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Prepared the platters of food, the wine and beer, and then washed in the laundry shower. I went back to the bathroom. "Is Mistress ready to get out." My Mistress is like the model who was called "The Body" in the 80s and 90s and she wanted me. I stood holding a large white fluffy towel that was warm from the towel rail. She rose like an Empress and took the towel. After she was dry she dropped it on the floor where I now grovelled. She walked to her private dressing room. I am forbidden to enter. I could smell Chanel from the hallway. When she came out she wore a large white pearl necklace that looped around her neck three times, matching earrings, gold studs through each stubby nipple, and the hood of her clit, a sapphire stone in her belly button, with a ankle chain with little ball on it. Her hair was pulled back harshly and put in a bun on top of her head. She wore white 6" high heel shoes. "Come here. " she ordered. She held out a steel cock cage in one hand and a black leather. "Well, yeah, I guess," was all I could muster."Look, we've been watching you work out around here, what's it been, two years? Something like that?" I nodded; he continued, "You've made progress like the poster kid for weight loss. I mean, if you could do what you've done, and don't punch me out, here, anybody could do it."I had to admit: he was right. I was off-the-charts sorry when I started. I nodded."So, look, we can take you on as an employee, put you through some training, send you to a few classes, and then you work here helping others who were closer to your past, and make 'em like your present." He was speaking directly, looking me in the eye; there was no guile, no better-than-you, no insult, just a straight-ahead, common-sense business proposition.I thought about it for a half-second; then I said, "You're on."His face split into a grin; he reached across the table and took my hand, which he shook, and the deal was done.The next seven weeks were a blur. My wife was impressed.
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