Free The Last Place She'd Look by Arlene Schindler Page B

nothing but a diaper. A woman was spanking him; first hard slaps, then soft, then a gentle rub, like a schizophrenic mother. She looked bored. She was obviously paid to do this on an hourly basis. How did I know? This dominatrix was not young, or beautiful, or dressed in a bustier. She was over 50, overweight, and dressed like somebody's dowdy mom.
    Finally we saw our demographic: the invisible, mid-life woman. She was here making a living, helping man-children live out their fantasies! “Mommy porn?” I asked Julia, suppressing a giggle. Then, right outside the room, we saw this sign:
    Do you want to work in a clean, safe, and 'drama- free' atmosphere? We welcome top-quality dommes with experience. Also, professional switches with experience, and submissives, no experience necessary. Cash paid daily, great working conditions, make your own hours. Here is an opportunity to work in one of the great Dungeons of the World.
    “I'd like a drama-free work environment, wouldn't you?” I said, snarkily.
    “With your schedule, you could fit in a few spankings a week,” she laughed.
    “So, you're encouraging me to apply for this?” I questioned, hesitant, although it could open the door for many article ideas as well as expand my sexual imagination in a dark, disturbing way.
    “Oh, yes, definitely!” said Julia. “You could probably write about it for your self-help articles. Women's magazines always clamor for articles on sexual specialties. Besides, you can earn $150 an hour.”
    “Do you know how many beauty tips and hair care hints I have to wax poetic about for $150? I'm writing down the number,” I remarked, excitedly. For that rate, working in a dungeon seemed like a spanking good opportunity. Plus, it had the fantasy I could spin into smut stories for high-paying men's magazines. I could postpone thinking about my own sexual dilemmas and focus on my clients.
    By the end of the evening, we were experts on the Dom Den experience. People were aroused, but never really had sex, as the exchange of fluids was prohibited. They enjoyed the exhibitionism, the voyeurism, and the pain. As I continued to watch, I told myself that I was merely studying up for my job interview (and future articles). Dominatrix for one of the great dungeons of the world. Yeah, that would look good on my résumé.

Chapter 11
    Theater Games
    “Please don't let me have a hot flash today. I hope I don't have a hot flash today,” I prayed into the mirror, reapplying mascara for my dominatrix interview. I thought I'd check this out—as a lark, of course—but I really needed the money. My writing career was becoming unreliable. I enjoyed eating on a regular basis, but hated living on the financial edge. I also wanted this job for the adventure factor that I could parlay into new magazine articles. I drove to the DV8 building where Julia and I had explored the world of dungeons.
    At five o'clock in the afternoon, there were only three cars in the parking lot. Otherwise, the windowless building looked either closed or abandoned. I found the entrance and rang the doorbell. A very short Mexican man with a gold hoop earring answered the door. He led me down a hallway to a small dark office. As we walked, I said to myself, “Welcome to Fantasy Island.”
    Arriving at the dark office, he ushered me in, then disappeared like a genie going back into a lamp. There was a simple black desk, four rickety office chairs, and a Styrofoam cup with bite marks on it sitting on the side of the desk. I was greeted by two women who looked like the mother and daughter from an Ivory Snow soap commercial gone bad. They resembled one another, both with overgrown bangs and oxidized blonde hair from the exact same bottle.
    “Have a seat,” said the younger one, sitting back in her chair, putting her feet on the desk, fidgeting, and crossing her legs seconds later. “Have you done improvisation or theater games?”
    At first, I thought this was a strange question. Then it