SteveBurke suggested authors post their stories here to help boost site traffic. This story is up on Literotica already, but I’m posting it here, and will be happy to discuss it if anyone comments. I have another story on Lit as well but I think this one fits the site better. It is non-consensual, but I think it fits the rules, and is nothing too extreme.
The story is set in the legalized slavery world of Joe_Doe_Stories and others, and you might have noticed the main character appeared in Joe Doe’s Any Chance Auction, but this story takes place before that (and may or may not match up with Joe’s story, I’m not going to spoil the ending.)
The idea of the old lady and her store came from the wonderfully deviant mind of Joe Doe, and I couldn’t have done this story without him.
Tanuki
Part A
The statuesque young woman walked through the labyrinth of cubicles in the FBI field office, dropping off letters and documents. The last name on her list read “Reina Sayama, Special Agent, Slavery Violation Unit.” She found the name tag on the cubicle wall and dropped the letter in the envelope slot, taking a peek at the slender Asian woman leaning back in her office chair. She was young, maybe mid 20s, and pretty with her dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, and her gray fitted suit didn’t completely hide her curvaceous figure. The delivery girl sighed with envy. If she’d only made better choices in life, maybe she could have been the one dressed in a suit, with a bad ass FBI job.
The agent looked up to see the girl peeking around her office cubicle wall. She was beautiful, dressed in a revealing pink tank top and matching shorts, and it was clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear. The girl looked completely out of place in an FBI office. “Who are you?” she asked the delivery girl, who looked like a college intern by age, but interns usually wore fitted suits or coat & tie.
The girl stepped out, looking embarrassed. She quickly got down on her knees. “Oh, I’m sorry Mistress, I didn’t mean to stare. I’m Kara, I’m the new office slave girl. I just started today. Can I make some copies for you?”
“Slave girl?” asked the agent, incredulous. After two years of rumors, they’d finally done it, allowed FBI field offices to bring in indentured slaves to do the menial office work like making copies and delivering mail. And it was clear how this girl had been selected. She’d bet money her boss Ellis had done the interviewing, and written up the dress code. She looked at the girl kneeling demurely just outside her cubicle, her big doe eyes looking up expectantly. “Get up! Who told you to kneel?”
“Uh, it was . . . Mr. Ellis?” said the girl, gracefully unwinding her long legs and getting to her feet.
“I knew it. Bastard,” said Reina, under her breath. She waved the girl away with disgust. “Go, and don’t kneel for people!”
Reina Sayama was born in Japan, of a Japanese father and Polish-American mother. When she was only five, her life took a wild change in course. Japan, desperate to address its overwhelming national debt burden, had instituted a national slavery law by its predominantly male Parliament. Reina's mother had been attracted to Japan for its tolerance and even encouragement of submissiveness among women; it was in fact the reason she’d moved there and married a Japanese man. As a hostess, she didn’t make a lot of money, and combined with Reina’s father’s gambling debts and the economic downturn, the family’s debt grew to an alarming level. Reina’s mother secretly signed away her freedom in return for a large sum of money, with which she’d hoped to secure a future for Reina and her sister Mai, and rescue her husband from his Yakuza loan shark. Her father had been furious when he found out, but there was no breaking a willfully signed slavery contract. His only recourse was to try to buy her back. Reina’s mother had been auctioned at Tokyo's first Slave House, and her father had been in the audience, her mother’s contract money in hand to try to buy back his wife. The sight of the big breasted, golden haired white woman kneeling obediently on the block with her silky thighs spread wide had caused an uproar in the audience of mostly wealthy Japanese men. Reina's father had been outbid in less than a minute, and Reina's mother had been handed in chains to a well-connected Japanese businessman.
Shortly after, her father had paid off his debts using her contract money, to honor his wife’s wishes. Then he brought Reina and her older sister Mai to the United States, to enroll them in an all-girls prep school. Reina's father raised his daughters right, and as adults they were both vehemently opposed to slavery. When the US legalized slavery, both girls dedicated their careers to the protection of women from the fast-growing tentacles of the slaving industry. Mai became a lawyer specializing in protecting women from slavery prosecutions. Reina had transferred from her counter terrorism post in the FBI, to a new division created to target illegal enslavement schemes.
Reyna quickly excelled in her new position, thrilled to be doing vital work to protect women and girls. It was a quite common practice for the slaving industry to trick or entrap pretty young women into something that would lead to their eventual enslavement. It was of particular concern for famous female celebrities or athletes, who would fetch such a high price on the slave block that their freedom was always in danger from nefarious characters in the slaving industry.
Reina’s career accelerated quickly, yet she had one drawback. Her pretty face was extremely expressive, which was something her trainers at the Academy had focused in on as an undesirable trait for an investigator. It was something she'd worked hard to control, with some success. Despite her efforts, her coworkers and the criminals she targeted never had much trouble making her blush, or shocking her with their inappropriate comments, much to their amusement. Reina had been reprimanded more than once by her superiors for her "unprofessional" behavior, but despite 5 years in the Bureau, she still had a naive streak, and was an easy target for men who liked to tease her.
Reina's father had tried to discourage both girls from their chosen professions, worrying that too much exposure to the slavery industry might foster some deep-seated tendencies inherited from their mother. But both girls had assured him repeatedly that they were not like their mother, and from all appearances, that was true. When Reina had volunteered for the Bureau, the agency psychologist had grilled her to try to uncover any such tendencies. The Bureau could not afford one of their agents choosing to become a slave, it would be an embarrassment. Reina had passed with flying colors, showing no signs of affinity for slavery. She'd done well in her new role, earning commendations and helping to break up several entrapment schemes. She'd received more than a few gifts from appreciative female celebrities, and her closet had a few stunning and unaffordable dresses and designer bags, which she would wear on special occasions.
The lunch hour bell sounded, rousing Reina from her thoughts, and she quickly got out of her chair and grabbed her purse. She was going to meet her old childhood friend Debbie Jamison, whom she hadn’t seen in over a year. Going around her desk she knocked a stack of papers onto the floor, and as she bent over to pick them up, she heard a familiar voice from behind her.
“Ah, my favorite view,” said the slightly nasally voice. Ellis was her pudgy middle aged supervisor. Reina turned around, her eyes narrowing and her hand starting to strangle the strap of her purse. “Oh, silly me . . . now I remember this is my favorite view. Pity you insist on wearing clothes in the office,” said Ellis, looking his subordinate up and down.
“Ellis!” hissed Reina, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned around. The man was incredibly annoying, but he was also competent and had taken care of her career-wise. For that reason she made an effort to tolerate his childish behavior. But bringing in an office slave girl? That was way over the line. “Ellis! I saw the new ‘office girl’. That was your doing, no doubt?”
“Hmm, yes,” murmured Ellis, as if trying to see through her forearms to the treasures beneath. Then he gave up and sighed. “Uh, yes, beautiful girl, and quite a bargain really. No salary or overtime, cheap health care, no whining about work hours or harassment. She quite likes me I think! Cheerful lass, don’t you think?”
“Ellis!” she hissed again. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to bring in slaves, even if the FBI ok’d it? How can we set out to fight slavery when we are participating in it??”
Ellis shrugged. “We’re not fighting slavery, remember? Slavery is legal. Our job is to make sure the industry obeys the laws. You forget that sometimes. Besides, I think it’s a great morale booster, and she’s quite hardworking and helpful.”
Reina made a sound of disgust. “Oh, I’m sure she is, what is she helping you with, sir?” The last one had a stinging ring of sarcasm attached.
Ellis raised an eyebrow as if in thought. “Well, yes, she . . . uh . . . anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Agent Huntly tracked a suspect to a neighborhood in Little Tokyo, then lost him. He asked if you could take over.”
“Of course he did,” said Reina. Agent Hunk-ly she called him. Tall, dark and handsome, and dumb as rocks. “Can’t someone else do it? You know I’m tracking down those internal leaks. I really think someone is tipping off our friends about our movements.”
Ellis looked serious all of a sudden. “Do you have something this time? If so I want a full report on my desk asap!”
Reina sighed. “Nothing . . . concrete. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something. But I was heading over to the server farm after lunch to do some research.”
“Ok, keep me posted. I don’t want you wasting all your time on a phantom mole. I need you to follow up on Huntly’s suspect.”
“Fine,” said Reina, with annoyance. They were always putting aside important work to do worthless follow up investigations, it was the job. “Text me the address and suspect name.”
“Already did,” smiled Ellis. “I’m one step ahead of you as always.”
Reina made a derisive snorting sound and opened her phone. She recognized the street address, and the name of a low-priority slaver muscle. He’d be long gone by the time she arrived of course. Much of her job involved following worthless leads, but they had to be followed up regardless. “I’ll head right over.” Then she gave Ellis a dirty look. “And we’re not done talking about this office girl thing!”
“Oh don’t worry, my dear. If you ever get in trouble with the law, I’ll fire her and buy you for the office. You’d look great in the office slave girl uniform,” he said, with a suggestive wink.
“Over my dead body,” murmured Reina, shaking her head at her boss’ outrageous behavior. Then to her surprise, his tone changed, and he put a hand on her shoulder.
“All jokes aside, we can’t change the world, Reina. We just have to make it a little better. If the powers that be are going to make slavery legal, we should all try to roll with it. Now go enjoy your lunch date,” said Ellis, his voice sympathetic. “We both know your suspect’s probably miles away by now.”
Reina was always thrown off balance when her boss turned thoughtful. She smiled at him, and then she frowned suddenly. “How did you know I was going to . . . ?” she started, then just shook her head. Her boss always seemed to know where she was going, and she’d long since stopped asking how. The man was FBI after all. She walked out of her office and down the hall toward the elevator, and Ellis stood there enjoying the view before returning to his office.
Down in the basement, Reina started up the engine to her SUV and phoned up Debbie on her car’s screen. “Hi Debbie,” she said when her friend answered. “Look . . . could we postpone lunch an hour? I have to follow up a quick lead.”
“I knew it!” squeaked her friend on the car speakers. “Fine, I’ll tell me Dad we’re gonna be an hour late.”
Reina sucked in a sharp breath. “Your Dad? He’s . . . coming?”
“Yes, is that a problem?” said Debbie. “It’s been years, he wanted to see you.”
“Oh, uh, no!” said Reina, trying to act casual. “No problem at all, I’ll, uh, see you at 1.”
“Ok great, see ya!” said Debbie, and then hung up.
Reina felt a pit in her stomach. Debbie’s father was a wealthy, handsome businessman, and doting father. And Reina had had a crush on him in high school, until one day when she’d found out a little too much about her best friend’s dad. She was surprised Mr. Jamison would be willing to meet up with Reina, now a law enforcement agent. Then again he’d committed no crime, so there was nothing she could do. She’d never told her best friend what happened, for fear of losing her, and Mr. Jamison probably knew he could count on her continued silence. “Stop analyzing this!” Reina told herself. It was hard to turn off her FBI mentality.
Her phone rang in Apple Carplay, the screen displaying Call From Agent Hunk-ly. “Agent Sayama, it’s me, Huntly,” said the deep, masculine voice.
“Yes, I know it’s you, dummy,” said Reina, exasperated at his stupidity. “You’re in my address book, you know?”
“I am?” said Huntly, sounding interested. Reina sighed, shaking her head. “Uh, that’s nice. So, anyway, I tracked that scumbag, what was his name, Lever, Leechy . . .”
“Larry?” said Reina, helpfully. Two-chains Larry was a low level loser they were always following in case he did something stupid, like lead them to the big fish.
“Yeah, him,” chuckled Huntly. “I tracked his ass to this, like, cosplay store or something, on MLK and Enon. Then I uh, lost him.”
Reina’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, you lost him? Did he go in the store?”
“Yeah, he went in the store,” said Huntly.
“And . . . why didn’t you go in there after him?” said Reina, trying to lead his small brain to its next logical thought.
“Cause it’s like, all girly stuff in there,” said Huntly. “I don’t think men are allowed, you know?”
Reina’s jaw fell open. “But . . . the man went in there . . . and . . . you thought men aren’t allowed in the store.”
“Yes, white man in some Chinatown girly clothing store, I’d stick out like a sore thumb, you know?” said Huntly.
Well, he was probably right about that, thought Reina. When it was clear the other agent was done with his explanation, Reina sighed. “So naturally you thought you’d call up your girlfriend Reina to finish doing your job for you, is that correct?”
“Yes, right again!” said Huntly, relieved that she understood. Then his voice turned awkward. “You know Reina, I like you and all, you’re a great . . . agent . . . but . . . you’re just not my . . . uh . . . well you’re not . . .”
“Not your type, I know. I was just kidding about the girlfriend thing, Huntly,” said Reina, annoyed that he always felt the need to remind her she wasn’t his type. Then again it was probably fortunate, for the man was a Greek god who made her stammer like an idiot in his presence. She much preferred talking to him on the phone so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
“Oh, that was just a joke,” exclaimed Huntly, sounding relieved. “Ok, thanks babe, you’re the best! I gotta run, I’m late for the gym.” Then he hung up, leaving Reina to stare at the screen as if it had just sprouted wings. The man never ceased to amaze her. If she was late for lunch with Debbie, she was going to kill Hunkly.
Reina parked her Ford Explorer at the corner of Martin Luther King Blvd and Enon St. She double checked the address in her nav app. If it had been of the other male agents passing down the mission she’d suspect he was pulling her leg, but that was too sophisticated for Hunkly. Still, this wasn’t a nice neighborhood, and an odd place for a high-end costume store. Looking quickly around her surroundings for suspicious characters, she pulled out her pistol and gently pulled back the slide to check that it was loaded before putting it back in her holster and unlocking her vehicle. With her senses on edge, she walked the half block to the entrance of Madame Mystery’s Costume Store and entered. Immediately she began to suspect a prank. The office was having a costume party at the end of the month, and her fellow agents had been teasing her incessantly.
“You have your nun costume ready, Rei?”
“You find a stick to put up your ass, Agent? Oh right, you have that already!”
As she looked about the store for signs of Two-Chains Larry, she couldn’t help noticing the elaborate Victorian costumes. They looked very real, and she’d heard how uncomfortable they were. She cautiously moved through the store, moving past female superhero costumes, and chuckled at the police costumes. Reina wondered if the store catered only to women, for she wasn’t seeing kids or men’s costumes. Reina continued searching the store for her suspect, but the store was empty. In fact she didn’t even see any employees, the store was deserted. Reina started to relax and look more closely at the fascinating array of outfits. She let her mind wander to the thought of putting on a costume, and being whisked away to a world where she wasn’t the no-nonsense FBI Agent and was just a lady in waiting, or an emperor’s concubine, or a---
"Perhaps I can help you, dear," came the sweet melodic voice behind her. Reina turned, expecting a younger woman, and she was startled to see a shriveled old woman standing patiently behind her.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there.” The woman was dressed in a flowing colorful gown of an unfamiliar era. It looked ancient and yet beautiful. She had to be the shop owner. How adorable, Reina thought. She must have a wild imagination to create such a store.
“You look like you’re in need of a fantasy getaway, my dear,” said the old woman, more statement than question.
"Hi," Reina said, acting in character in case the suspect was nearby and listening in. "Uh, well, we have an office costume party coming up, and you know, I want to show the men I can be fun too," she lied, feeling a little guilty about lying to the nice old lady. But she didn’t want her to know she was tailing a suspected underground slaver.
"Oh, what an interesting office you must have,” said the woman, her tone a bit strange. Did she know Reina was lying?
“Oh no, not interesting at all, I’m afraid,” said Reina, chuckling. She wrinkled her nose, and whispered quietly. “It could use a little feminine touch.”
“Oh, I know you can be provide that in spades, dear," said the old woman said, giving her a knowing smile. Reina looked at her oddly. The woman was full of surprises. "I think I have just the thing for you, my little aspiring temptress."
Reina opened her mouth to protest, but the old woman was already moving through the store toward the back, and Reina followed her to a rack of hanging costumes. The variety was stunning, ranging from rags to lingerie, to things she’d never seen. Reina noticed that none of the costumes were packaged like you’d find in a Halloween store – cheap packaged crap that would be uncomfortable to wear and would fall apart after one night. Like everything in the old woman’s store, these looked like real clothing, not costumes at all. None had bags, and few even had labels. They were more like . . . disguises? Her eyebrows raised. Was that why her suspect had entered this particular store?
“Do you have costumes for men?” said Reina. She hadn’t seen any, and she doubted the suspect would be looking for female costumes.
“A few,” said the old lady. “Ah, here we go. When you walked in the door, I knew right away this was the one for you.”
Rena looked at her askance. "What is that, a silk scarf?" she asked. “Where’s the rest of the costume?”
The woman smiled, and showed Rena the inside label. Reina recognized it instantly. She’d once read a trashy novel about a strange world on the other side of the solar system, where the men were barbarians and the women were slaves. The label depicted such a man in a turban with two girls dressed in skimpy silk . . . and chains. She suspected the costume maker plagiarized the cover art from the book.
Reina laughed. “Oh, right, a slave girl costume? How perfect for me,” she added, sarcastically.
"Of course, that's just for show. During the actual sale you wouldn't be wearing any clothes!", the old woman said with a chuckle. "Only a fool buys a slave girl with clothes on."
Reina saw the woman looking at her with that all-knowing gaze, and she suddenly flushed. She looked again at the colorful label, then at the red silk. There was barely enough material there to cover anything, and it was shear . . . so it literally wouldn’t cover anything! Reina was repulsed, and yet, she couldn’t help wondering how would it feel to be dressed in such a thing, standing before that crowd of men, and women? All eyes would be on her, and she wouldn’t have her usual fitted suit and blouse to hide her curves from the leering eyes of men. Reina lived in a world where slavery was legal, and scary, and terrible. But this costume was the stuff of fantasy – a barbarian world, stone auction block surrounded by handsome shirtless muscled men who would examine her, with their eyes and perhaps, their hands. She imagined the horror of standing there, as the auctioneer showed off her assets, while the bidders judged her beauty and desirability in the most direct way. She always wondered if men found her attractive. In this barbarian world, she would know instantly by their bidding, or lack of it. I'd be auctioned off like an animal, Reina thought, based on the bidders’ evaluation of my face, my lips, my hair, my breasts, my hips. And the one who valued those things the highest would own me!
And what if she didn’t receive any bids? After all, it was expensive to buy a slave. A man might get only one chance to get it right. Without bids she might go to someone . . . repugnant . . . poor . . . cruel.
The old woman knowingly finished the thought. "Yes, to be auctioned off like that would be horrifying. Unthinkable, eh dear?”
Reina’s head jerked to look at her. Had she read her mind? The woman seemed to know her thoughts. What a sales woman she was, truly gifted. "I . . . haven’t given it any thought,” answered Reina, submissively. The old woman looked at her with that knowing grin again.
“And yet, think of the feeling of pride if your sale price was unusually high? Men and women fighting over you, willing to hand over years of hard-earned cash just for the chance to purchase you, to take you home in chains, to dominate and train you, and to own you, in every sense of the word." The woman’s voice was like a lover’s caress, seductive, penetrating.
Reina looked at the strange woman, feeling embarrassed by the direction of the conversation. “Sounds wonderful. No chains with the costume?" she asked, with a little grin. But the woman never seemed to notice her sarcastic tone.
"Oh, of course, silly me. We have all the appropriate accessories, of course!" the old woman said brightly, rummaging through a chest full of clothing. She turned, holding up a delicate set of bronze chains. The links were tiny, like fine jewelry, and the matching collar was slender, clearly meant for a woman’s neck. Reina’s hand drifted subconsciously to her chest just below her neck.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” said the woman, holding them up for Reina to take. She took the set of chains – it was so light, clearly not meant to actually restrain her, and yet as she fingered the chains, they were clearly not a cheap costume accessory either. Nor did they appear to be new. In fact, the chains looked old and worn, but of fine craftsmanship. She couldn’t stop looking at them, so fine and unusual. She held up the chain and ran it along outstretched wrist. The metal felt light and sensual on her skin.
"See these loops, here, and here? That's so they can chain you to a coffle. Perfect for parading the merchandise through the crowded city streets and to the slave market. 'Show, don't tell', as they say,” the old woman added with a laugh.
"Of course they are," chuckled Reina. The woman was really playing her part well. “It’s made to look old, somehow?” she added, appreciatively.
"Yes, it was used in the slave markets of medieval Europe. They didn't sell Christians, but foreigners like you were fair game. But turnabout is fair play, and it was clipped on the throat of many a white girl sold in the Tripoli slave markets. Eventually it made its way to New Orleans. They would sell Asians, like you, in the great rotunda of the St. Louis Hotel."
"New Orleans?" Rena asked. Was she talking about the old slave days? “They sold Asian slaves?” she added. Reina was pretty sure they hadn’t sold Asians in early America. But then her history classes had been scrubbed for sensitivities like everything else.
"Of course, anyone they could enslave," the old woman said. "Oh, dear, the idea upset your delicate sensibilities. I have just the thing for that too."
Reina gasped as the old woman picked up a whip, that looked as old and well used as the chains. She smiled at Reina, running the lash lovingly through her fingers. "So where would you like to be sold, dear? A great rotunda, in the old South? Or on the stone steps of a barbarian slave market, on a strange, exotic world? Use your imagination, and give it some thought, like you would a life-changing decision!"
Reina chuckled nervously. The woman was too much! “Ooh, I was always partial to the barbarian slave market,” she said, her eyes gleaming as she played along.
“A good choice,” nodded the old woman. “Those virile barbarian men will teach you your proper place in no time. I imagine an Oriental slave girl like you would be a novelty for them.”
“It’s . . . Asian . . . these days,” corrected Reina.
“Of course,” said the woman politely. “So, are you ready to try it on?”
“Oh, god no, thank you,” giggled Reina. “It’s so… skimpy. Why wear a costume at all?”
“Oh, of course, a true slave girl prefers to be naked, but there’s no need to rush things. Think of the symbolism. When you put on this costume, you give up a lot more than just your fancy business suit. You give up your education, your rights, and your very freedom. Slave girls don’t need jobs, or phones, or money. And they certainly don’t need badges and guns,” she said, pointing at the bulge under her jacket. Reina frowned, reflexively putting her hand on the front of her suit jacket where the gun was supposed to have been hidden. The woman handed her the silk costume. “These slave silks will be all you have, once you choose to wear them. Here, feel for yourself.”
“It’s beautiful,” Reina murmured, feeling the silk. Again, it was not like any cheap costume she’d encountered. They felt real, and while not fancy, and the colors a bit faded with time, they were still lovely. “But I don’t think I’d give up my freedom to wear it. It’s not that pretty,” she commented, giggling again, though her throat felt tight and her voice a bit too high pitched. The conversation, while silly, had a strange disconcerting tone to it, like she was dancing with a scorpion.
“Oh, you give up your freedom,” she said with a dismissive wave or her wrinkled hand, “but you gain so much more. “Like your Mr. Norman explained in that tawdry novel you read, slavery is freedom. Pleasure sluts aren’t permitted clothes, dignity, or respect, but this liberates them to experience pleasure in a way no free woman can. They are pure sexual animals, unrestrained by our notions of “lady-like” behavior, livestock who exist only to give and receive pleasure.” Leaning in, the woman’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know what they say: you haven’t orgasm’d til you’ve been forced to cum by your slave master.”
Reina gasped. “No, I don’t, who says that?” she exclaimed, her voice a bit squeaky. She hadn’t remembered telling the woman about the trashy novel she’d read a few years ago. She’d hated it, so poorly written, the male author so condescending, describing women like stupid livestock. And yet she’d never gotten the damn book out of her head. The ideas of the book so foreign, so repugnant, and yet the whole world seemed to be willingly following his lead down the path of slavery.
She noticed the woman giving her that knowing look again. Reina suddenly shook her head.
“You sound like a recruiter for the slave trade,” she scolded. “I’ve heard the same drivel peddled to innocent young women.”
“Oh course you’re right,” said the woman, nodding. “You have your job, so important, and your boyfriends, and you pay taxes, and do all that paperwork. Your life is so busy, and full of important busy work. What a pity, for you will never get to experience the purity and freedom of being a pleasure slave, where your only job, your purpose, is to please those who stand as master over you. What a magnificent life you are missing out on.”
“Yeah, what a shame,” said Reina, her sarcasm lost on the old woman.
“But do not despair,” the old woman said. “You can find what you seek. It is already inside you. You keep that desire hidden deep inside you, locked away in a dark closet, unbeknownst to the world. But you long to go there, to that rich fantasy world, filled with strong barbarian masters and lovely slave girls in chains and slave silks. In that world, you can cast aside your inhibitions without guilt or shame, because inhibitions will not be permitted. Imagine a world where you will quiver helplessly, as the spasms of unimaginable pleasure ripple through your body.”
Reina swallowed heavily, feeling a bit feverish. “Y-you have a wonderful imagination, but I have no time for such frivolous fantasies. I . . . I have a boyfriend, I don’t need that . . .”
“Your boyfriend, yes,” nodded the woman, with sadness. “He treats you with respect, always asks your opinion before doing something. In the bedroom he is respectful and gentle. If only that is what you truly desired. If only he knew how to make you feel feminine, and desirable.”
Reina gasped in protest, then held her tongue. Best not to encourage the old woman who’d just described her Jacob perfectly. How did she do that? Reina wondered. Was she a charlatan, like a shady palm reader or corrupt evangelist?
The woman held up a finger to silence her. She picked up a riding crop off the shelf and ran the shaft through her fingers. “What you truly desire, my dear Reina, is . . . discipline, and structure. You can have those things you desire. It is not too late for you. This costume IS you. You were meant to wear it. You will look magnificent wearing it. Irresistible, even. You owe it yourself to try it on. You can go to other costume stores, but they will never have this. This is your opportunity, break out from that mold, explore your inner slave girl.”
Reina stood there transfixed, imagining herself wearing the costume, pondering what she might feel. She shouldn’t, she was a professional, and she was working! And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it . . .
“Come now, let’s not dilly dally. Spit-spot!” she said, tapping Reina’s bottom playfully with the business end of the riding crop.
Reina jumped, giggling nervously at the incredibly awkward situation. She realized that this mysterious old woman had given her the sales spiel of a lifetime. Perhaps she owed it to the woman to try on her damned costume.
“That’s a girl, there’s nothing wrong with having a spot of fun,” the old woman said, again giving Reina that odd sensation like she was reading her mind. Reina moved in the direction the woman was gesturing, and she looked back, seeing the old woman following, riding crop in hand, with a black cat following her. The cat hissed at her, making her jump. It didn’t seem to like her.
“Shhh!’ the old woman said, hushing the cat. “Be patient, dear. Reina is our guest. There will be time for discipline later.”
“How did you know my name?” Reina asked, realizing it was the second time the woman had called her by name.
“You told me, silly,” she said, as if speaking to a child. “Use the changing room on the left. It’s the largest, and the most private. Hurry up, or momma spank!” she said, tapping her palm with the riding crop.
The whole visit was taking on a surreal tone. Then her eyes widened. Of course, this was an elaborate practical joke, set up by the office. There was no other explanation for the woman knowing so much about her.
Reina opened her mouth to call out the woman’s charade, but something made her stop, as she looked at the woman grinning playfully. Her whole office thought she was a stuck-up prude. She was sure they planned this to embarrass her, expecting her to run crying from the shop. They were probably outside waiting and would bring it up every time they saw her. Reina knew she had to loosen up a little, and not get offended, especially by this harmless old woman. It’s not like the lady was Ellis, her crude, ogling boss. Besides, she had to admit, part of her craved doing something daring, outrageous. Ellis and her coworkers would never see her wear it, this was just for herself. Like the sexy lingerie she owned. No man had seen her wear it.
“I’ll just buy it,” said Reina, finally. “No need to try it on.”
The old woman smiled. “Oh no dear, I have a rule. I get to see you wear it.” Then the woman sighed, her voice more pleading. “Please, it took me a day to make that dress, indulge me?”
Reina couldn’t say no to such a thing, and in fact, it would be nice for someone safe to see her in it. The changing room was much larger than she’d have guessed, and when she locked the door behind her, Reina realized there was something odd about the room. She’d noticed it had had four doors on the outside, but those doors weren’t present on the inside. She chuckled. The other three doors were obviously fake, and the woman had brought her through the only real door. She was truly a great show person.
Reina checked that the door was securely locked, and looked carefully for cameras, before hanging the costume on a wooden peg and beginning to undress. She stepped out of her shoes, then removed her jacket and hung it up in a storage area, then removed her gun belt and holstered weapon and placed those in the cubby up high, but within reach. Reina stepped out of her pants and then unbuttoned her blouse, folding both neatly and placing them in the cubby. Bending over she pulled off her ankle stockings and placed them on the pile, feeling the cool wood floor on her feet.
Standing there in her white bra and panties, Reina had that odd sense of being watched, and she checked again for any signs of cameras. The room was full of mirrors, but none of them looked like they could be one-way, so she calmed her nerves and stripped off her underwear. The sight of her naked body in the front and back mirrors made Reina briefly turn about and check herself out, but then she turned to the hanging costume.
She would not have had a clue how to wear it if not for the image on the label. After examining it closely and looking at the artist depiction, she figured out how to drape it behind her neck, so that two narrow strips covered the center of her breasts, held onto her body by the swell of her full breasts and a thin red string she tied off encircling her chest. A small chested woman wouldn’t be able to wear it, she realized with a frown. The right side of the garment had two tiny, tattered strips, that ran down to what passed for a skirt – a circle of red silk that draped over her hips and bottom, again held in place by her feminine curves. Reina wasn’t as tall as the white girl in the depiction, yet the costume seemed a perfect fit to her curves. Reina pulled down on the front of the skirt, but that simply lifted the back, exposing more of her ass. The thin material covered just enough of her feminine parts as to avoid an arrest for indecent exposure. Maybe. And if there was a slight wind, the crowd would see her everything.
Reina looked at the tag again, and then she gasped. The tall blond girl . . . was gone. In her place . . . was an Asian girl! A shorter, voluptuous tanned Asian girl with shoulder length black hair. Reina blinked in confusion. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, and she flipped the tag over – perhaps it had two sides? But the back was blank. She flipped it back, and then her eyes narrowed. The men depicted in the crowd had also changed, they looked . . . familiar . . .
“Oh, it fits you perfectly!” said the woman from directly behind her.
Reina spun in alarm, dropping the tag and staggering for balance. She reflexively grabbed at her waist for her gun.
“Are you going to shoot me?” the old woman said, laughing. “Slave girls don’t have guns, silly! Really, Reina, what a little ditz you are.”
Reina looked about in confusion. “How did you get in here? The door was locked.” If the woman got in, perhaps there was a hidden door? And one-way windows?
“No it wasn’t. You left it wide open, so anyone could see inside. Really, Reina, just because you dress like a bimbo, doesn’t mean you should act like one, too.”
Reina looked past the woman, and saw the door was indeed totally wide open. She opened her mouth in confusion, then yelped in surprise when the woman wrapped on her bottom with the tip of her riding crop.
“Enough of your foolishness. Let’s go see you in the big mirror, shall we?” Reina hesitated. Every fiber of her being said to take off the ridiculous costume and get dressed, in case there really was a camera recording. And yet . . . she was dying to see how she looked. And she really didn’t want to have to arrest the old woman for hitting her with the whip. She imagined the guys at the department laughing at her for bringing in an old woman. Better to play along with her harmless game.
