Fallen Too Far (10 page)

“You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“
You’re
just hopeless! You got nothing to lose, and a world to gain, honey. Love, marriage, maybe even kids.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anything changes, I’ll keep you posted.”

She sat with May in her room for awhile after dinner until May started to nod off. She kissed her cheek and left. She loved visiting May but was always sad leaving. Would May be there next Sunday? And would that be her someday?

****

She checked her email when she arrived home and saw a request for a booking later in the week. One of her favorite clients from Ottawa had referred a friend of his to see her. She scanned the email from Charles.

Oh Miss Annik!

This worthless worm is so gratified that You MAY deign to give my good friend Gerald similar memories that You have given me! It has me so excited just thinking about it that i’m doing nasty things to myself with one hand as i type this! i have told my dear friend Gerald about Your strictness, about the luscious PAIN You have bestowed upon me over the last two years, and he is SO envious!

Miss Annik, the worthless scum Gerald, hopes to earn Your discipline too! Like this worm, he needs to be taught with the STRICTEST DISCIPLINE that one such as Yourself can only provide! The thought! The very thought of being able to share with another useless cur the joy of Miss Annik’s righteous pain brings this disgusting cur to a state of ecstasy!

Please email Gerald at
[email protected]
. He is praying you’ll accept him as a client after he completes his paperwork. He dared not contact you first!

As ever,

Your useless maggot,

Charles

She smiled thinking of Charles. He was retired from the military and a widower. Much as she was weary and would rather go to bed, she decided to answer Charles’s email. She closed her eyes and put herself in the role of Domme before she typed…

twit-

you do not do it enough, nor properly most times. However, you have pleased Me by giving Me what appears to be a positive client today. That remains to be seen, of course.

And as a result, upon the next encounter between us, I shall give you a list of Special Favors I may grant upon you—however, you will be permitted to choose only one.

Miss Annik

She copied and pasted Gerald’s email address into one of her template emails and sent it off. It contained a checklist, terms of service and price.

Her Accounting textbook lay on the desk and she deliberated for a moment whether she had the energy to read through it. She was completing her fourth business course and had a test later in the week to bone up for. She picked it up and went into her bedroom to settle for the night. If she was serious about Pandora’s one day, she had to have this stuff down cold.

After reading for an hour, she drifted off.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Annik sipped her coffee and booted her laptop up. Yes, as expected there was an email payment from her new client, Gerald. What? He had sent too much. She had quoted twenty-three hundred dollars not twenty-five hundred. Was this was some sort of integrity test? She composed her reply.

birdshit:

I don’t know if you’re stupid, or worse, stupid trying to be clever.

I gave you the amount for your Tribute for our encounter and you sent me the wrong amount.

Are you going to do as you’re told, or are you going to try to control things from the start? I am refunding your entire payment; you have a choice—we can part company right now, or you can send me an apology and the correct amount within one hour.

Miss Annik

She did a search on Gerald Smithers and Google responded with about twenty hits. Scanning the addresses, she saw his name. Aha! Got it. He had said that he was from Ottawa when he initially contacted her and he had been referred by Charles Bridges who also lived in Ottawa. After clicking on his name, she read that he was a retired Sergeant from the Army, who now owned a communications subcontracting company. She opened a new tab and searched on the company name. It had been operating for five years, employed fifty people and showed a net worth of somewhere between five and ten million. Yes, it looked like he was doing pretty well and his picture wasn't too bad–he had outdoor rugged good looks, but could spend a little more time at the gym.

She read through the checklist of limits and turn-ons, he had sent to her and the results of the personality scores. She was able to get a sense of what he would like. The way he answered indicated that his first turn on was service and that he liked to mix that up with medium hard beating. She re-read the list. Yes, he’s got the bad, school-boy blues.

Smithers responded with an effusive apology and the correct amount of money in twenty minutes. He begged her forgiveness, and tried to explain that he was so excited at being chosen as a Patron that he added to his Tribute as a way of showing his appreciation.

****

Smithers didn’t tell Annik that it was, in fact, an ‘Integrity Test’. He had done similar things with various suppliers in his business, to see how forthright and trustworthy they were. He was willing to forgo some money so he could see how much he could trust them. Why not apply the same principle to a Mistress he was going to pay for services? He was thrilled at Annik’s chastisement; everything his pal Charlie had said about this woman was true.

****

She sent an e-mail confirming their appointment for the next evening. They were to meet at Pandora’s at seven PM. In the greater Toronto area, Annik had several choices of locations to conduct her business. Her favorite by far was Pandora’s. It had the most extensive assortment of equipment of all the facilities. When she reserved a private room she could have it equipped to her specifications.

She twiddled her thumbs in front of her computer playing out her scene with Gerald Smithers in her mind’s eye. The spanking bench was a given, of course. She composed her email and also requested a St. Andrew’s Cross. For refreshments she ordered a tray of hors d’oeuvres, a small selection of deserts and ice water.

Gerald’s first encounter with ‘Miss Annik’ would be a memory for the rest of his life; she knew that. For it to take place at Pandora’s, well, it would be like taking a child who had wonderful memories of county fairs to Disney World for the first time. The Victorian ambiance added to the thrill of a scene.

She drummed her fingers on the desk. It had so much underutilized potential. They were closed more nights than open. If they installed just a small number of upgrades it could become a world class club appealing to international Patrons. She had the ideas and plans laid out. If her business kept going along, she’d have the cash in about a year and a half.

It was currently owned by some rich family she had never seen. Oh well…someday.

For now she was doing better than most of her counterparts in the life. That poor girl from last week
thought
she was so clever…

She turned off the computer, dressed, packed her gym bag and headed to the parking garage. She had some other errands to do, so she’d drive. Even in city traffic, her Miata was fun. In ten minutes, she was at the gym. She pushed herself in her exercise regimen. Just like a professional athlete, her body was her meal ticket.

She laughed to herself. She was pretty good at indoor sports.

As well as being the proprietor of her business, her body was its prime asset. Even if she was more intelligent, charming and focused on her client’s needs, if she was overweight, she’d be finished. Her physical appearance was the first thing clients wanted to know and see. It was shallow, but she wasn’t the one paying the fees.

After a punishing ninety minutes, using the stair master, glider and weights, she went into the shower area. Glancing at her watch, she smiled. Good timing. She wouldn’t be late for her massage. After showering and wrapping a towel around her body, she entered the massage room.

Constance, a woman in her forties was dressed in her usual mauve uniform. She smiled, welcomed Annik and patted the towel draped table.

“Hi Constance. My shoulders are really tight. I think I may have overdone it with the weights.” Annik’s hands grasped the muscle between her neck and shoulder as she walked to the table.

“No problem. Just get settled here. I’ll untangle them and you'll turn to jelly, I promise.” Constance rubbed oil into her hands. She started at the small of Annik’s back and worked her way upward, kneading, rubbing, using her fingers and elbows.

OW! Annik flinched as Constance’s fingers rolled and probed into the tense muscle.

That was a jolt of reality. Wonder if Constance has ever considered being a Pro Domme, dealing out beatings. She's a natural. She smiled at the mental picture of Constance in a vinyl cat suit, spiked heels and whip.

Constance finished her massage and gave Annik a sharp swat on her bottom.

“You like that don't you? Anyone ever tell you, you’re a sadist?” Annik teased.

“All the time Brown Sugar. That's what makes me good at what I do.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next week, same time? Pencil me in.” Annik smiled.

“Certainement ma petit bonbon!”

Back at home, after dinner and tidying up, she poured a glass of wine and sat in her living room. The focal point of the room was a large picture window overlooking the city and part of the Lake Ontario waterfront. The furniture was contemporary, modern in a deep chocolate color. She retreated to her favorite chair, situated so she could enjoy the evening sunset through the window. After tucking her legs under her, she picked up her book from the small table next to her and started to read. She managed only a few pages before her thoughts drifted off to her past—how she had gotten into this lifestyle, when she was supposed to become a psychotherapist.

It was that damn interview with Jessica that had made her so maudlin.

In high school she had seen the wonderful effect some of the guidance counselors had on students and was inspired. In her last year, she spoke with one of her favorite counselors, Mrs. Kinsey. It was time for Annik to begin to consider University—what would she study, where would she attend. In that meeting Annik told the woman she wanted to become a guidance counselor.

But Mrs. Kinsey had discouraged this and advised. “For a young woman who’s as smart—as really, really smart as you are,” she had gestured to Annik’s grades, “I think that there’s more important things someone with your gifts could be doing.”

She had pointed out that Mrs. Kinsey did important work helping the kids at the school.

Mrs. Kinsey had persisted in explaining that the kids in her school by and large had loving, stable parents, a solid financial footing in the world from the moment they were born. “Sort of like you, because your family is quite wealthy. The kids who attend here have every advantage life has to offer. Once in a while, though, there are students here who are very troubled. Some have drug or alcohol problems. Others have emotional problems that make them sick—depression for example.”

“And you help them too, Mrs. Kinsey. That’s why I-“

“No, Annik, I don’t. The really challenged students, I refer to a professional. Either a doctor or a therapist, who’s another kind of doctor. I don’t have the training, or the credentials to help those kids.”

“So what’s your point, ma’am?”

“It’s simple. With your intelligence, I believe that you could be one of the best doctors or therapists around. You could help people who need someone like you. And that’s a lot harder than becoming a high school guidance counselor.”

Mrs. Kinsey gave Annik a couple of books to read. One was about the training of a psychiatrist and the other was a series of stories by a psychotherapist. When Annik read them, she was sold. She applied to University of Toronto with the intention of becoming either a psychiatrist or a therapist.

When she entered University, Poppa and Mamma settled her in at one of the dormitories on campus. Poppa felt it would be better for her to live on her own. Yes, she was only a taxi ride from home, but Poppa said she needed to stretch her own wings.

The course work at university level was hard. Things turned around in her second semester and by her third year she had an A minus average—good enough for grad school, she hoped.

It was in her third year that Poppa died of a heart attack. Thank goodness he had been lying next to Mamma, asleep in bed; at least they had been together when he passed.

Both Poppa and Mamma, like Annik, were only children and their own parents had passed away years earlier. Their extended families had been jealous of Poppa’s success and not one relative contacted them when things went badly.

And pretty much by accident, Annik became a practitioner of the world’s oldest profession.

How would Poppa feel if he knew? Maybe, he’d be proud of her doing whatever it took to take care of Mamma, right?

Yeah, sure. It would break his heart—who was she trying to kid?