

    “We’ll miss you, but I’m sure you’ll be great at your new job.”

    Even knowing they didn’t really need me, it stung a little to have to leave such nice people behind.
They deserve someone who’s happier to be here,
I consoled myself, and stopped on the way home that night to buy myself a couple of new outfits to celebrate my move.

    

    

    As I entered the lounge area for my first ex-secretary shift, I could see from where the new sub sat that her legs were about twice as long as mine, darkly tanned and sculpted like a dancer’s. When she stood to introduce herself, my worst fears were confirmed. The rest of her body, previously folded up ambiguously in the easy chair, was as long and lean as her legs. To top it all off, her face was not only cute, but conveyed something almost sublimely sweet and vulnerable. I would not even have the consolation prize of being able to dislike her on a rational level.

    “My name’s Ryan. You must be Marnie.”

    “Nice to meet you,” I said, feeling the warmth of her delicately long fingers in mine. I was overcome by a sudden feeling of noticeable bloat by comparison.

    “That’s such a cute top. It’s funny, I have a pair of shorts that match it exactly. I made them myself.” Ryan had the tiniest lisp when she spoke, and I wondered resentfully if there was anything about her that wasn’t adorable.

    “Wow, you make clothes? That’s neat.” I smiled politely, determined not to let my reflexive hostility toward this threatening creature show through.

    Ryan shrugged modestly “Just little costumes and stuff. I used to be a dancer. It was cheaper to make my own outfits,” she laughed. That explained the perfect body. “Hey, I bet they’d fit you. I’ll bring ’em in for you next time we work together. When are you on again?”

    “Really? Um… wow. Thanks.” I didn’t know if I was supposed to offer her something else then in return — money or something of mine? I’d never met anyone who’d just offered me a present — and one that was kind of perfect for me, if it really would match my purple, velvety bra top — within the first two minutes of shaking hands. What the hell kind of girl was this?

    Over the next five hours, I found out. She was the kind of girl that every man who walked through the door wanted to pay good money to tie up, tickle, tease, and otherwise pleasurably torment for hours straight. She was the kind of girl that I could not ever hope to get chosen over; the kind who, really through no fault of her own, rendered me perfectly invisible. When I’d looked at the schedule for the next two weeks, this Ryan person was working every single shift that I was. I saw a clock in my mind, hour and minute hands whirling crazily, and the word
loser
pulsing constantly on top of it in bright neon lettering.

    Ryan’s abrupt and overshadowing presence in my fantasyland felt grossly unfair. She had a boyfriend. She was good at stripping, and could get all the attention any one person should need from that job alone. What malevolent force in the cosmos had sent her to my neck of the woods, to start hijacking my good time? It had to be a mistake. Seated miserably in the lounge for the next eight shifts straight, I began to wonder if my enthusiastic transition to full-time kink hadn’t been the real mistake.

    

    

    Noticing my ever-present, unhappy face in the lounge during this period, Vanessa suggested I try a little extracurricular advertising in an effort to liven up my shifts. It seemed my Internet account came with the ability to set up a free home page, and several of the women at the Dominion already had their own. Thinking things couldn’t get any worse, I put up one of my photos from the Dominion Web site, along with a description of the kinds of things I would and wouldn’t do in session. Within hours, I’d received over a dozen new messages in my in-box. It turned out most of them were from men who either wanted sex to be part of the session or to “woo” me into playing with them on a personal level for free. But I could hardly believe my luck when I opened the following two messages.

    
Dear Marnie… You look great and you sound like genuine fun — rare thing to find in a pro sub. Wondering if you would consider ever sessioning outside the Dominion? I’m afraid the possible interaction with other men in the front lobby puts me off

    
Dear submissive Marnie… I’d love a session with you, and want to know whether you allow yourself to get fully naked, and whether you would submit to a scenario where I make you urinate in a bowl while I watch.

    The idea of finding a way to see these clients outside the Dominion immediately excited me. I would actually get to play with someone again, instead of watching the doe-eyed Ryan get all the action. I knew that as “independent contractors” at the Dominion, employees were not allowed to work privately at the same time. Still, I thought there must be some way for me to meet with. clients on my own that would make Hillary happy as well. I needed the money, and if I could find a place to see them that was safe enough but offered more privacy I bet that I could charge a little more than the hourly rate at the Dominion. If I split it fifty-fifty with Hillary, how could she object? It made sense to me, and I could hardly wait for my next shift so I could break the good news.

    

    

    “I can’t allow that,” Hillary shook her head stiffly.

    “Oh,” I said, too surprised to think of anything else to say at first. I had found her eating lunch in the kitchen after changing for my shift that next Saturday “Is it a matter of… I mean are you concerned about — Why isn’t it allowed?”

    “I’ve invested way too much money here to allow someone to take business away. I spend hundreds a month — thousands a
year
— on advertising in as many places as I can find so that clients can find us, not to mention all the work and money I put into keeping the physical space up and running.”

    “But that’s not what I’m talking about,” I interrupted quickly “I’m not talking about seeing clients that I meet
here.
I’m talking about the kinds of guys who wouldn’t be coming in here to spend their money in the first place. I don’t understand why that would be anything but good for you, if I’m giving you a cut.”

    “I have no way of knowing who you’d be seeing outside and who you wouldn’t. Besides, no respectable dominant client would try to get you to see him outside the protective environment of a place like this. Anyone who’s seriously in the scene knows that subs need the safety of a chaperone. The only reason a guy would try to see you without one is if he wants to do things to you that he knows a chaperone would bust him for.”

    
Bust
him for? Like the way the protective arms of the Dominion had “busted” Daniel the Torture-Tickler on my second shift? I understood that the business of letting strangers dominate me in various ways was a risky one. But I didn’t need a custodial parent any more than the dommes did. Nor was I interested in exclusively courting the kinds of clients who saw women like me in those childlike terms.

    “I guess it’s just hard for me to understand—”

    “That’s because you’re a lot less experienced in the scene, Marnie. You practically just started here, and you’ve said you only had one S/M relationship in your personal life. I’ve been doing this in my personal life and as a business for the last twenty years. I know what I’m talking about.”

    She had a point about being more experienced than me, but it didn’t ease my aggravation. I knew I could make money outside the Dominion, I knew I would be honorable about it, and my gut told me that Hillary was all wrong about the kinds of people who would see me on my own. It seemed useless to talk to her about it anymore, though. I told her I understood what she was saying, and would not do sessions both inside and outside of the Dominion at the same time. And while I hadn’t given up on my hope for outside sessions, I meant what I told her. I left out the part about how I’d be looking into the possibility of going independent like some of the dommes I’d heard about before.

    

    

    Once it settled in that I was really planning to leave, I realized that I didn’t have the foggiest idea of how to go about it. What would be the etiquette for quitting a place like the Dominion? Was I supposed to give two weeks’ notice like at a real job, write a letter of resignation, or wave good-bye and take to my heels whenever I felt like it? I didn’t feel like I could ask any of the other women without the risk of it getting back to Hillary before I did.

    “Marnie, you have a twelve o’clock with a man named Stanley. He’s a regular, pretty nice guy, mostly into bondage and light corporal stuff.”

    Hillary was at the front desk that morning, and told me about the session as soon as I walked in the door. Neither her expression nor her tone of voice indicated any residual tension from our talk a few days before. I felt a sudden pang of guilt knowing that I’d be wrecking our truce sometime in the very near future. However, I quashed it with the reminder that she hadn’t left me much choice. I thanked her and headed to the back to get dressed. A beautiful brunette with gorgeous olive skin was already there changing.

    “Hi, I’m Angela,” she smiled.

    “I’m Marnie,” I smiled back. After a couple of moments of awkward silence, I spoke again. “Is this your first shift?”

    “I started last night. I’m still kind of scared, though,” she laughed abruptly and looked away I had already pegged her for a sub, what with the cream-colored collar she’d fastened around her neck, and debated whether to try and console her or compound her worries. I didn’t have any bad feelings toward her personally, but this had been my first scheduled session without Ryan working at the same time. Now I had a younger version of Salma Hayek to contend with?
This is going to suck.
And yet, even with my rising insecurity, I couldn’t really stand the thought of treating her badly or seeing her upset.
Fuck it. I’m almost out of here anyway.

    “Are you just scared because it’s a new thing, or are you actually afraid of getting hurt here?”

    “Both, I guess.”

    “I was pretty nervous when I started, too,” I offered. “I don’t know many of the other subs here, but the dommes I know have all been really cool. Talking to them relaxed me a lot when I first got here. And if there’s anything in particular that you’re worried about, you can always ask me, if that helps.”

    “Thanks, Marnie.”

    I couldn’t tell if she felt any better yet, but I certainly did. I wasn’t necessarily happy about helping my competition feel better — I came here to feel sexy, not like some kind of kinky den mother — but I knew I would have been even unhappier if I’d felt guilty about being mean to her.

    “No problem,” I sighed. “And just so you know, I’ve mostly had a really great time here, so far. I wouldn’t be here if there were bad things happening in session all the time.”

    Angela nodded and seemed about to say something else, but Hillary’s voice came over the intercom, cutting her off.

    “Marnie, Stanley is here to see you.”

    “Thanks,” I said toward the small white box on the wall. I turned back to Angela. “You’ll do great.”

    A short, slight man with graying hair and a lightly stained work shirt was shifting his feet in the reception area when I got there. I introduced myself and was about to ask Hillary where we should do the interview when I heard footsteps behind me.

    “Oh good,” I said to Stanley, “Angela’s coming out here, so we can talk back there.”

    We passed her and Stanley almost bumped into me as his feet kept moving while his eyes stayed on my shift mate. He gave me a reluctant and obviously forced smile, thought better of it and turned to Hillary.

    “Is she available right now?” he nodded toward the television room. “Uh, well, yes she is…”

    “Will your feelings be hurt if I session with her instead?” he turned back to me.

    I felt like someone had knocked the air out of me, and I looked at Hillary without answering. It wasn’t the idea of missing a chance to be alone with this somewhat squirrelly guy, or even the loss of potential income that bothered me by this point. It was just so beyond humiliating, to be looked in the face and told, in front of a witness, no less, that someone better had just come along.