Page 11 of Dominant

She nodded.

“I’d like to hire you as an accountant for Abbott Holdings.” Her beautiful hazel eyes widened. “You’ll stay on as the accountant for the winery, only now you’ll get paid, and you can also help with my other accounts and finances. Does that sound good?”

She stared at me, so I repeated myself.

“Does that sound good?”

Slowly, blinking her eyes, she nodded her head, as Marianne opened the door and walked in.

“Jordan is a new employee,” I informed her. “Have her sign her tax forms and write up an employment contract. She’ll be full-time, working as an accountant. Make sure you offer her a competitive salary.”

Marianne nodded, while Jordan still stared at me, hazel eyes wider than ever.

“And you,” I turned to Jordan, “Negotiate for a better one. Don’t settle for what she offers you.”

I waved my hand to dismiss them, and lowered my head back down to my work. Marianne ushered Jordan out, and I heard the door shut behind them.

In the silence of the room, my thoughts turned. I didn’t want to get sexually distracted by Jordan Starck, but it couldn’t hurt to have her close - especially knowing that she had close access to the Andilets but maybe not complete loyalty to them. I spun a pen thoughtfully on my desk and then allowed myself a smile. Jordan Starck could actually be a great asset to Abbott Holdings… if I played my cards right.

On Christmas Eve, I headed over to the club. It had been almost two weeks since I’d been there, and I parked in the small lot behind the sprawling historical home that housed the club and approached the back entrance. We didn’t use the front entrance; members preferred to enter and exit in the privacy of the rear. An initiate opened the door, a young man, and I showed him my pendant more out of custom than necessity. All the initiates knew who I was, even with my mask on. He held the door open, and bowed low, uttering, “Master,” in greeting.

The clubhouse was elegant at nighttime, even if we were getting tight on space. The initiates had lit the gas lamps - original features of the house - and quiet music was playing throughout the house’s speaker system. I felt myself relax as I walked down the wide main hall, and wondered why I hadn’t been coming to the club more often. It was a special place.

Several members were mingling throughout the various rooms on the first floor. In the living room, a group of four masked men sat in a circle of plush club chairs, laughing loudly. Their suit jackets were slung over the chairs and their ties were loosened. Passing an initiate in the hallway, I asked her to hang up their jackets and ensure they were comfortable.

“Yes, Master,” she answered, bowing.

I found Mark in the parlour room, sitting on the pink couch in the centre of the room. We always tended to sit in the same spot. There was a bar in the parlour, which was at least part of why we always sat there. An initiate quickly poured me a scotch without having to be told, bowing low to me as she served it. It was Lagavulin, the brand I always drank, and I smiled at her indulgently. I appreciated when they paid attention to details like personal preferences.

“Merry Christmas,” said Mark, raising his glass, and I clinked mine against it.

We’d only been sitting a minute when an initiate approached us and kneeled at our feet, lowering her head and waiting for our acknowledgement. She was completely naked, and her blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back.

“Speak,” said Mark indifferently, and she raised her head. She had beautiful high, round breasts, and I felt a small stirring at the sight of them.

I’d been increasingly preoccupied with the idea that the club wasn’t right for me, that my own sexual needs hinged on something different. I needed a real sub of my own, I’d started thinking, someone who was permitted to leave these four walls. But seeing the girl’s perfect breasts, I began to question my reasoning. Was there anything more perfect than this? What was my life like, that I become dissatisfied with having a willing harem of submissive slaves?

“Masters,” she said deferentially. “It would honour me to serve you. Is there anything you would have me do?”

I looked at her, considering, but Mark responded quickly.

“No,” he answered impatiently. “Bring us the new girl, and if we want you later, we’ll call for you.”

“Yes, Master,” she responded, bowing her head again, rising and back away without revealing any disappointment at Mark’s words.

“Who’s the new girl?” I asked him.

“I haven’t seen her,” he shrugged. “But she started yesterday and I’m curious.”

“X!” boomed a voice from across the room. I looked up to see Sir Vicious striding towards us. He pulled back one of the club chairs across from us, and sat down.

Along with wearing masks, all members went by pseudonyms, and were usually addressed by the titles Master or Sir. I was X, because it was vague, and Mark was B, because, as he explained, he liked basketball. The pseudonyms chosen usually reflected the member’s personality in some way.

“How are you, Vicious?” I asked politely. I didn’t care much for Sir Vicious, and I knew Mark didn’t either, but we treated all members of the club with respect. Besides, I happened to know who he was: Simon Merriman, the Governor General. He had a lot of money, but more importantly than that, he had a lot of power.

“I’m fine,” he said grumpily, “but I’m feeling a little crowded, if you know what I mean.”

I smiled politely. “I do, yes. But I’ve made some progress on our new space. I’m hoping we can close on it very soon.”

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