Sherrie took her seat, crossing her legs. This was new territory for her, and she wanted to ensure she was making the best impression. She’d gone for the ripped jeans over the fishnets, a loose-fitting IME T-shirt instead of the bodice that gave her the illusion of curves. She’d tied back her mane of strawberry blonde curls. The final look was… approachable, just another person on the street.
And then she decided she had to represent her profession, and threw on a black leather trench coat on over the ensemble. It was a decision that she had started to regret ten minutes earlier, when the heat had started to creep in. Sherrie took a sip from her water bottle and considered the pair in front of her.
Aiden was the one who’d set this all up, the one she’d spoken to on the phone – a striking young man, unshaven, ink-black hair dripping down to his shoulders. A look too polished to be effortless. There was an intelligence behind those cold blue eyes, but not focus. His eyes wandered occasionally toward Sherrie’s modest breasts.
She couldn’t remember the name of Aiden’s partner (Casey, she wanted to say?). The girl was heavyset and kind of androgynous, with an unflattering bowl cut and horn-rimmed glasses. Where Aiden stared, she seemed to be frightened to look Sherrie in the eye, keeping her attention fully on the notepad in front of her.
“Should we get started?” asked Aiden.
Sherrie swallowed her irritation. These were newbies, after all.
Aiden placed the device on the table between them and pressed a button. A green light came on. It was showtime.
“Would you mind introducing yourself, please?” he asked.
Sherrie smiled. “My working name is Madame Oubliette. I was born in Calgary and moved here in nineteen ninety-eight. I’ve been a dominatrix for seven years.”
“And you charge for these services?”
“It’d be hard to pay my bills if I didn’t.”
The line got a smirk out of his partner, but Aiden didn’t react. It was too early to tell if his interest was just clinical or if he had no sense of humour.
“Is ‘Madame Oubliette’ your birth name?”
Sherrie’s smile froze. “Can we stop the recording, please?”
Aiden pressed a button. Once she saw the light fade, Sherrie leaned over, her coat loudly squeaking with her movement.
“I just want to remind you, nice young folks, that what I do falls into a legal grey zone. I’ve got a livelihood to protect, so there are a few things I can’t – that I shouldn’t – say, even if it’s just for your article. You understand?”
It was a trick she’d learned in her line of work, couching instructions in the form of questions. It gave her a way to check in with clients without breaking character, especially in more stressful or extreme scenes. But it was still an instruction, and the pair were bright enough to pick up on that.
“Excuse us,” said the girl, and she ushered Aiden off to the side.
Sherrie took in her surroundings while the two of them conferred. The room, set within the bowels of the university campus, was small and windowless. The round desk in front of her took up most of the space, save for a couple of small cubicles against the wall behind her. It reminded Sherrie of the life she’d almost had – what was it, ten years ago?
“This is a waste of time,” she overheard Aiden whisper, “You said that Professor Davis would bust a nut over this thesis. What is some whore with a whip supposed to tell us about mental health?”
“She’s here now. Do you have a better idea?”
The pair made their way back to the table, clearly unaware they’d been overheard.
“Sorry for the interruption,” muttered Aiden. “Do you mind if we continue?”
“Works for me,” said Sherrie, stretching. “You both go to school here? I remember hearing you were in the Psychology program. You’re getting your Master's?”
“As I was saying,” said Aiden smoothly, “my partner and I are examining the connection between men in positions of power and a desire for sexual submission. As you’re a preeminent expert on this subject— “
Sherrie’s laughter drowned out the rest of her prepared speech.
“Is there something funny?”
“I’ll say. I’m hardly the top name in these parts - Lady Grimalkin’s retired, so she could tell you far more than I could without getting into trouble. That is, if you can find her, of course, she’s a very private lady. And Queen Ng’s been at this way longer than me, but she’s had so much trouble with the cops and Immigration that you’ll need a client reference before she’ll talk to you. No, you came to me because I’m the only one with an ad in the adult personals. I’ll help where I can, but I’m hardly the expert you’re describing.”
A girl could dream, though. BDSM was peeking its way back into the mainstream, and Sherrie was sure there was a safe income to be made from teaching what she knew to a mature but eager public. At the very least, she might not go into debt just to afford the tools of her trade – latex was expensive.
Aiden was biting his lip. “Fine. But for the purposes of our study, you do interact with… clients… who work in prominent or well-paying fields, correct?”
“I haven’t had a check bounce yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking if the men you service are involved in prestige positions such as medical professionals, politicians, celebrities…”
“Yes. I’ve had clients from all walks of life. The rich ones are just more likely to afford me more than once.”
“What kind of services do these wealthy customers pay for, and are these considered exceptional in your line of work?” Aiden looked up from her partner’s notepad. “With details, if you can.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? I can’t imagine it’s a confidentiality thing, I mean, you’re not a doctor or a lawyer.”
Sherrie didn’t care for the young man’s tone. “It’s called discretion, and I can’t keep my clients without it. You want to know what’s going on in the heads of people who want to be whipped, or tied up, or put in chastity? Then ask them.”
Casey (?) never even looked up, but went beet red at the reprimand. Interesting.
But Aiden was the one demanding her attention, his face twisted into an angry smirk. Not very professional for an academic, even one of his age.
That made Sherrie focus. The difference between twenty-one and twenty-five was subtle, but not impossible to spot.
“Oh my God,” she realized, “You’re undergrads. You’re not writing for an academic journal; this is for some paper that nobody but your professor is ever going to read.”
“It’s a legitimate area of study,” the girl murmured.
“Shut up, Kelsey,” Aiden snapped. “Okay, Ms. Oubliette, cards on the table. No, we’re not writing for a university periodical. My partner and I came up with this idea—“
“You mean your partner did.” As if there was any doubt which of the two deserved credit. “And it’s Madame Oubliette, thank you.”
“—Our professor really liked the deviant sexuality angle, and my GPA is riding on this assignment. Look, I’m not writing a book here. I’m just asking you a few questions, and I’m prepared to pay you for your time if necessary. Should forty bucks be enough?”
Sherrie could have handled the young man’s arrogant attitude on its own, or his lowball offer, but not both. Without another word, she stood up from the table and brushed off her coat.
Kelsey whispered something hurriedly to her partner.
“Wait!” Aiden shot up from the table so quickly that he nearly knocked it over. “What if we, like, pay for one of your basic packages and then just count it toward this conversation?”
Sherrie paused. The boy thought he was being clever, but he didn’t have the first idea what he was asking for. His lack of respect was insulting. His lack of curiosity, though… that was downright shameful.
A wicked smile crossed her lips, unseen by the students behind her.
“If I charge for a service, I provide that service. What did you have in mind?”
“You could… I don’t know, tie us to a chair or something?”
“Sure. First, I’m going to need at least thirty feet of nylon rope.”
Aiden looked helplessly to his partner. Sherrie sighed,
“Let me offer an alternative. Were either one of you spanked as kids?”
The two were deadly quiet for a moment. Aiden offered a faint, “Yes.”
Sherrie didn’t believe him for an instant, but it was the opening that she needed. She retrieved her chair from its place beside the table and set it down in the centre of the room. Finally, she shed her coat and tossed it into the unresisting Kelsey’s hands.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Sherrie explained, “For a hundred dollars, you get two minutes over my knee. At the end of that time, I will answer your question, provided that it’s appropriate.”
“One hundred? For all of our questions?” asked Aiden hopefully.
“For one question. After that, they’re free, but you have to spend another two minutes in the hot seat for each one. Do we have a deal?”
She really thought he would haggle. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and passed a handful of bills to Sherrie, who slipped them into her bra and beckoned toward the naughty boy standing in front of her.
Aiden’s skinny jeans might as well have been painted on. The young man’s figure was impressive, his butt tight but with more roundness to it than Sherrie would have imagined on first glance. A straight woman might have swooned at the sight. Thankfully, Sherrie didn’t have that handicap.
Across the table, Kelsey was helpfully starting a timer on her digital watch.
“Are you ready, honey?” asked Sherrie.
“Whatever. Just get this over wi—yaaah!”
Maybe Aiden hadn’t taken her offer seriously, or assumed by her scrawny frame that Sherrie couldn’t pack a wallop. He was wrong either way.
In Sherrie’s experience, memory was a funny thing. When it came to spankings, people tended to remember how they felt before and after they took their licks – if they were afraid or resigned, sorry or defiant. But during? The shock was new each time.
By the time the alarm sounded, Aiden was see-sawing over Sherrie’s lap, howling and flailing at his backside like a scalded cat. Sherrie suspected that at least some of the noise was for show – denim, as she knew from experience, was pretty good at absorbing the impact of a good spanking if not the sting.
“So, young man, what’s your question?”
With her partner distracted, Kelsey took the lead. “In your experience, do people from certain occupations tend toward particular tastes or fetishes?”
“No. Look, I’ve met a few stockbrokers who were into cock-and-ball torture, but I don’t assume that anyone who works in finance shares the same interest. Besides, if it’s not part of the scene, it doesn’t really matter what they do for a living?”
“But you know what they do, right?” Aiden asked breathlessly from his perch. “I mean, you do your research on these guys before seeing them, right?”
Sherrie was impressed. The lad was smarter than she looked - but apparently, not much smarter.
“Is that another question? Kelsey, start the timer.”
“Wait, I wasn’t thinking! Ow ow ow owww!”
The next two minutes passed quickly, but loudly. The building had been nearly empty when Sherrie had arrived, but she was starting to worry about Aiden’s bellyaching bringing unwanted attention. Besides, those tight jeans were leaving marks on Sherrie’s hand like she’d pressed it on a waffle iron.
“To answer your question,” she continued, “I do vet my clients, but their jobs are less important to me than things like where they want to meet. A condo in midtown is good. A lousy motel five minutes from the county line is bad. Somebody who works in an office might bring me into their place of business after hours. It’s about convenience, and that discretion thing we talked about earlier.”
She released her hold on Aiden, who staggered back to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster – until the pull of muscle reignited the embers in the seat of his pants, making him yelp and hop from one foot to the other. Sherrie knew better than to laugh; she’d seen harder men than him do the same dance.
“Well, kids, it’s been a slice, but I can’t afford to wear out my slapping hand. Best of luck on your paper, I hope you both get A’s.”
“W-we’re not going to get anything,” Kelsey sputtered, “We don’t have enough documentation to finish the paper.”
“You’re welcome to switch places,” Aiden snarled back, still rubbing his backside.
Sherrie couldn’t help but notice the pudgy girl staring throughout her partner’s spanking. Kelsey had been mesmerized, her breath short, her blood rushing. Was she imagining herself in the role of dominant, getting back at her pushy assignment partner? Or did she want to be the one on the receiving end of Sherrie’s hand?
But when Aiden spoke, Kelsey shrank back into herself. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Sherrie grimaced. “Well, Aiden, you’re the client here. How important is this paper?”
Pretty important, it seemed. Aidan turned to his partner. “One more.”
“Wonderful. Bend over, hands on the desk.”
“What?”
Sherrie strode to the front of the room, one foot in front of the other, her hard-toed shoes clicking off the laminate. “I told you, there’s only so much I can do with my hand. But while I might not carry climbing rope on my person, I’m quite good at improvising the things I need.”
Under the whiteboard against the far wall, she’d noticed a meter stick sitting on a rail. Solid maple, old, the numbers having mostly faded. She took a fencing stance, her wrist straightening with the wood. It was thinner than a paddle, longer than a cane, but the principle was no different.
She turned back toward Aiden. He assumed the position, his body stiff with determination even as his eyes screamed in silent terror. Sherrie crossed behind, once more admiring her target. The boy had a body that was going to break some hearts before he graduated, she was sure.
She tapped the ruler against Aiden’s quivering cheeks.
“Ask your question.”
“Have you ever had a customer offer to pay extra to do something you didn’t agree to?” asked Kelsey, breaking her silence.
Sherrie sighed and pulled her arm back. “All the time.”
There was a whoosh of air as the stick shot forward. It hit like a rifle shot, so suddenly that Aiden didn’t even cry out until a second afterward.
“Power’s a fragile thing. You think you have it because people do what you tell them, but that can change in an instant.”
Whoosh. Crack. Shriek.
“I get paid for the illusion of taking power from people. But the customer’s got control over my livelihood. My reputation. My safety.”
Whoosh. Crack. Shriek.
“So you do what they want, because they have the power – but you never, ever remind them of that. They won’t respect you—“
Whoosh. Crack. Shriek.
“—they won’t obey you—“
Whoosh. Crack. Shriek.
“—and after that, you’re just a whore with a whip. Don’t tie yourself down with limits – but the ones you have, you never bend.”
Aiden was shaking, and Sherrie reluctantly admitted that the rude young man had probably had enough. With any luck, the staged punishment may have even taught him some manners.
“You took that well, son. You get your money’s worth?”
Aiden nodded mutely, his teeth wearing into his lip. Well, it was a start.
Sherrie picked up her coat from Kelsey, then, on a whim, reached into one of the pockets and retrieved a business card.
“When you get there, look me up,” she said quietly, “and leave your friend at home.”
Kelsey took the card with a sheepish grin. Unexpectedly, she wrapped Sherrie in a sudden hug, and then went to console her partner.
It was a long walk back to the bus stop at the student centre, but Sherrie welcomed the time to think. Sure, she would have enjoyed the prestige of being cited in an academic paper, but the crinkle in her bra reminded her that prestige didn’t buy groceries. She’d gotten to teach – really teach! – and her vision for the future was clearer than ever. She would have to bring a few tools to her next demonstration, though—definitely some rope.
And she suspected that she’d see Kelsey again, too.
All in all, not bad for an afternoon!
