The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive by Joan Kelly Read Free Book Online Page A

about that girl that always made me a little sad. I mean, it was horrible what they did. But she got called ugly a lot during the trial, and it seemed unnecessarily mean. It’s not like her looks were what killed those people.”
        “That’s true,” Robert nodded, and I was relieved that anything I’d said had made sense to him.
        “I guess she stuck in my head because I knew what it was like to get called ugly a lot at that age.” I shrugged.
        “Now that I don’t believe.” He shook his head.
        “Hold it.” I put up my hand to shush him; I hadn’t been trying to play the I’m-ugly-game, fishing for compliments. “Let’s just say it was before I blossomed.”
        He laughed, and then turned to me, rising up on one elbow. “Don’t take this the wrong way…” he began, and I braced myself.
        “There’s something about you that’s different. You don’t have that hard look that a lot of women have in this business.”
        “Well, it is my first day,” I joked, relaxing. “Give me a minute.”
        “That’s what I mean,” he chuckled. “You’re sort of more of a real person, in some ways. I don’t know…”
        Naturally, I liked the idea that I was special, but I cringed at the pro-sub-with-a-heart-of-gold cliché. I felt like there was probably a reason a lot of women were guarded and hard in this or any sex-related business. I wasn’t sure that it was smart to put value on any praise that set me apart from them. I had a murky sense of how it made me vulnerable, not better, no matter what a client might say.
        Robert helped me clean the equipment we’d used. We blew out the candles together. As we walked back down to the front desk where he could settle up and I could get signed out, I thought about what an amazing day it had been. Two acceptable men, all that money, and more sexual release than I had felt in years in just a few hours’ time. I didn’t know if I could stand to wait a whole week before I came back.

THREE
        
        
         THESE ARE SLAVE’S wages, I grumbled to myself without irony.
        It was my first Monday back at my job after my afternoon at the Dominion. Fifteen bucks an hour to wear sweat-inducing polyester pantsuits and stand watch over a cold, metal desk that reeks of inactivity. It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and already I felt like a caged animal. A guilty caged animal. I had an absurdly easy job, and it was an almost obscene lack of gratitude that I now felt for it. I worked for a funny, nice man who didn’t even need a secretary, but had wanted one just to keep up appearances. He was a vice president at a nonprofit that provided a variety of services for the blind. I was required to answer about four phone calls on a busy day, and type a letter about once a week. Up to this point, it had been the cushiest, best-paying job I’d ever had.
        But it was also true after that first Saturday shift that I could make a lot more doing a lot less. I could not undo what I now knew about kinky sex work; could not make myself return to my previous state of contentment. Wrong or right, I would never again view my desk job as anything other than the wrong kind of pain in my ass. I had to find a way to work as a professional submissive full time. The world did not need one more cranky secretary, of that I was certain.
        I spent that Monday calculating and re-calculating how many hours of sessions I’d need a week to cover my monthly budget. It seemed to me that I might be able to make the transition to full time at the dungeon pretty quickly, but, to be sure, I quizzed Hillary the next Saturday before we opened.
        “Generally, Marnie, it takes about six months for girls to build up enough regulars to make a pretty steady living at this,” she told me.
        Six months? I didn’t feel like I could last another six days at the office. “Wow. Isn’t there