Helpless
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2005 by Nina

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 29-year old Traci is trying to dig herself out of a string of awful luck--a recent divorce, some credit problems, and general feeling of despair. A random meeting with a mysterious, attractive couple becomes a turning point in her life, where a lot more than just her outlook gets turned around.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Blackmail   Mind Control   Lesbian   BiSexual   Heterosexual   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   FemaleDom   Spanking   Light Bond   Humiliation   Interracial   White Male   White Female   First   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Sex Toys   Squirting   Cream Pie   Exhibitionism   Slow   Transformation  

I could not tear my eyes away from Dana. Nor could I tear my ears away from her words, or for that matter, any of my senses from their piqued state of focus on her, on everything that was her. She was speaking to me, and I felt like the sponge that I was perhaps in my third grade class, during my favorite subject. Oh, but this was a totally new school.

"One of the reasons I had to introduce you to my... specialized field," she said, letting go of my chin now, "was because it would have been silly and awkward to try and hide it from you. Also, I have a client coming here in about ten minutes. That means you can try your hand at greeting him at the door, and escorting him up to me."

Adrenaline coursed through me, and my mouth dropped open. "Dana—I mean, Mistress Dana, what do I say... how do I—?"

She smiled down at me. "Very simple, sweetie. 'Good morning, sir. I am Traci, Mistress Dana's assistant. Mistress is ready for you., please follow me.' Then you come upstairs, and he follows. You knock on the door, and I will usually just tell you to let them in, since I will be expecting them. Then you go back downstairs, and resume whatever it is you were doing before the doorbell rang."

I nodded, taking it all in. I was beyond excitement. This was such a new world to me, and I was going to be part of it. On the outside, yes, but part of it. It thrilled me in ways I could not have ever imagined.

"Now, Traci, there will be times when I am not ready. In which case, I will inform you via the intercom..." she walked to the wall and tapped the box on near the door, which I had missed entirely, "... and you will seat our guest, and offer him or her a drink."

"Ok," I nodded. Him or her?

She smiled, and closed her eyes briefly. "No, honey. 'Yes, Mistress.' Not 'ok'."

"Oh, I'm sorry—yes, Mistress."

"Better."

I felt a certain chill just then. There were rules here, guidelines, expectations. I had much to learn. There most likely would be, I suddenly realized, consequences for my failures, wouldn't there? What would they be?

Little by little, the real Dana was coming into view for me. And so was my role in her life, moment by moment, unfolding, here on my knees on her carpet, and her, resplendent in her sexy black outfit, shapely, unwavering--dominant. No wonder I had been drawn to her. But didn't that mean that I, somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, had a need to be dominated, or to submit to someone like her? I still didn't completely grasp that. The nuances, the detail of serving a dominatrix, being her housekeeper, was about to take full form when she spoke again, and when I answered.

"Traci, tomorrow you and I will go shopping for your outfit."

I looked at her quizzically. What outfit? I wondered.

"You can't be what I need you to be, dressed like that." She nudged the toe of her boot against the hip of my terrycloth shorts. "My clients expect a certain atmosphere when they come here. You will be the first person they see, and you must be part of the atmosphere. You'll wear a maid's outfit. A cute, sexy one with a short skirt. Yes," she said, looking me up and down and thoughtfully gnawing on her fingernail, "A little French maid outfit would actually be perfect for you."

For a moment I was speechless. The logical, mainstream Traci I knew 24 hours ago would have stood up and said, "No way," and never set foot in the place again. This Traci, the new one, the one who was on some sort of magic carpet ride that had started with a bout of heat exhaustion, looked up at the beautiful blonde woman and said simply, "Yes, ma'am."

"We'll have to take a picture of you and me together, too," she went on, "for my website."

"You have a website, Mistress?"

"Yes. It's really a necessity nowadays. Clients—especially ones coming in from out of town—want an easy way to see what I look like, what the services are, and what the fees are. It makes it easy for everyone all the way around."

I listened intently as she walked around me in a slow circle. "These people, Traci, come to me for special things that they cannot get anywhere else. One of their main concerns is not price, its discretion. They do not want to be revealed. The less people know about them coming in my door, the better. Some of them, when they come in the door, will be anxious about seeing someone other than me. So they need to get to know you."

"Yes, Mistress."

From behind me, she stroked my hair gently, as if to reward my proper addressing her. I loved it.

"The way they get to know you is with a picture of you on my website, and a short introduction, so there are no surprises when they get here. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Master Ryan will take the picture later, and upload it."

Master Ryan! Oh, what a heart-thumping ring that had to it! I hadn't even thought of him in the last fifteen minutes. Was I to be subservient to him as well? How much did he participate in all of this? There was so much to try and figure out here, but it was clearly going to be one minute at a time. Goodness, just an hour or so ago, I came here to innocently clean a patio, and now I was being read my marching orders by a blonde goddess who essentially would rule me. But how far did her control of me go? Who was that up to—me? Or her?

The doorbell rang just then, and Dana trailed her fingers along my shoulder as she headed up the stairs. "You're on, Traci," she said. "His name is Jack. Represent me well. I'll be watching from the top of the stairs."

I swallowed nervously, and got to my feet. No uniform, just a semi-tousled, un-made up brunette, in a terrycloth short set. Real impressive, huh?

 
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