Tall, beautiful, and dressed to kill, when Susan Ferris walks into a room, heads turn. A professional dominatrix who works the City’s sex club scene, Susan loves her work and feels there are layers to the job she has yet to explore.
In the locker room of the club, Susan quickly tied on her short black cape, then accessorized her leather mini with a sleek belt with loop holes and pockets. Into the belt she slipped toys such as a blindfold, vibrating dildo, feather tickler, and a short whip made up of a dozen leather straps bunched together with a handle at one end.
“Here we go!” Susan said happily, her eyes shimmering.
“I love a woman who loves her job,” Beth teased.
They exited the locker room into a tiny foyer. Mirrors on both walls gave them a final chance to preen before going through the heavy red draperies leading into the club.
The effect inside was dramatic. People clustered in the main room could watch new arrivals make their entrances, sweeping aside the curtains. Beth let Susan go first, held back and watched as she made a broad swathe around the room. Susan pulled herself up with her regal air. Beth was as ever amazed at Susan’s ability to pull on her dominatrix’s persona. It was beyond acting. It was opening the door to a more self-assured and powerful aspect of herself. But doing so, Susan never lost herself. The act itself was centering.
Her fellow doms gave her respectful nods and greetings, which she returned in kind. Submissives and slaves bowed as she passed them. Susan pointedly ignored them until she passed one who didn’t bow quickly or deeply enough. Susan stopped indignantly and glared at the offending woman. A tall man dressed in casual black shirt and pants, wearing a cape and carrying a cat-o-nine tails stepped forward immediately and brought down the whip across the woman’s back.The woman turned to look at her dom. A mixture of lust and adoration crossed her face. Beth suspected she had dissed Susan on purpose, that she had wanted the punishment.
Susan joined Beth as she completed her circle.
“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Beth asked. “Do you have any paying clients?” Beth had long ceased to wonder at the men who paid to have Susan chain them up and make them beg. Two hundred and fifty dollars an hour, plus dungeon fees, and they wouldn’t get a fuck.
“Actually, no.” She shrugged. “But I think I know who it’s going to be. Check out the gawkers on the couch.”
Three suits. The one who looked vaguely familiar was probably a member. The other two were obviously first timers, trying to take it all in at once while hiding their incredulity. She knew at once who Susan was talking about. The guy all but had his tongue sticking out of his mouth. His clothes made him look like he’d just stepped out of a stock brokerage, but his gaze toward Susan had the adoration and longing of a puppy.
“What is it with you and yuppies?” Beth asked.
“I don’t know,” Susan said, continuing to look in the other direction. “I think they get stressed out, doing the alpha male thing all day long. I wave a wand and it goes away. They can let go of the competitiveness, and I validate who they really are, without the bullshit.” She nodded at a passing dominatrix who was leading a woman on a chain.