Page 17 of The Dommes

I’m being mind-fucked by Ira Mathison. I don’t think she knows it. I don’t think she cares.

One, two, three more brushstrokes. I’m done. With everything.

There’s a reason “Friday” and “frazzled” start with the same damned letters. It’s because by the end of the work week, no matter what I am doing, I only care about pulling my hair out.

These past two days have been crunch time. Donovan Mathison stopped by the office early Thursday and kindly informed us that the Anderssens would be by for a mock presentation. This meant the two of us hustling to get our shit together, which was not limited to us forcing speeches into our heads. Speeches we were going to memorize this weekend.

Let me tell you, that couple is not easy to please. I’ve heard from subs around the club that the Anderssens are hard lovers. That’s why they have their favorite mistress that they pay to keep happy because she gives them exactly what they want. Usually, I find stories like that amusing, but now I’m understanding how those professional subs feel. Because for the past two days, the Anderssens have had me under their shoes and refuse to let me go until they like what they see.

They’re not overt about it. They’re coy real estate agents who speak in code. “That’s a quaint picture,” means “Step it the fuck up, Kathleen.” Oh, and, “These figures add up well for me. I got an F in algebra, by the way,” means “Check your figures again, Ira.”

Did you know we forgot to contact an important member of the Historical Society for their input? Did you know that Annie lost another phone number that I have to take the fall for? Did you know that Ira’s ass is grass if Kennedy Anderssen gets word from one of her old real estate buddies that some snot-nosed billionaire is sniffing around public records… but those records would only interest someone wanting to demolish a cornerstone of a community?

I’m sick with worry.

Okay, you know what? We will be fine. They’re all leaving now. It’s Friday evening, even though Ira and I will be staying a few extra hours to completely overhaul our outlines – together. We will get them done. She’s ordering us take-out to beat the sting of the week.

Over Styrofoam boxes of Italian food, Ira reveals that she’s also ordered us a small bottle of wine because she needs alcohol, or so she says. Something about Kennedy and Lara continuing to flirt with her. Well, they don’t flirt with me….

“I’m not saying threesomes are a bad thing,” she says, pouring me some wine in a plastic cup because we are such classy people. “Just, you know, not with them.”

The wine isn’t the best I’ve ever had, but it works in taking the edge off. A few more sips later, I’ve already forgotten what I was so frazzled about. Something about speeches. Pfft. Whatever. I can kick a speech’s ass. Let me at ‘em. Some sort of council? I ain’t afraid of them. I’ll charm their pants off.

The food is gone, the trash taken away, but the wine is still there as I go over my outline and Ira diligently makes notes on hers. One week from today we will be in front of the council talking about our beautiful plans for The Ace. Assuming they like them enough, the Anderssens will throw a number our way. Then the negotiations begin. Then we get to work.

See? It’ll be fine.

It’s ten. The building is completely dark and empty. I sent Annie home. Security occasionally wanders by, but they know we’re here and don’t disturb us. Ira makes sure of that.

I’m on my third tiny plastic cup of wine. The bitterness burns, but I’m relaxed enough to get through my work and start thinking about going home. I usually take a cab, but since Ira’s here, maybe I can convince her to drive me home.

“I like your blouse.”

My eyes tear off my tablet and look at Ira across from me. Her jacket’s off again. Sleeves rolled up. Face is relaxed from the wine, but I can see the dark circles under her eyes. Why is she looking at my blouse?

“Thanks. I’d say I like your tie, but you’re not wearing one.”

“I avoid those things.”

“Funny. I’d think someone like you revels in having an available restraint.”

“Is that why you wear so many scarves?”

I happen to have one draped over the back of my chair. Only another Domme would think of that. And only I would think of tying Ira’s hands behind her back with my scarf. I’d tie those wrists together so she couldn’t do a damn thing as I tease her slit with my…

No. Stop it. Girl, you’re drinking wine. Last thing you need to think about is how hot this woman is, and how much hotter she would be with her hands tied and her clothes coming off, one by one. Fuck it. I’m going to be drilling myself with the vibrator again tonight, aren’t I?

Ira waves her hand in front of my face. “I see I’ve sent you to fantasy land. That’s nice, but I need you here, working.”

“I am working!”

“Uh-huh. I can only imagine how great that outline is after three cups of wine.”

“You wanna see?” I turn my laptop around. “It’s perfect.”

She gives it a cursory glance, but I can tell she doesn’t give a fuck. “It’ll be as good as it gets by next Friday, I’m sure.”

“Aren’t you worried about it?”

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