Risk Versus Reward Ch. 01

A young woman's journey into submission.

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Author's Note

If you are a regular reader of my work on Literotica then you are no doubt aware of the characters of Mistress Natasha and her lovely submissive wife Charlotte. And if you happen to have read their very first story entitled Girl Friday, then you also know how the two of them met. You may even remember that there was a rather interesting agency that provided the introduction, and that Charlotte had what could be considered a very unique interview experience with Karin, the person Charlotte simply referred to as 'the H.R. lady'.

Well, as Natasha and Charlotte continue on their adventures with their new partner in crime, Juliet, I've decided that maybe Karin could be something more than just 'the H.R. lady', and this tale focuses on her. You can think of it as a prequel to the Mistress and Charlotte tales. In it you will find clues as to how this agency that matches open-minded young women with well-off older clients seeking companionship came into being. You'll also get a peek into Karin's motivation for joining this agency. And let's be honest about it, hopefully you'll get some sexy tingles as well.

I'll be posting rough draft previews regularly on my website which you can find listed in my Literotica profile page. It requires a username and password to keep the under eighteen crowd at bay, so pay attention to that. Also keep in mind that these are works in progress and may not represent the end product or even be completed chapters. Once I am satisfied with the way the chapter is shaping up I will release the final draft on Literotica for your entertainment. I'm also saying to hell with the ratings on this series. You may leave comments, but no stars upon thar.

I hope you enjoy Karin's story.

WaxPhilosophic

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Prologue

Most people probably think you have to be some kind of slut to work in a place like this -- running around as I do, naked except for cat ears, a diamond-studded collar and a furry buttplug tail -- serving drinks to horny middle-aged business women who aren't exactly shy about putting their hands on me. But I'm not really into the whole slut-shaming thing, and in all honesty it was a simple business decision. Call it supply and demand, risk versus reward, whatever you want, but it all boils down to me getting myself out of this shitty town and into a comfortable life. And I wasn't planning to work here forever, just long enough to get myself through The Academy.

Once I completed my education, I was hoping to settle down with a nice long-term client assignment -- preferably a little older, very wealthy, very beautiful, and not at all shy about getting what she wants. Not that I was terribly picky -- after all this was a business decision not courtship -- but my goal at this point was a nice wealthy woman looking for a cute little piece of ass to keep her entertained whenever she was at home. Entertaining dominant women was something I was good at, and I had made it my specialization during my education.

By now you're probably wondering about this education I keep referring to, and maybe if you come from a situation like mine you're thinking, Where can I sign up? Well like I said before, it's all risk versus reward, so let me give you a little background before you make any decisions, OK?

I grew up in Bumfuck, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, Michigan in the good old U.S. of A. It's not actually called Bumfuck, but it might as well be. Now some of you might be familiar with Detroit as the automobile capital of the world, or the home of some of the greatest R&B and Soul artists ever recorded -- Diana Ross and Smokey Robinson cruising down the boulevard in a shiny new Chrysler 300. Well, let me put that thought right out of your mind, because that is so yesterday.

These days, the two fastest growing things we've got going are unemployment numbers and the amount of unhealthy particulates in our water supply. Oh, and I suppose crack cocaine and homelessness, but I haven't managed to hit that low just yet. There's really no reason to stick around Bumfuck, Michigan, but home values are so low that most people can't afford to sell and go somewhere else, somewhere nice and less toxic. So those of us who are left have very few opportunities.

College, you're thinking. A college education is the ticket to a better life. It probably is, if you can afford it and if you have a job waiting for you when you're all finished. But I didn't come from such a life of privilege and I've always had to make my own opportunities. Fortunately for me, I'm not the only one looking to make opportunities to get the hell out of Bumfuck and some other clever entrepreneur had already blazed that trail, showing me and others like me a way straight out of here and into the good life.

Not that this trail is paved with gold or any fairy tale shit like that. It's hard work and does not always present the most comfortable of choices, but you may have heard me mention supply and demand, risk and reward. There are many decisions along the path, but the choice is always mine, never forced. Take these cute little gold bells that I have clipped to my nipples right now. Do they hurt? Hell yes, especially coming off. But are they good for attracting the client's attention and keeping my bank account filled with gratuities? Definitely. Risk versus reward, that's all there is to it.

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Chapter 1: Welcome to The Academy

The first big risk I took was walking through the front door that afternoon on my very first day of education. I was gathered in a small knot of two dozen or so other girls all looking just about like me, like they'd seen it all and this was the last stop on the line. Very few of them smiled or even spoke, and if they did it was just nervous chit-chat like, What do you think the food is like in the cafeteria? or Do you think there's any boys at this school and what time do you suppose curfew is? I don't think any of us had expected we'd be asked to strip and put our clothes in a box before we would be allowed to proceed in from the lobby.

It was interesting the way it was communicated to us too. Nobody barked orders at us and told us to get naked. There was just this set of flat-panel monitors, the kind you see all over the place these days, monitors that lit up with a short animation showing a cartoon woman undressing and then proceeding through the doorway with a smile. Another animation showed a woman with clothes still on making her way back to the exit, shoulders hunched and clearly frowning. It was a bit much maybe, but it got the point across. The choices were clear, the risks and rewards well laid out.

It took a few moments to sink in, the fact that we were being asked to strip down right here and right now. A few girls glanced around nervously, seeming to be frozen in place. Some of us tried the doors to see if it was some kind of prank, but the only doors that were unlocked were the ones we had come through from the parking lot. After that little discovery, one girl wrapped her hands around the hem of her t-shirt and tugged it over her head. I watched her wad it up and toss it in the box at her feet. As she hopped around on one leg slipping her shoes off, I made my decision.

We lost about a quarter of our group at that point. But not me. I figured what the hell? I'd come this far and I wasn't about to let a little exhibitionism put me off. Plus I was proud of my body and the way I looked. My boobs weren't huge, but they were firm, and I was slim-waisted with an ass that just wouldn't quit. So I shimmied out of my clothes and put them in the box without so much as a second thought. Most of the remaining girls seemed to perk up a bit too, standing a little straighter, chins high and pushing their chests out as they stripped.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle my nerves. It was still weird, standing around naked with a bunch of girls I'd never met before, trying not to stare too long at the various bodies in the room. After a while I kind of gave up and let my eye wander. I could see some of the others had come to that decision as well and we all scanned the room, at first discreetly and then unabashedly as we sized up each others physical assets. There wasn't a bad-looking girl in the room.

There were voluptuous bodies with ample bosoms and nice jiggly asses. There were some petite little things that probably only weighed a buck and change -- still cute though in their own way with their tiny tits and virtually non-existent hips. The rest were made up with bodies like mine, slim and athletic. Average to tall high-breasted girls with long legs that showed the cut of their muscles under their taut young skin.

I felt my nipples begin to tighten as I looked around and watched the eyes crawling over me. I've drawn the eye of a few guys over my lifetime, but never the women. Or at least if they were checking me out they were being tactful about it and I just didn't notice. But here in the lobby the choices were either staring at the floor or somebody's boobs. So I looked at a lot of boobs for the next fifteen or so minutes. Big ones, small ones, perky ones, heavy ones, but interestingly enough no fake ones. And nipples -- big silver dollar nipples all the way to tiny little upturned darts. I wasn't feeling confident enough to start scanning faces yet, but there were an awful lot of boobs to keep me occupied.

In the midst of my categorizing and classifying the profusion of human mammaries, I began to wonder what was next. The admission letter I had received had only mentioned showing up for orientation no later than 3:00 p.m., and did not state what said orientation was all about. But that letter had also offered clear assurance that we would always have a choice in everything we did and that we were free to leave at any time, so I didn't think it would be too bad. And honestly, I was standing around in a cluster of naked girls while we silently checked each other out. How much weirder could it get?

There was a soft chime and the doors between us and the next room opened up smoothly and automatically. We all shuffled forward to find out.

* * * *

The next room on our journey is what I would call the grooming room, and it actually had people in it. I suppose that was one of the perks that came with the decision to get naked, you got to see actual human faces besides those you had entered with. There were a handful of very alluring young women all clad in white lab coats and decked out in nerdy black-framed glasses. Though I suspected that the glasses were more of a prop than anything else, probably orchestrated to complete the sexy lab assistant look, because I could see they all wore coordinated lingerie, stockings, and heels underneath.

The flat-panel monitors above were busy showing us cartoon pussies. I giggled just a bit when I first caught sight of it, the cartoon pussies, but the message was quite clear. There was a smooth mound with a dollar sign next to it and a rather shaggy looking bush with a red X over the dollar sign. Once I saw that, I realized what the lab coat brigade was here for and quickly lined up at one of their tables. I already kept myself trimmed, so I figured how bad could it be? Yeah, right.

My lab coat girl was nice enough about it though and told me whenever it was going to hurt so I could prepare, and she had this really cute Eastern European accent. She said it as, Just little sting now, OK? Except that little rhymed with beetle as she ripped the hair from my body in inch-wide swaths. It was cute up until about the fifth one. Risk and reward, I told myself, risk and reward as I grunted and tried to focus on the dollar sign rather than the heat rising from my between my legs.

Though in the end it turned out that the reward was much better than the cartoon had suggested. My groomer whispered that fifty dollars -- she said it as feefty dollars, so cute -- had already been deposited in my account since I didn't have any pockets to put it in. And while she shared with me this bit of accounting detail, she was gently rubbing her oiled palm over the hot patch of skin that she had just laid bare. The nice thing about using the heel of her hand for the massage was that it left her fingers free to tease me open a bit, exposing my growing wetness. I shuddered just a little as she mentioned pockets, because at that very moment she plunged her finger deep inside as she whispered that the only alternative would be to put it in here and then kissed me on the cheek.

By the time she was finished with her massage and explaining about all the places the money could go I had a smile on my face and I was actually thanking her profusely for ripping my pubes out at the root. Risk versus reward, baby. Risk versus reward.

* * * *

That grooming session was the first time I had ever let a woman stick her finger in my pussy, or anything else in my pussy for that matter. And it wasn't so bad. She didn't get me off or anything, I don't think that was the point, and I know we didn't really have that kind of free time in our schedule this afternoon. But she was tender and she knew right where to rub me to make me remember our little encounter with fondness. As I look back on it, that was probably the first step on my way to my wanting a dominant woman as my client assignment.

The other reinforcement came from the fact that this was definitely an all-girl school with an interesting instructional curriculum. I came to this little revelation as we were called to assemble for the evening meal. As we waited en masse outside of the dining hall -- nothing but a sea of jiggling boobs and smooth mounds as far as I could see -- the flat-panel animations displayed another pair of choices.

One animation showed a pair of cartoon girls who had their wrists bound together with rope. They were sitting down to enjoy a nice gourmet meal, while a single forlorn unbound cartoon girl in another animation sat slumped in front of what I can only describe as vending machine food. I mean wrapped up in cellophane and everything, the kind of preservative-laden cheese sandwich that you only find in airports or train stations. Cartoon girl was actually frowning after she picked it up and took her first bite. I think I'd be frowning too if I had to eat that thing.

Fortunately for me I had no aversion to being tied, and I was lucky enough to find myself a nice left-handed girl to rope in with for any easy dining experience. We had a little trouble at first, but one of the lovely lab-coated assistants was right over to help us out. Obviously we sat next to each other. I wouldn't say it was like a date, but it was nice. She smelled good and I probably did too, since a twenty dollar stipend had encouraged us all to take showers before dinner.

I found out that her name was Desirée, but that I should call her Desi because all her friends did and she hoped that we could be friends. I told her that my name was Karin and that we could certainly be friends from here on out.

Desi was from out of state having traveled all the way from Chicago to get here. I asked her if things were as bad in Chicago as they were in Detroit and how she found out about the school. She said that her prospects back home were indeed pretty dim and that she had heard about the school from a friend who had graduated just this year and was already doing quite well. I thought that was pretty cool since I didn't know anybody who had been here and now I had a friend.

Our dinner was spent in quiet conversation and one-handed enjoyment of our meals. We sat side by side on a bench seat that left very little wiggle room. As a result Desi and I were squished up next to each other with our legs touching and no place to rest our bound hands except on either my thigh or hers. That's OK, Desi was cute and friendly so I didn't mind. And about halfway into the evening we were tickling each others knees just for something to do.

"So what do you think of the place?" Desi asked as her finger drew lazy circles over the gooseflesh she was bringing up on my thigh.

"It's kind of like a lesbian Hogwarts, don't you think? Except with lab coats instead of the robes."

Desi snickered a bit. "And no bearded old wizards with charmed long-staffs, thank goodness."

"Yeah," I said. "Thank goodness for that."

Desi shifted a little on the bench. "Did you know it was an all girl school when you signed up?" she asked.

"Nope. But I don't mind really, all these girls are pretty easy on the eyes."

"Good thing though," she said. "I mean, can you imagine trying to eat dinner with some dude walking around with his junk all hanging out?"

I laughed so hard I snorted, and then lowered my voice to a whisper. "Did you get a little something extra with your bikini wax?"

"Oh my god yes." Desi turned a slight shade of crimson as she turned her face to me. "You too? I thought I was the only one. What did you think?"

I felt a stirring down below as I thought about that for a second. "I kind of liked it. I don't know. I've never fooled around with a woman before -- but -- but it was nice, you know? Gentle."

"And the expertise." Desi turned a shade darker. "Holy shit. She nearly pushed me over the edge with one touch. My ex-guy couldn't get me there in a million years and I usually ended up faking it so he wouldn't mope for days around afterwards."

So there we sat roped together at the wrist, enjoying a nice meal and a pleasant conversation, me and my new friend Desi. And let me tell you the food was nothing short of extraordinary. Everything was five-star quality and cooked to perfection. And they even served dessert at the end of it all. Desi had Tiramisu and I went with a classic chocolate sundae with a cherry on top.

Desi said she wanted my cherry, but I told her I wasn't ready to give it up for her just yet. That had us practically in stitches as we slapped our bound hands on each others thighs and tried not to snort too loud. But as I looked around I saw several other pairs of girls in what looked like the same happy predicament. Everyone had made a friend that evening it seemed. I smiled and let out an easy sigh, comfortable for now that I had made the right decision in coming here.

As things were winding down and dishes were being cleared, at tall woman sporting close-cropped blonde hair and a form-fitting dark pencil skirt and jacket strode into the room, her heels clicking as she did. That was enough to bring the roar of voices down to about half volume. And when she lifted a goblet to tap it with a spoon, a complete silence fell over the room.

"Good evening girls. My name is Miss Hendricks and I am the headmistress of this little educational enterprise," she said. I perked right up. She had one of those sexy British accents that tickled my eardrums much like the lovely Lady Mary Crawley did every Sunday night on Downton Abbey. This woman could have been reading her grocery list and it would have sounded sexy. But as it was, she was set on congratulating us all on our first day.

"You've all had a chance to experience a little taste of life at The Academy." That's what she called it, The Academy, with a capital T and a capital A that you could hear in the inflection of her voice. "By now you have come to realize that we set high standards in what we ask of you. And hopefully you have also taken note of the generous rewards that come with your satisfactory performance."

I glanced around the room to see several girls nodding and smiling. Seventy bucks so far just to show up for a waxing and a shower, and a gourmet meal to boot. Not bad, not bad at all. While we were mulling this over, I noticed some of the lab coat girls had lined up around the perimeter of the room with trays crowded full of bubbling champagne flutes.