I usually wasn’t extremely nervous about interviews. Sure, I was always a little nervous; who wasn’t? But I always got the butterflies out of the way in the first few minutes. This interview shouldn’t be any different, I kidded myself. Worst-case scenario, I would go back to my normal life, with my normal high-paying six-figure attorney job, and that would be that.

Right now, what was making me nervous as I stood in the waiting room was my 'articles' of clothing. Oh, it wasn’t the clothes I had put on that morning that made me nervous. I was wearing my standard knee-length black skirt, white blouse, pearl necklace, sensible black heels, and black blazer. It was the standard uniform for any female litigation attorney in America.

It was the other articles that had been placed on me after I had entered the waiting room. The first was a blindfold, which pitched me in total darkness. I found the blindness magnified all my other senses. I could hear murmuring and what sounded like moaning, but I couldn't be sure. They sounded like they were coming from another room. There were also footsteps from a doorway beyond. Each approaching footstep caused me to wonder if the interview would finally begin. But then footsteps would only recede. Since I couldn't see my watch, I had no idea how long I had been standing there.

But if being completely blind made me feel vulnerable, the second item made me feel even more so: the ropes. My hands were bound tightly behind my back. The ropes also bound my upper arms together. Besides being somewhat painful, it caused my ample bosom to thrust out. I was sure whoever was watching on the video camera I’d seen before being blindfolded was enjoying the view and wondering what I’d look like naked. I had no doubt that was going to happen in the not-too-distant future.

However, it was the final items that drove home my newfound status, from being a high-powered attorney to a lowly interviewee and possible sex slave. It was the collar and metal leash that were around my neck. The collar was tight, and with my heightened senses, I could smell the faint aroma of leather.

I knew the collar was attached to a leash because I’d felt a sharp tug once the collar was on, making me stumble farther into the waiting room before a hand grasped my shoulder to stop me. Then I heard the scraping of metal on metal at my feet. After a door closed, I took a few tentative steps, only to find out the leash went taut and only let me walk a couple of steps. I tended to pace when I was nervous. The leash prevented me from doing so, heightening my tension.   

It felt like the type of collar and leash you’d put around a dog before walking them in the park. Was that what was going to happen to me? Was I going to be led leashed into the interview room, paraded in front of the interviewers? Probably. I'd probably be naked at some point too. The only question was whether that would happen before I entered the interview room or when I was actually in there.

Would I be used as well during my first encounter with the interviewers? Being trussed up the way I was, there would be nothing I could do to stop them. My imagination went into overdrive, and I started shaking. Not only from being nervous, but also from excitement. Thoughts of being forced to my knees naked and forced to demonstrate my oral skills filled my mind, and not the oral skills I used in a courtroom either. My nipples hardened at the thought.

The rope, collar, leash, and blindfold underscored what type of interview this would be. But it was also the lack of clothing that made me nervous and excited. Oh sure, I had on my business suit and was thus modestly attired. But what I didn’t have on were my bra and panties. That was because I had gotten strict instructions not to wear them the day of the interview. I was told not to cheat because I would be checked.

As I impatiently waited for the interview to begin, my thoughts went back to that threat not to cheat. Boy, was I checked out. I was on my way to court. I had a 1:30 p.m. hearing. It was just a routine status conference, but my client would be there. It was summer, and the crowded subway was stifling. There was nowhere to sit. Between thoughts of the interview that night and my upcoming court appearance, I was distracted. Without thinking, I slipped my jacket off and folded it over my arm to get some relief from the heat.

Then I remembered I didn’t have a bra on. Men noticed. Even women noticed. People in general notice women with big breasts. I blushed as I got appreciative glances and outright stares. I felt horribly exposed. But the exhibitionist in me got a thrill out of it. Was this one of the reasons I wanted to go to the interview, I wondered?

Then I froze. Some pervert was slowly sliding his finger right up the middle of my spine, right where my bra would be. I spun around, ready to scream. It was a handsome, athletic male, probably in his forties, solidly built. The type of man I normally wouldn't mind touching me intimately. Normally.

‘Good girl,’ he whispered. ‘No bra. You passed.’

I realized this was what they meant by checking me to see if I cheated. I turned beet red and started to put my blazer back on. He frowned and shook his head.

‘Bad girl,’ he whispered.

I tensed, ready to argue. The interviewers hadn't said anything about being touched in public, even if it was just my back. I met his gaze, and he met mine. His eyes were steel grey, and his stare pierced right through me. I usually didn't back down from a staring contest. As a woman working in a man's world, you can't afford to do that. But this time I did. Something about him, his raw power and masculinity, made me drop my gaze.

I left my blazer on my arm.

"Good girl," he said, and walked away.

My mind was reeling at that point. I had just been deliberately touched by a stranger on a subway, something that was taboo. I thought that anything that happened during the interview process would be in private, not public, like the application and doctor's examination I'd gone through a few days prior.

To make matters worse, he just walked away from me, like I was a nobody. Just another woman to feel up. But worse than that was the way he spoke to me: like I was a child or a dog. Like I was a pet, not a person. Maybe it was because I had led a rather sheltered life, but I wasn't used to chauvinism this obvious and public.

But something about the encounter got me wondering. What if he'd done more? What if he'd pinched my bottom, or grazed the side of his hand along my breast? What if he had...

I found myself fantasizing about what the man would do to me. He'd strip me naked, right there in the subway car, and tie me up spreadeagled with the tatters of my own clothing. He'd start lewdly describing my wares to the other subway riders and invite them to grope me, which both men and women would do. Finally, he'd offer to rent me out to the highest bidder like I was a common whore.

An opening door shook me out of my reverie. Suddenly, I was not reliving my fantasies and memories of the humiliating and arousing encounter on the subway. I was back in the waiting room, waiting to be interviewed. With the door open, I could finally hear what was beyond, though I could not see. It sounded like a combination of an orgy and some sort of perverse boot camp. The sounds and even faint smells of sex were unmistakable.

Then the door closed, and all I could hear was muffled voices and faint moans again.

Except for one thing. There was one thing I could hear clearly. It was the sharp click of a woman’s stiletto heels approaching me. Was my interview about to begin?