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“We have a handful of Doms. Male, female, and one trans man. Here.” Dina opened Elite’s website and shifted her keyboard my way. “I gotta pee. Go ahead and browse a bit.”
Nibbling on my inner lip, I glanced over the images and names of the men on hand to fulfill someone needing to escape reality with the inclusion of pain while sceneing. At least, I thought that was what Dina had called it while talking to the woman on the phone.
The second image snagged my attention, and I leaned forward to get a better look at the blond hottie.
Micah was his listed name.
As in Fox, the owner of Elite? Brow furrowed, I clicked on his profile and started to read his bio. He’d been a Dom and in the BDSM lifestyle for over fifteen years. His limits included scat play and water sports—I had no clue what either were. He was practiced in shibari. Again, I was clueless. I had more questions than understanding of what all he enjoyed dishing out to submissive clients wanting to slip into headspace, I think Dina had called it.
The toilet flushed, and I clicked out of Micah’s profile. Two dark-haired men, a guy blonder than Micah, and an intimidating bald-headed guy were also on the main page of those available for the BDSM lifestyle.
“Find anything of interest?” Dina asked, heading toward her desk.
“Micah—is that the same Micah who owns EE?”
“Yeah. He’s a Dom. Pretty good from what I’ve heard—our best, actually.” She snorted while pulling her keyboard back in front of her. “Well, that’s what he claims, anyway. The guy is an arrogant ass.”
“I thought you said he was a decent guy.”
“Oh, he is. He’s just…confident and sometimes annoying as fuck. You’ll see. Okay. So, moving on. Want to return the second call? The message said the man is looking for arm candy, not a fuck date.”
I filled my lungs and slowly released it, nodding even though I’d rather climb beneath her—my—desk and hide. “Sure.”
My hands and voice shook, but with Dina’s help, I arranged for one of our female escorts to act as some rich man’s date for a big charity event his ex-wife insisted he attend. He was a returning client and had already browsed the site to pick out his woman for the night, making the task a lot easier.
We scheduled with the man, then Dina showed me how to deal with the rest of the business. The limos and drivers, birthday cards to every employee, scheduling their bi-monthly testing, and putting the bills that came directly to the office on Micah’s desk. He took care of all the finances except for ordering supplies for the escorts. Lube, condoms, and sex toys for the black bags taken along on any “date” outside of strict eye candy contracts came from one website she’d written down for me. When five rolled around—quitting time—my brain whirled, and Micah still hadn’t come into the office.
“Guess you’re waiting until Wednesday to meet him, Jaz,” Dina said as she locked up behind us.
A warm breeze ruffled her long blonde hair, similar to my own. I’d pulled mine into a tight bun, hoping for a secretarial appearance, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d left the skirt and low heels home in favor of the jeans and t-shirt Dina wore. At least I’d made an effort and would continue to do so to ensure I kept what seemed the perfect job for me and my issues.
But first—I needed to crash course myself in all things sex, kink, and otherwise.
Dina dropped me off at our parents with a good luck and sped toward her apartment she shared with her soon-to-be husband Aaron. Three months earlier, they’d moved in together, leaving me alone with Mom and Dad. The miserable middle child, Liz, had married young and had just given birth to her second son. He was an adorable little redhead with the softest cheeks and pouty lips I found myself able to snuggle and smooch without having a panic attack. Auntie loved when they came to visit.
I didn’t mind being the only one still at home since I’d inherited Dina’s much-larger room and her absence—along with Aaron’s attachment to her side—meant one less person I might unexpectedly come into physical contact with.
My issues with physical touch had started years earlier, thanks to one of the many foster kids my parents had taken in, Billy. The bastard had issues of his own, sexual deviancies, which I ended up being on the receiving ass-end of. While the sicko hadn’t taken my virginity, he’d done and said just about everything else possible.
It had taken me a long time to find the strength to approach my parents with the truth about what Billy had done, and he’d tried to slice my throat, exactly as he’d promised to do if I ever told anyone.
A shiver slid down my spine as I unlocked my parents’ door and let myself inside.
He’d come after me a few years after being removed from my parents’ home and being eighteen, ended up in jail for aggravated assault.
I ran a finger along the two-inch scar beneath my left ear, forcing myself to inhale normally. The memory of Billy’s body odor, his bad breath, his cold, clammy hands on my skin...
My chest tightened as anxiety I was too well acquainted with began to run over my sensibilities.
Get a grip, Jasmine.
I counted my inhale through my nose and released it loudly through my mouth. In with the positive energy, out with the bad.
I am strong. I am able to overcome...
I chanted the various sayings one of my many therapists had suggested to talk down rising anxiety attacks.
“Is that you, Jasmine?” Mom’s soothing voice floated down the hallway from the kitchen, helping to ground me.
