2 comments/ 53133 views/ 3 favorites The Job Fair By: BaronS PART I The newspaper was filled with the usual drama of the overnight affairs of the world and advertisers shouted out their customary diatribe of clichés. But deep in the classifieds section, a small ad caught her eye. A local company with an international base was looking for nurses. They were particularly interested in candidates who had practical experience with the physical and psychological needs of older members of the community. To capture the interest of readers, the rate of pay for the position was announced in big bold letters as being twice that of a qualified Registered Nurse. It was a small and inconspicuous notice planted in a modest square at the bottom of the employment section on page 43. In the briefest of terms the employer listed the prerequisite qualifications required of applicants. Only applicants with proof of such qualifications would be considered for an interview. Karen took her second breath and read the ad two more times. The first time solely to intoxicate her senses to the advent of finally locating the perfect job and the second time around just to reinforce the reality of the offer. She hoped fervently that she wouldn't discover any flaws in it. That was Karen's way of making sense of details, especially when her emotions were wrestling for control over her decisions. Yet, in the end, her only grumble was that the ad seemed a little odd. To be more precise, the wording of this offer of employment was more ambiguous then she would have liked. The other thing that struck her strange was that the position was a bit too high paying. Was there an aspect of this job that was being withheld to potential applicants? She hoped there wasn't. But then again she thought, there were parts of every job that were purposely kept from applicants. So Karen dismissed the 'raised' flag of her intuition and sat back to consider her current situation. Deep down, she knew that she couldn't ignore any offer for employment. Karen was desperately in need of money. She had reached the point where she was obligated to query any job, however flimsy or imperfect. In fact, a job as a clean-up matron at a fast food, drive-through joint, appealed to her as a pretty good prospect. Dropping the newspaper by her feet and abandoning her favourite chair all in one effort, she sprinted to her telephone. She still used a 'dial-up', which hung on the wall in the kitchen by the fridge. Off to the side was a cork panel. It was Karen's tote board of past, present, and future job races. It was filled with numerous post-it notes and pinned-up bits of paper. It was a gallery of all the companies she had bet on for a job, and lost. Above this was a large planning calendar with big squares for each day of the current month. There were only two entries for the current month and both had been "X"d over. They had proved to be dead ends. Duds. Motivated now by need as much as a resolve to succeed, she dialled the number from the ad. As the connection was being made, Karen thought of the recent events in her life. By education, training, and experience she was a qualified Nurse. Her most recent position had been Head of Nursing Services for the geriatric ward of the municipal hospital. But when an unplanned State election was called, everything changed. During the primaries, a private members bill introduced a 'proposition and it was eventually put on the ballot. What followed was a major consolidation of medical services. While the intent was to save millions of dollars of taxpayers' money, it would necessarily threaten livelihoods of the staff of hospitals everywhere. The outcome of the election and the popular proposition was the amalgamation of the State medical network and a new philosophy of patient care throughout the region. In short order, the election and all that went with it, caused irreparable damage to the lives of hospital workers throughout the commonwealth. Within a year, Karen and all the others were forced to suffer the indignities of a full or partial shutdown of their institution. Karen was a well-qualified and experienced nurse. Unfortunately she lacked the required tenure to secure a safe slot for her continued employment. Her experience at receiving a lay-off notice had been a caustic slice of real life. Her job loss was unwarranted, unplanned, and certainly unearned. The foreclosure of her career was paralysing. Then things got worse! Karen was a 43-year-old single mother. Her daughter was 21. Karen was an attractive woman who was fit and healthy and still interested in dating. She owned her own home and leased a new car every three years. Yet in spite of these successes and the depth of her professional nursing qualifications, her victory in finding employment remained out of reach! Six months elapsed rather quickly. By this time she had been obliged to dip into her savings and investments. Month followed month and the only movement in her life was her slide down the economic scale. As time went on there was less and less money left over for discretionary use. After payments for the mortgage, auto lease, heating oil and food were made, she and her daughter were forced to exist on little or nothing. Then her taxes went up. The cost of heating oil increased. Her phone bill was a month behind and the cable company was coming to cut off the service any day. But Karen was a fighter and apart from a career that had just collapsed into tatters, she had soldiered on. Aside from the economic stresses and strains that continued to assault her personal safety zone, she exercised her optimism with an energetic enthusiasm. That was Karen's way of doing things. She was like a used car salesman. That kind of sales tiger who on a dreary February afternoon in a drizzling rain storm, pads happily about his little sales hut, waiting patiently for the next prospect to lay a foot upon the lot. Without any relief, Karen finally began to feel a lot like the ad campaign for the local rock station; the hits just kept coming. The next roadblock preventing her from climbing out of the hole she was in was much closer to home than any other. Karen had bravely faced a showdown of will, in a no-choice situation. On top of everything else happening to her, she accepted the responsibility of managing the institutionalized care of her own mother. Helen was 79 years old and Karen was her only child. Helen had no health coverage. Karen's of course, had been withdrawn because of her lay-off. The hospital bill for her mother's first month of care was due at the end of the month. Karen didn't have the money. Neither did her mother. In addition to this, Karen's daughter was in her final year of college and her tuition was due in two months. What would she tell her daughter? Karen knew that any surplus money she had, was now earmarked for the primary elements of life. Compared to the other vital necessities for a certain dignity of life, the luxury of paying for her daughter's continued education could no longer be considered. Karen waited for her call to be answered and prayed the prayer of suffering people everywhere. 'Please, please help me,' she canted in a hushed whisper. Karen was still determined to prevail in her search for employment. She refused to give into the thought that this advertised position might be just another lost job opportunity. // "Hello. British Care Incorporated. How may I help you?" a female voice intoned softly. Karen took a deep breath, then began her well-practiced introduction of herself. After a brief conversation, Karen hung up the phone. She was ecstatic! She had done it. She had secured an appointment for an interview for the advertised position. She just knew instinctively that she was going to get it! Quickly, in order to appease the Gods of good luck, she marked the 3 p.m. time of her appointment on the calendar in big bold letters in the box for tomorrows date along with the letters C.B./ D.R./B.C.I. . Karen leaned against the kitchen wall and looked up towards the ceiling. Finally the tension that she had been struggling with over the past few months began to drain slowly from her body and soul. She rolled her eyes skyward in relief, then sighed, allowing a smile of triumph to spread wide across her face. Karen's interview would be with Carla Breaker, the Director of Recruitment for British Care Inc . // The headquarters of British Care Incorporated were located in one of the newest office towers in the city. When Karen read the tenants' directory board in the lobby she discovered that the company occupied the entire 20th floor. For Karen, this confirmed that British Care Inc. was a bona fide commercial entity with obvious financial resources. The elevator ride was swift, smooth, and quiet, and when the doors whooshed open Karen found herself walking directly into the main foyer of B.C. I. It was a spacious entrance, made more so by the fact that it was populated with only lean bits of modern deco-style furniture. Yet the power of the plush maroon coloured carpet and the backdrop of textured sandalwood beige wall coverings lent a more civilized atmosphere. Against the main wall opposite the elevator, the huge stylized logo of B.C.I. projected out from the wall in burnished stainless steel letters. In front of this, the semi-circle reception desk hunkered low as if chosen specifically for its lack of height so it wouldn't obscure the company's incorporated trademark. Karen approached the desk with trepidation. A stunningly attractive woman was working there and the moment she became aware of Karen, she rose to greet her. She was a most gracious young woman and executed her duties with the aplomb of a seasoned ambassador officiating in Casablanca, Kuala Lumpur, or Kowloon. Karen immediately elevated her opinion of B.C.I. even more and felt proud to have moved this far forward with her quest for a suitable position. When the young receptionist had proceeded through the rhyme of her greeting, she segued into the reason for Karen's visit? Karen nervously made reference to the classified advertisement in the newspaper. This led to her 3 o'clock appointment with Ms Breaker. The receptionist acknowledged Karen's answer with a warm smile then glided out from behind her desk, directing Karen to the seating lounge in the waiting area located at the far end of the large reception zone. She also provided Karen with a questionnaire and requested her to complete it before her meeting with Ms Breaker. At precisely 3 p.m. the receptionist approached Karen. Then like an usher at a church wedding, she guided Karen to room 2010, located at the far end of the hall on the right side. // Carla Breaker's office wasn't anything like any office Karen had ever seen before. The simple word 'office' was woefully inadequate as a description to equal the capacious grandeur that Karen saw before her. It was an enormous en suite. Four times the size of any normal office, and it came complete with a panoramic view of the horizon that was, for lack of a better word, breathtaking! Carla's personal work area commanded a vast corner. The desk was a modern amalgam of glass and stainless steel. Two computer screens were visible at each corner as were a scanner and laser printer. It was a wrap around affair that left everything exposed and nothing hidden from view. Carla did not look up when Karen entered. Karen stood still and waited, craning her neck in her attempt to see all that was being presented. The office was high above the streets, with windows that ran from ceiling to floor. Glass was everywhere. Double glazed panes were cinematic in scope, running from one side of the office, all the way around to the other. No place to hide was the first thought that entered Karen's mind as she stood still just inside the door. What furniture was there, squatted in groups in sparse isolation throughout the office. Similar to the chairs and tables in the foyer, these too were constructed of chromed frames and marble tops and very little else in the way of traditional material. Pictures that populated the walls were cubist renditions of women with children. They were all artistically challenging to Karen's pedestrian appreciation of art and the artist's creative intent was well beyond her mastery of interpreting modern art deco. Carla Breaker was a woman of business. She came across immediately as a take-charge manager. When she raised herself from her high backed leather chair to greet Karen, her movement was lithe, yet precise and economic in a military-like fashion. Yet from the very instant of their meeting, Carla interacted with Karen in a suave and genteel manner. Karen regarded Carla's individuality as a signature of a refined upbringing and probably the result of an expensive and private education. Once the first fragile moments of their mutual introduction subsided, it was back to business. In this respect, Carla's overture quickly became a serious intention to distance herself from the applicant. Carla Breaker was not a beautiful looking woman by any means. Despite this, Karen assessed that she would be more than capable of asserting a powerful presence in any room she chose to enter. Her hair was a husky auburn hue, shoulder length, and rigidly styled. She wore a business suit of dark blue with a jacket designed with square and imposing shoulders. The finishing touch was a threatening black Gucci's. They made the whole of point of her couture. Pencil thin spiked heels not only supported her well-endowed body, they defined the authority of her gender. She stood in Karen's way like an inverted triangle. "Please have a seat, Karen," Carla said, motioning with a circular gesture of her hand, pointing towards the chair on her right Karen sat, as she had been instructed, and tried to relax. "Karen," Carla began, "I choose to conduct my interviews where we are both unencumbered by the convention usually found between someone who has a position to offer and someone who wants that position. I would ask, therefore, that you conduct yourself as you are and not try to emulate someone who you think that I want to see sitting across from me. I encourage you to speak your mind and to ask all of those little niggling questions that for some reason, can be so easily be forgotten during interviews. Are you okay with this, Karen?" "Yes, I feel quite at ease," which was an outright lie because Karen was not about to let her jitters come in the way of getting this job! "Good." "This company has received over 2000 calls from potential candidates in response to our latest advertisement. That was the last count as of 8 a.m. this morning. To explain further Karen, we recruit employees through a 'Call Centre'. We created guidelines for their operators. This allows them to render an instant 'yes' or 'no' decision after a brief conversation with the applicants who have made the effort to contact us. You represent our one hundredth 'yes' decision regarding an interview. How does that make you feel?" "Honoured. To say the least. Maybe lucky. No, on second thought, it makes me happy, confident. Yes, I am pleased." Karen blurted out haltingly, as if she was recovering from a long absence from the use of speech. Carla smiled and re-adjusted herself in her chair. "The reality of our search for the right people however is that we only want to hire the best 10 from that group of 100. Now, how does that make you feel?" "Now I would definitely have to say, lucky," Karen declared. "Luck my dear, has absolutely nothing to do with it!" "Well, that's a relief," Karen said almost unconsciously, as if she were having a beer with her friends. In a split second of informality, both women looked at each other, then giggled over Karen's sophomoric statement. The respite from the seriousness of the interview was brief and Carla continued with the inquiry of the applicant. "Karen. Do you like to help other people?" "Yes. Yes I do." "I assume then, that if a person cut themselves you would render first aid immediately?" "Yes. That's right." "And I take this to mean also that if another person were experiencing a patch of mild depression or emotional stress of some kind, you would offer kind words of encouragement?" "Yes. Absolutely." "What if a person just wanted you to be in their presence. Just wanted you to be there, not to do anything exactly, just to be physically close to them?" "Well, yes. I don't see anything wrong with that." "Wrong? Why that choice of words, Karen?" "It's odd, that's all. I haven't ever really thought of someone who would just want me to be sort of, 'there', you know?" "Karen. There are hundreds of people out there who want just that. They need other people. They need special people who for one reason or another, they have been unable to find. British Care Incorporated caters to these type of people by supplying them with our professionally trained and specially handpicked staff. Do you think that is wrong?" "No. I suppose not." Carla Breaker stood and casually retrieved a piece of paper from a chromed folio tray that sat at the front of her desk. "Of course, being there for clients also requires that our representative is a good listener. Are you a good listener, Karen?" Karen was now aware of a build-up to something important. Perhaps a pivotal fork in their discussion? She wasn't sure. What she did feel however, was that the way in which Ms Breaker posed the question was cause enough for her to be defensive. "Of course I'm a good listener." "So, can you tell the difference between a request that has to be filled and a request that only needs to be talked about as if it were going to be filled?" "I. . .I don't know exactly what you mean. . .?" "Well, a child needs to feel that what they ask for will eventually come their way. A mother will often placate a child's request with an affirmation. However, her response can be lacking any detail whatsoever. She will purposefully be vague as to when the request will actually be made available to the child. Do you understand that Karen? "Well, yes. . .yes I do. . .but how does that relate to the job?" "Well. Older people often ask for things for the same reasons and with the same expectations as children. This is particularly true of elderly men. That is, older men are prepared to wait for what it is that they want. They mostly just want to ask the questions and to be acknowledged. We have found that older men desperately want to let the nurses know, precisely what they want. Whether they get it or not is irrelevant. "To take advantage of this these elderly men can actually be encouraged to behave in a manner that could be viewed as conciliation on their part. It is our understanding that they believe that good behaviour will work distinctly to their favour. They see the nurse as being the person in charge and therefore the one who will grant them what they want. Correct or proper behaviour on their part is their way to guarantee that what they desire will eventually be given. Older members of the community are a lot like children inasmuch as they are eager to hear a 'yes' at the end of their question." Karen was now quite confused as to where Carla was going with her line of questioning. Carla recognized the consternation in Karen's facial expression. "Anyone can be controlled if they are kept in a constant state of 'want', especially where vague promises have been given. Promises, the type that in due course, will eventually be fulfilled. "Oh! I see. Yes, now I see." but she didn't, not really. Strangely enough however, Carla's explanation did seem to make perfect sense. "Karen," Carla began again, this time with the air of a conspirator, "Our client base is made up of men entirely. The Job Fair Affluent men. Older men. Men who are successful and powerful. Men who have the means to buy just about anything that they have ever wanted. In this regard, our experience has also indicated that men with this type of profile mostly want to be treated just like children. Especially true, Karen, in the presence of a strong willed woman. They want to ask for lots of things from a female nurse and are prepared to go to great lengths to get it! "That sounds like most men," Karen offered with a quizzical smile, "don't you think?" Both women laughed at the barb directed at males in general. Carla Breaker took this unplanned pause to move back behind her desk. Once in her seat, she took great pains to carry out a casual straightening of paper and files on the glass top of her huge work area. When she was pleased with her efforts at re-organization, she looked up at Karen. Both women stared at each other for about 20 seconds, an eternity during an interview. Karen was the first to break the focus when she briefly glanced down at her hands that were clasped tightly in her lap. Carla was inscrutable with her obvious victory over Karen and held back any hint of satisfaction. "Karen," she announced suddenly, leaning forward, re-establishing eye contact with her, "I believe you would make a perfect candidate for one of the jobs that we are offering. But I want to be sure. I need to know that you wouldn't be a mistake. My mistake. Can you understand that, Karen?" "Yes. I believe so." she answered hesitantly, fully expecting either a new type of interview question that would endorse her worthiness for the offered position, or one that would quash her quest for any type of valid employment with B.C.I. Carla then stood abruptly and came out from behind the desk. She moved with an declared conviction and came to stand directly in front of Karen. She placed her legs slightly apart and stood as tall as she could, then folded her arms across her chest. Softly, without any hint of impropriety, but with a commanding delivery, she spoke directly to Karen, "Remove your clothes, Karen." There was a pause as Karen registered with the words she had just heard. "Take off my. . .what did you say. . .?" Karen responded, only now beginning to grasp the full enormity of Carla's statement of request. "Strip! Are you hard of hearing Karen? I want you to be naked in front of me. Now!" Carla's tone changed, exposing her dictatorial side. "But. . .but that's ridiculous, I can't, well, I can't take off all my clothes in front of you! No, that's not right. No. Definitely not. No!" Karen uttered with finality rising in her voice. "Karen," Carla stated casually, "You are within a hairs-breadth of landing the job of your dreams. The hourly pay is $200. So don't fool yourself and don't discount this golden opportunity. If you want to excel in an area of human relations that you are indubitably suited for, then do as you are told and take off your clothes!" Karen took pause to quickly calculate $200 per hour. Then looking around Carla's office, from window to wall, and back to the two ominous wooden doors that she had passed through only minutes before, she stood up to Carla with adamant intent. Her first clear thought was to bolt from the room. Leave and never come back. What kind of a request during a job interview was an order from the interviewer for the applicant to remove their clothes! But she didn't move towards the door. She just stood there. Karen was one month behind in her mortgage. Her credit cards had already been cancelled. She owed money on her taxes. And if that weren't enough, her mother was in the hospital and neither mother nor daughter had a hospital plan or even a down payment for medical services. The doctors had advised Karen only last week that the operation required by her mother would cost at least $20,000! Carla Breaker stood firm, toe-to-toe with Karen. Her arms remained tightly folded across her ample chest. "Well Karen?" she said, impatient for Karen to comply. Like a Roman candle at its death, Karen's whole body slagged in resignation. Slowly, with painstaking care, she began with her jacket, neatly folding it and laying on the back of the chair by her side. Next she bashfully unbuttoned her blouse, the best blouse that she owned. The one she only wore on promising dates. Her skirt quickly followed and in each instance she took care to fold her removed effects neatly before placing them on the back of the chair. This was how Karen dealt with the shame that she was feeling. Following this, and with her face a beet red, she eased one leg, then the other, from her panty hose. She stood hesitant in front of Carla for a moment, pausing with her face cast down staring at the carpet by her feet. Then, resigning once again to her fate, she unhooked the clips that secured her half-cup bras. Pert breasts of firm skin jiggled free. Now truly embarrassed, she hooked her thumbs under the elastic band of her white silk panties and forced them down to her ankles. The removal of her panties was her final act of mortification. She felt the cool air immediately as it invaded her trimmed and exposed vaginal area. The chill made her that much more aware of her unprotected nakedness. Wanting to get through this bizarre aspect of her interview, Karen submitted totally to the moment by walking out of her panties in the chaste but sensual fashion women are prone to do. "Put your arms down by your sides, Karen." Carla said in a warm and sisterly tone. "I'm a nurse for goodness sakes. What parts of the male and female body do you think are new to me?" "I'm embarrassed, that's all. I'm a little frightened too. I don't like this," she whispered with a sheepish and beaten attitude. "Look at me Karen. Put your arms by your side and just relax. There's nothing to be afraid of, whatsoever." Karen looked up slowly, but couldn't bring herself to cast her eyes on Carla. She just kept looking around, viewing her surroundings while desperately avoiding Carla's eyes. "This was a test Karen. Nothing more, and nothing less. It was my test to confirm for me, and for you as well, that humility wouldn't get in the way of the work you would be doing for us." Karen paused in her nervous stance and brought her roving eyes to rest finally, on Carla's face. "Does this mean that you just hired me?" she said with anxious anticipation in her voice, hopeful at least, that her ordeal was over.. "Yes. I believe that I just did. How does that make you feel, Karen?" "Oh my. Oh my, my, my. . . .oh yes, that makes me feel very good. Oh yes, thank you Carla. Thank you very much." Carla nodded, accepting Karen's appreciation, then wheeled around and returned to her seat behind her desk. Karen remained standing where she was, not quite sure what to do next? "Karen," Carla began with a business like voice, "We have to talk about how best to utilize your talents. You and I must discuss what theme you would best be suited for. Ah yes, but first things first. I am sure that you want to know just what kind of work you will be involved in, wouldn't you. And exactly what functions you will be expected to carry out." "Yes I would, Carla," Karen began, and before she could ask if the reason for her nakedness was done with. . . "Our business here is to help men to understand their sexual desires. As you know, sexual matters in human beings is a very complex and deep subject. But at British Care Incorporated, we tend to concentrate on only one small aspect of that panorama. So, it's manageable. Do you know what I mean, Karen?" "Yes, I understand. It's like the divisional partitions used by hospitals, or the different types of medical disciplines that doctors require in a modern health care facility." Karen offered expertly, showing that she knew of such things by experience. "Precisely. But in our care facility, it is only male applicants who are directed to my division in British Care Inc. These are men who want their worlds turned upside down. Oh, that upside down state may only last for a few hours Karen, but their inverted state, so to speak, is managed very well." Karen was dumbfounded and quirked her head to one side. "You turn men upside down? Because they want that?" Karen stated incredulously. "No, no, Karen. By upside down I mean that these men want us to turn things around." Then thinking about what she just said and how that could also be misconstrued by Karen, "Oh my, this is harder to explain than I thought." Carla admitted out loud, more to herself than Karen. "In their businesses or at home or where ever, these men are totally in charge of themselves, everything around them and everyone who is in their sphere. They're at the top. The very top. They're in charge. Everyone answers to them. They're the boss and they make up all the rules of the game. You'd think that they'd be satisfied with this situation. But they're not. Lucky for BCI because they come to us requesting that their lives be diametrically altered. Changed. Unequivocally. One hundred percent." Karen tried to comprehend all of what Carla was explaining to her. "Interesting. Strange to say the least. But what is it that you want me to do? Exactly how do I fit in here?" "Well, first you must understand why these successful men want their worlds altered in the first place? Why for instance would a vice president of a big company want to come here so that a woman can order him around like a recalcitrant little boy? And why do men such as these pay exorbitant fees for a two hour encounter with a bitch who will enforce physical correction upon them because of her indictment of his misbehaviour? Karen fidgeted about where she stood, moving her feet while clenching and unclenching her hands. "I don't know, Carla. I've never heard of such things." "My sweet dear Karen. Are you not aware of the emerging trend in our society that advocates dominant women who entrap and rule submissive men?" "No!" Karen answered petulantly. "Well, that's a pity but there isn't enough time here today to bring you up to date on that matter. Suffice to say that men will pay highly for that pleasure. Lots of men crave secretly to be in the company of a woman who can demand their obedience. You see Karen, they're much like children. These men desire to ask for such treatment. In fact, most of them will actually beg for it. And like a mother, a dominant woman will dangle a treat in front of them while getting these men to carry out a whole range of humiliating acts." "Women have this power over men?" Karen questioned. "Yes. Absolutely." Carla answered forthrightly. I wish I had known that a few years ago!" Carla smiled, then reached across her desk and picked up her pen from its elegant holder. "Women have always had that power over men, Karen. They just didn't recognize it, and if they did, they chose not to exercise it. Sad, don't you think?" "I think that it's a sad situation for both men and women. If we have something that they want, we should be able to give it to them. . .at a price of course," she concluded wistfully. Both women laughed at Karen's statement of observation and Carla beamed inwardly that she had made the right choice of hiring this woman who still stood naked before her. "But I can't understand why men would want that? It doesn't make sense?" Carla stopped writing and looked up at Karen. Carla was no longer the amiable peer she had been during the interview. Now she was the boss herself. "You're still naked aren't you? We're on the 20th floor of a downtown office building in the middle of the afternoon, and you're standing naked in my office. Everything around us is proceeding along as if nothing were out of place. You're naked Karen because that's the price you knew you had to pay to get this job. You're naked because I softly and benignly asked you to strip your clothes off. You wanted what I had to offer. And had I continued to dangle that offer of a job, you would have eventually knelt on your knees in front of me, right here," she said pointing to the carpet by the side of her desk, "in unadulterated supplication!" Both women looked at each other, Carla with a stern countenance and Karen wearing a face of shock. Then Carla eased her compressed lips into a broad and congenial smile, "That's why men come to us in droves. That's why men will hand over large sums of cash to our representatives. They want to experience the power of our femininity as it is crushed temporarily into their lives. These men only look for the rush and excitement found at the extreme deep end of the human sexual experience pool. They will do almost anything to get what it is they need, want. Just like you, Karen! With that said, she returned her attention to the business at hand on her desk and busied herself with the contents contained in a random opened file. She ignored Karen's naked presence. After an interminable silence, Karen requested, "May I get dressed now?". Carla took a few moments to look up, then offered rhetorically, "Yes, why not?" When Karen had finished putting her clothes back on, Carla indicated that she had a private washroom and that Karen was more than welcome to use it, if she so desired. Karen accepted and when she returned to the office, she came to stand in front of Carla's desk. It just seemed the right thing to do and Karen stood there for a few moments in silence before Carla spoke. "I will be consulting with one of our clients this evening." she began, " I would like you to join us. Here is a list of instructions that I want you to follow before coming back. We will be meeting our customer in the foyer out front at 9 p.m. sharp, then we'll all proceed to room 2000." Karen accepted the list from Carla's outstretched hand, read it quickly, then folded it into her purse. "Carla. Thank you for the job." she said graciously, "I may not know much about the subtle nuances and special themes of dominance and submission that you spoke of, but I do learn quickly. I will make you proud, I promise." "I know you will, Karen. You have all of the ingredients of a most enterprising woman. I look forward to working with you this evening. I really do!" Then like business people everywhere, Carla stood, and the two women came together and shook hands. PART II At precisely 5 minutes before nine that evening, Karen pushed the elevator button for the 20th floor. She carried an over-the-shoulder valise that contained some of the items on Ms Breaker's list along with a wardrobe bag holding the rest. Under her clothes her new garments itched, causing her to squirm in protest. Carla looked irritated and impatient. She was posed by the large desk, the very one that had been occupied by the young receptionist earlier that day. This evening, she was wrapped tight in a severe business suit. Her stiletto heels were at the ends of calf-high boots and her face was devoid of any make up whatsoever. Karen thought she looked more like her fourth grade school teacher than someone who managed a large business. Certainly different looking than earlier that day. "Our client will be here shortly." Carla said in a monotone voice. "All you have to do is follow my lead. Understand?" "Yes. Yes, I understand." Behind the closed elevator doors the machinery that propelled the lift, hummed a steady noise. Above the door, both women watched the array of floor numbers light up, one following the other, as the client ascended ever closer to the 20th level. Then the door opened. . . "You're late!" Carla barked out like a drill sergeant. The man, probably in his middle 50s, dressed elegantly in pinstriped business attire and with a full head of silver grey well managed hair, stumbled like a child over his words of apology. "Yes, Ma'am. I an truly sorry. It was the traffic. . .then I couldn't find a place to park. I apologize, Ma'am. I tried to be on time, please, please forgive me," he pleaded, holding hands in front of his crotch as if protecting them from harm. Carla didn't respond, except to snap her fingers twice and point her outstretched long-nailed finger down towards the floor at her feet. The man paused but a second, then crumpled to his knees and crawled like a dog to the imaginary 'X' on the floor as indicated by Carla's arrow-like gesture. When he arrived, he pushed his lips securely against the toe of her left shoe. "We had a business meeting set for 9 o'clock sharp. Did we not?" "Yes Ma'am. That's correct," he mumbled from his subservient position. "But you're late, aren't you?" Carla ingrained with condemnation crackling in her voice. "Yes, but please M'am, please, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please." he squeaked back in supplication. "I was here on time," Carla snarled, "wasn't I? But you are late, aren't you? "But, but. . ." was all the man could offer in his defence. "I'm not pleased with your behaviour. Not at all," she stated with some resignation, "Perhaps we should cancel this evenings meeting?" Carla flung her bait at him, dangling it like an open barbed Freudian hook. Her intent was to flirt it brazenly in his face! "Oh God no," he implored. "No. Please Mistress, no! No, anything but that. I need this meeting with. Please. Please forgive me." the man whined at her feet while looking up at her with large round eyes. Carla looked anywhere but at the client and appeared to be disinterested in his petitions. "Be quiet," she finally growled. The client remained humbled on the floor in front of her and bent quickly back to his duty of licking and kissing her high heeled boots. "Very well. But you shall be disciplined. And humiliated. You need that too, don't you? "Yes Mistress. I've been very disobedient since our last session. I've been a bad boy. I need to be disciplined." Carla allowed a veiled smile to spread slowly out across her otherwise serious countenance. "I have an apprentice with me this evening," she started, "and she will mete out your punishment. But remember," Carla purred as she prepared to identify for the client all of the detrimental implications of using an untrained apprentice, "she's not as skilled as I and she certainly doesn't know your limitations." "Yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress." "This means that your discipline will undoubtedly sting. I have not shared your 'safe' word with her either," she said, laughing at the import of her statement. "I shall be amused by your antics to deal with such a situation as this. But I have every confidence that you'll take what is due. Isn't that right?" // While the client continued his performance at Carla's feet, Karen experienced a sharp angst of regret. She tried very hard to hide these feelings. She feared that her second thoughts about her new position might be revealed by subtle changes on her face. A frown, a wrinkled brow, or even a down-turned mouth might tip the scales. She knew that Carla was sharp and could pick out on that sort of thing easily. Yet if that were to happen, especially now with the appointment already in progress, Carla's response may not be beneficial to Karen first task at her newly acquired job. She didn't need that! She sensed that Carla could be vicious. This was no time to be looking to prove her assumptions, one way or another. So to safeguard her position, Karen directed her thoughts inward as best she could. As the submissive client held Carla's attention, Karen afforded herself a tiny widow of opportunity to reflect. She needed to work her way through the personal issues that had suddenly emerged. The trick was to accomplish this surreptitiously while maintaining her part in the unusual scene. Once mentally attuned to her own inner world, Karen questioned why she had so quickly accepted this job in the first place? She remembered her first thoughts. The job offer had been too good to be true. She knew that. Surely she would have found something else, eventually if only she had been patient. The Job Fair What exactly was she trying to prove here, anyway? Standing out in the middle of an open foyer, as one of two woman towering over a totally submissive man. The same little weak man who, upon being confronted by Carla only minutes ago, had humbled himself immediately to his knees to beg for atonement. The whole scene was ludicrous. This was not what Karen had expected of her new job. She thought that the focus would have been more about caring for the basic needs of older and mature men. Granted, men in a care facility are notorious for grabbing out at female nurses but that was the norm for older men under female care. Yet never could she have dreamed that the reality of her new position with B.C.I. would required her to be an accomplice to the wholesale degradation of men. How absurd! But that was beside the point, really, and she knew it. Karen didn't need anyone to tell her that the questions she asked of her self were redundant. Even as she consulted with her inner soul, the answers were already evident. None of the solace she sought, as answers for her questions, was a secret, nor was the original motivation to seek and accept this job in the first place. None of this had been obscure to her objectives. And her act of self- chastisement was nothing more than a sham. It was but a unique attempt to cater to her own guilty conscience. All of a sudden the impact of her inner dialogue caused Karen to feel dirty and cheap. She wasn't a child and she was well aware of what had brought her to this job. Bizarre as the position was and as strange as her interview with Carla had been, Karen needed the money. That was the short and long of it. The need for money was Karen's only reality. And money was the Pulitzer Prize winning story of Karen's entire life! In the most cutting of terms she succumbed to the thought of seeing herself now as nothing more than an unabashed economic prostitute. No better or worse, she assuaged, than so many others. Yet these sober second thoughts regarding what she had got herself into and why, paled in comparison to something else that was much more serious. Karen realized now for the first time that she was also involved in something that was potentially much more dangerous than she cared to admit. From the moment that the client had walked from the elevator into the foyer, she was acutely aware of the identity of the client. That wasn't good, especially in this business but more importantly, because there was every possibility that the client was aware of who she was.. Karen knew him only as Sir William. Yet that was enough. Everyone at the hospital she had worked with, knew Sir William by sight, and certainly by name. He was the Chairman of the Board for the Duncan County Memorial Hospital and Palliative Care Facility. He was the top executive, the Chief Operating Officer, and the boss of the governing board! His pen was truly mightier than any sword. Karen suddenly became upset and unconsciously made a fist. Just thinking about that man made her angry. According to what she had read in the news and had heard from her supervisors, it had been Sir William who had convinced the legislature to tighten the financial purse strings by amalgamating hospital services. It was also Sir William's name that had been boldly scripted at the bottom of the letters of termination that were sent to the unfortunate staff who would lose their jobs as a result of his financial tinkering! But most insulting of all, an investigative reporter with the local television station revealed that Sir William, in spite of the lay-offs that would devastate the lives of 125 staff members, had rammed through a large pay increase for himself and the other members of the Board! The headlines had been loud and accusative about his unctuous behaviour. But Sir William was a powerful man. He was a leader in business and had earned a reputation for dealing with opponents by using the same malevolent temperament as defence lawyers can wrought upon prosecution witnesses. Moreover, he was politically influential and not without his friends on Wall Street. It was rumoured he had deep pockets of secret money from which he could lavish upon lobbyists. All he ever wanted was to influence favourable legislation that would benefit him and those who clung to his circle. Everyone, regardless of their social status, was familiar with Sir William's glib sense of moral responsibility. Whenever a connection was suggested between him and any wrongdoing, impropriety, or imbroglio, he simply dismissed the negative outrage with a cold aloofness. It was if he was above reproach from any and all quarter. And perhaps he was. After all, an editorial in the newspaper had once accused him of being a callous elitist. The editor had further admonished him of being born with a silver spoon, indicating in quick witted language, that the orifice that it was stuck into, might not necessarily have been his mouth! The editor was fired seven days later. Sir William may have been all that the editor had written of him, maybe much more. However, Sir William was not the type of country squire that you'd knowingly want to cross up or vex in any way. // Karen was abruptly brought back from her polemic chase for her self-respect when Carla, who was literally in the client's face, had slapped him roundly about his ears. "And did you bring your collar and your leash?" she admonished cruelly. "Are they ready for me to use?" she rattled off, with an elegant impertinence that could have easily been attributed to a high court magistrate sitting on the bench at Night Court assizes. "Well?" she persisted, reluctant to let the client off the hook she had so neatly placed him on. "Yes Mistress. They're in my brief case, over there," he pointed apologetically. "Over there! What are they doing over there?" she screamed! "I want them here. They won't do me any good being over there, will they? Fetch them, dog. Bring them here to me now!" Carla barked out, her words seething with an acrimony that could have cut glass. "Retrieve your little bag to me like the dog that you are. Drag it to your Mistress in your mouth. Now go!" So he did as he was bade, scampering on all fours across the five foot expanse of plush carpet that separated him from his new objective. The brief case waited by the threshold of the elevator doors. The client tore into his task of retrieving it, with the impatient haste of a child trying to get the wrapping off a present. He made numerous attempts to grab the handle between his teeth but failed miserably. Finally, with great perseverance, he was able to secure it firmly within his maw. Then with the dextrous mobility of a rather large but clumsy canine, he proudly crawled back to his Mistress. At her feet once again, the client humbly presented his Mistress with his brief case. He did so with that unmistakable glow of pride so common in submissive men who want to prove their obedient fidelity to their Masters. "Kneel straight up, dog. Come now, stretch your neck, Fido. Present your Mistress with your meagre offerings. I am impatient to deal with you tonight." The client struggled to lift his brief case up to Carla's waiting hands. However, to achieve this he would need to extend his upper body to its fullest. At the same time, he would need to tilt his head backwards. As the Superior Mistress in this scene, Carla had no intention of lowering her hand to help in this matter. "Get it up," she ordered, then chuckled at the double meaning of her gaff. But the case and its contents weighed at least 10 lbs and it would have taken extraordinary strength in the client's neck muscles to do what had been ordered of him. "You're a little sissy dog, aren't you?" she taunted. "You're weak and effeminate. You're a little whipped poodle, all pink and frilly?" "Nhaaag Mfffffdrss," he mumbled back incoherently. Carla put both of her hands on her hips and looked down at the client as he struggled at her feet. "If you can't put your brief case into my hands now, then we shall cancel this evening's session and you'll be denied an audience with me for the next 30 days. Do I make myself clear?" "Ythhthth Mfffdrss," he answered back with an increased level of urgency seeping into his tone. With that the client summoned a supreme effort and employed his legs to push him upwards. This allowed him to rise up into a squat, aligning the case to the same level as Carla's outstretched and open hand. Carla looked down at her little dog and patted him on the bald spot of his head, "Good boy," she praised, then relieved him of the brief case. The handle was greasy with his saliva of course and Carla switched hands quickly, offering the fouled one to the client. Without being told, the client lavished tongue licks up and down her fingers. He also probed deep in between each one where the dirt of hands can easily hide. Carla cracked open the locking latches which secured the lid to the main case. While she balanced the open case on her right forearm she looted the contents with her free hand. Once she located and extracted the leather collar and leash, she pitched the open case to the floor. Its contents sprayed out across the carpet upon impact. This action took the client by surprise and he became clearly distracted by Carla's action. "Strip your clothes off!" she bawled out at him suddenly, causing the client to return his glassy eyed stare from his dishevelled brief case back to his Mistress. Once she had regained his adoration, if not his ardent attention, she screamed her demand at him again. This time, directly into the clients face. She was so close to him, hovering like a giant vulture, that Karen was positive that Carla. was going to attack him, literally. "I'll time you" she said, spitting the words of her order directly at him. You have 35 seconds. Go!" The client quickly sprang into action like a runner on the line after the 'gun'. In short order, he nimbly removed his suit jacket and shoes. "10 seconds gone," Carla warned. When he began on the more difficult aspects of his business apparel he became frantic. First, fumbling with various types of closures. Then seconds later, hopping on one leg, he tried to yank his other leg free of the trousers. Eventually, he lost his balance and toppled over onto the carpet. As the client struggled under the gun of the clock, Carla proceeded to strut a large circle around him. She moved at a slow and calculated pace. To ensure that the client wouldn't miss her promenade, she attached the collar to the leash and dragged it behind her like a fish lure. When he recognized what she was doing, he increased his efforts noticeably. But it was a short burst of energy for an old man and he quickly petered out. However, he never lost sight of his imperious Mistress and the leash and collar she teased in front of him. "25 seconds gone," she badgered, sending the already harried client into a renewed and energetic swirl of frenzied action. Karen was sure that the client was aware he was steadily losing ground. Nonetheless he struggled on, oblivious to his pending failure. It was then that Karen acknowledged the power of his 'want' and his demonstrated acceptance that he'd do almost anything to get it. In the end it was the buttons on his shirt that finally confounded his best efforts. There were simply too many of them. Exasperated and beaten, he ripped the shirt open and flung it to the floor in disgust. "5 seconds, dog. Move it!" The client was left with only his underwear to remove. A simple task really, one that is easily taken for granted by most men. But because the client had become sexually aroused, his enormous blood choked penis was too much to overcome. The problem was that it had become caught up in his boxer shorts. It was twisted in the folds of the front opening. His large penis had somehow become trapped. The more he pulled on the material the tighter the grip became around his penis. He tugged and dragged at it hysterically, but without resolve. Then in a last second bid to succeed, he wedged a finger in between the two opposing pieces of cloth that were causing the stranglehold grip on his penis. With great effort he succeeded in prying them apart, making a small opening. He could finally see the finish line. He saw himself as having a tiny chance to beat the clock. With as slight smile on his face, just as he was about to wrench his huge penis free. . . "Time's up!" Carla snapped with cold pleasure. PART III Very quickly, Carla refocused on the client. His penis was still enmeshed in his shorts. This didn't seem to matter to him much though, because he was too attendant on Carla and what she was planning to do to him next, to worry about it. To Carla, time was money and she was eager to move the session along. Therefore the client did not wait long before she began on him once again. With practiced hands she deftly encircled the collar around the client's neck, cinching it tight as if she were a cowgirl at a rodeo, hog-tying a steer. It was obvious that she was skilled at this and in short order had rendered the client 'leashed'. Satisfied that his collar was snug, she snapped the connecter of the 'lead' on to the 'D' ring at the front of the collar. Then she passed the handhold to Karen. "You walk him. I'll make sure he trots along behind you at an acceptable pace. We're going to the Conference Room. It's at the end of the hall on the right." Karen accepted the leash dutifully and began down the hall as she was directed. Her charge scrambled after her at an ungainly gait, his knees taking a pounding even though he was pawing his way across plush carpet. As Karen approached the broad double doors of the conference room, they slowly yawned open towards her. They were a masterful array; two tall slabs of rich mahogany hinged in solid brass. Both doors had been polished to a high gleam and the burnished brass handles completed the intended statement of permanence. Karen tried to peer deeper into the room as she drew closer. She wanted some idea of what lay beyond the threshold. She could see nothing more than a murky cavern. Upon crossing the threshold and entering the room beyond, Karen was more anxious than brave. She hope she was the only one who knew that. Once inside, she succumbed to an overwhelming feeling which made her feel small and insignificant. With due trepidation she approached the large conference table, still hand-holding the leash. Two table lamps, the type bankers are purported to use to focus on their ledgers, served as the only sources of light. Eight women were already seated around the gigantic oval table. One of them directed her to sit at the primary end, located to Karen's left. Another relieved her of the client, easing the leash from her grip and tugging the dog-slave off in another direction. As Karen was trying to settle in, a matronly woman was ushered to her side. She was mature in her years but dressed regally in black suede. Karen noticed that the woman's escort was much younger than any of them sitting on either side of her. The escort was aloof and noticeably hesitant to approach Karen any closer than was absolutely necessary. Then without saying a word, the demure older woman handed Karen a leather bound folio and motioned with nod of her head, for Karen to open it. But at that very moment a flare of high illumination interrupted the room. High intensity light flooded the entire area all at once. The inlaid ceiling fixtures burned down like Klieg lights at a World's Fair. It was a startling event and Karen and the others were forced to squint until their eyes adjusted. A piercing laser of light singled out Carla. Everyone focused on her. To Karen, Carla looked like a harridan. The severity of her appearance was made even worse by the uncomplimentary brilliance of light. Yet her bearing and countenance left no doubt in Karen's mind that Carla was quarrelling for a fight. The women around the table all stood and Carla took her place at the opposite end of the table from Karen. It was only after Carla had taken her seat and adjusted herself to the table, did the others follow suit. Then unexpectedly the lights dimmed to normal room level. The assembled group were focused and quiet. "Good evening, ladies," Carla purred, looking out at them all, assuaging the hushed formality of their meeting. The assembled women uttered a muted response collectively. Carla was confident and centred and even though she posed no physical threat to anyone at the table, she managed to broadcast her indomitable nature by the weight and rigid way of her stoic manner. It was her personal warning to anyone who might misjudge her and mistakenly try to get close. "Before we begin our evening, I would like to introduce you to our newest member." She nodded in Karen's direction and lifted her right arm and waved it up and down. "Karen, please stand so everyone can see you." Karen stood. She was shaking but hoped that none of the others would see it. "Karen will be in charge of vital statistics." Karen looked around, nodding to the faces of the other women at the table. "Thank you Karen." Carla said, indicating in a patronizing fashion that her exposure to the others was over and that it was time to get on with the reason for their gathering. Karen took the hint and sat down without looking up again for the next little while. "The client this evening has come to us for a specialized treatment. The cost of such treatment is onerous. Yet, the client has complied. Whisperings circulated around the table. "He wants to be humiliated in front of us, dressed as a sissy, while being fully penis-gagged and butt- plugged." Carla read the synopsis from a crisp piece of white paper. "He also wants to be forced to listen to the details of his last business deal and to receive physical discipline in the form of a whipping, for every error we think that he made." And again, and almost inaudibly, the ladies around the table demonstrated their anticipation of the planned events of the evening. "He has supplied us with a complete copy of the deal he wants discussed." Carla paused, then picked up a clip of papers held together by a staple at one corner and showed them to the other women. "I have highlighted areas where mistakes were made by our client." Then after pausing for effect, she continued, "And I want all of you to know that there are many!" Carla held up the clip of papers again and lifted sheet after sheet showing her cohorts just where her yellow high lighted strokes appeared on almost every line. The woman all applauded. Carla knew how to orchestrate the proper tone for an evening scene. "Ladies," Carla interrupted with due authority, "While we have been sitting here, our client has been in the anteroom. Laura and Toni have been preparing him. I would remind you, therefore, that the moment he re-enters the Conference Room, our commitment to his fully paid invoice for our specialized services will begin in earnest. As always girls, the humiliation of this client is our first and primary objective. All else follows." The hiss of high pressure air brought everyone's attention to the sliding doors of the ante room. The ante room was located behind Carla, just slightly off to her left. When the fully mirrored panels whooshed open, the client and two high booted assistants were fully exhibited to the gathering. The client of course was the centre piece of these theatrics and as such was truly a sight to behold. Even though Laura and her TV friend Toni were holding him in place, the client was barely able to stand his own as he teetered on a flimsy pair of high heeled shoes.