Iâll admit, this client was a weird one. Not her, she wasnât weird. The job was weird. Never done that sort of thing before, and Iâm fairly certain Iâll never do again. Not because I donât want to, as I rather enjoyed it, but because my client was something of a one-of-a-kind despite her unofficial job title.
Very few of my clients are women. Perhaps only one percent of them are women who come to me alone. I see a few more with couples, but single women can usually get the kink they need at play parties without having to pay for it. This particular woman, however, was a special case. I only saw her in my dungeon once. Iâll never see her in my dungeon again.
After all, this client wasnât kinky. And yet, she still needed me.
Name: Chris McKay.
Age: 23.
Occupation: Head bartender at the Möbius Strip
Club, i.e. âThe New Sam.â
Orientation: Lesbian (the sexy-cute androgynous kind that looks like a fourteen-year-old boy. Iâm sure thereâs an actual term for that but I left my LGBT dictionary at home).
When you have a sexual problem in New York City, and you donât know who to ask for help, you go to Kingsley Edge. He might not know the answer but he knows someone who does. In this case, he knew me.
The Mistress headed to her dungeon and found her client waiting outside the door. The client wasnât alone, however. She had a man with herâa handsome man wearing a grey suit, vaguely Regency-era, and black riding boots. The client and the man spoke in hushed tones back and forth to each other. It seemed the man was trying to comfort the woman or give her some words of encouragement. As The Mistress strode down the hall toward them, she studied her new client, Chris. The young woman wore skinny jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather jacket and battered black boots, and her sexy short black hair had been artfully coiffed. From a distance, she looked a lot like a teenage boy circa 1956. Up close she looked like a stunningly beautiful woman who did everything she could in her power to look like a teenage boy circa 1956.
âSo this is the New Sam?â The Mistress asked as she unlocked her dungeon door.
âShe is indeed,â Kingsley, the man in the riding boots said with pride.
Chris rolled her eyes. Apparently this was a conversation sheâd heard once too often.
âIâm Chris.â
âVery nice to beat you.â The Mistress shook Chrisâs hand.
âBeat me? I didnât thinkâ¦â Chris began.
âSheâs joking.â Kingsley put his arm around Chrisâs shoulder like a protective older brother and ushered her into the first room of the dungeon. âItâs her line. Itâs an old line, and she should get some new lines.â
âYou start paying me more and maybe I can afford some new lines, King. Now shoo. Weâve got girl stuff to do.â She tried waving him out of her dungeon, but he didnât budge.
âIâm not leaving until Chris tells me she wants me gone. Iâll stay the entire time if she needs me.â He gave The Mistress a pointed look, one The Mistress returned even more pointedly. If they didnât stop staring pointedly at each other one of them was going to lose an eye.
âIâm fine. Seriously,â Chris said although she didnât sound one-hundred-percent sure.
âI can stay out here if you want. You can have your privacy and know Iâm only a room away.â He looked into her eyes as if trying to read them. Chris smiled.
âSeriously, Iâm good. I can do this,â Chris reassured him.
âSheâll be fine.â The Mistress snapped her fingers in his face. âStop acting all fatherly. Sheâs in good hands. Iâll get her back to you in one piece. Now this is personal shit she and I need to do. No men allowed. Skedaddle.â