someone who would overwhelm me with her accomplishments, her money, her brilliance; the kind who would have brought out the submissive in me until I was defenseless, and who would then have dumped me for any or no reason. Fortunately for me, I was well along as a domme-in-training by the time I landed the job at Windy Ridge High. Had meeting her preceded my discovery of the dungeon, I would have pined away for her quite uselessly.
In any event, Lynn Jeffries wasn't that nice to anyone, not really. She was superficially pleasant but never honestly involved, never caring. Her infrequent smiles never reached her clear, China-blue eyes. Because as a janitor I was virtually invisible, people talked in front of me as if I weren't there or didn't speak English. It was easy to just wait and collect information. I never had to ask anything around that place. Rumors flew. Standing around, being a sponge, I soon learned all I needed to know about everyone in the place, but especially about Dr. Lynn Jeffries.
She was famous for saying things like, “Since there'll never be anyone to buy me things, I buy them myself,” and, “Since no one wants to go to these places with me, I go on my own,” and, “Since no one can stand to live with me, it's a good thing I have a dog.” It was a wall she put up, forestalling disappointment and rejection. I could almost sympathize. I mostly made do on my own, too, because when I allowed people to get close to me, I lost so much of myself; it wasn't worth the companionship, the comforts, the goodies. She must have had similar experiences. People don't just forswear all companionship all of a sudden for no reason. Human beings are social animals; we have to get hurt before we can make that decision.
When I was interviewed, and it certainly wasn't by Dr. Jeffries, I was told to steer clear of her and never to go into her office for any reason as I was the junior of the six janitors and obviously not to be trusted. Her office was so barricaded there wasn't much danger of that anyway. Two fat, grim secretaries sat guard almost all day long, and behind them was a wooden barrier reminiscent of a courtroom. Her office door was almost always shut, and just in case it wasn't, there was a folding mahogany screen in front of it.
This was not to say the principal was inaccessible; Dr. Jeffries just guarded her privacy, coming out or letting people in strictly on her own terms. She was always in evidence in the halls, especially between periods. She showed up everywhere, always without notice, even in gym classes and the cafeteria. Substituting in the social sciences was among her most effective methods of striking utter terror in the hearts of students. She had favorites among students and faculty alike, but not among staff. We were invisible to her. A doctoral candidate among the faculty or a kid headed to an Ivy League school was often found nestled securely beneath her Talbot-suited wing, only to be replaced by another temporary favorite before much time had passed.
In short, I didn't have a chance. It didn't keep me from fantasizing about spending the day under her desk, which I had never even seen, or of just hearing her say, “Thank you, Jane,” after I picked up an armload of books she dropped on her way home. The sniff was the only acknowledgement of my existence I was ever likely to wring from her, and I would be wise to let it go at that.
I was whipping a submissive, my mind on Lynn Jeffries as usual, my eyes more on the crowd than on the slave writhing against my boots. Soon she would beg to come on them, and after teasing her mercilessly, and interrupting her frenzy to make her pleasure me, I would give in, and she would go home happy, whoever the hell she was. If I got off, great. If not, I could go see Beverly, or maybe I would just go home and do myself, thinking of those big blue eyes, that dusting of freckles on unblemished skin.
I always watched the galleries. We had bets going all the time about who would cross over and participate, and when.
While my fourth slave of the evening was polishing my combat boots, Beverly happened by with a sub on a leash crawling beside her. The instant Beverly stopped, the sub attached herself to Beverly's left heel and started sucking. Beverly ignored her. “Upper left, in the long blond wig and shades,” Beverly remarked casually. “Been watching you all night.'
“How much?” I inquired. I had seen her, too.
“Ten bucks on the next night she shows up. Not tonight, but soon,” Beverly predicted with a wink.
Personally, I thought this new sub-wannabe had a more hesitant attitude than most. I didn't think so. “You're on,” I agreed.
I won. The woman in the wig came back the next two nights but remained in the farthest corner of the largest gallery, sipping something non-alcoholic (you could tell by the color of the go-cup) and just watching. She watched all the dommes at first, finally settling on me, but she still didn't budge.
Beverly paid up without complaint. “I still say she wants you.'
“Maybe, but I remember being right where she is. Making that first move takes a lot of nerve. Just coming here does,” I reminded my colleague.
“She's yours,” Beverly insisted. “Why don't you thrill her and talk to her?'
“Nah, she'll never come back,” I said.
“Just look at her directly a few times. She'll get the message,” Beverly prodded. “Wanna get it on, after?'
I looked at her jackboots, remembering. “Yeah,” I agreed.
I did look up at the woman, not that she could see my eyes behind my glasses, any more than I could see hers, but by the end of the night, she was gone. I stripped down to lick leather and Beverly's pussy and forgot all about the blond wig.
Chapter Four
On Monday afternoon, all I could think of was my bed. Some of the kids had gotten food poisoning and we had to clean up the cafeteria and nurse's office several times, and disinfect it all too. I was glad to get out in the fresh air to take down the flag, and was so distracted by the events of the day that I almost jumped out of my skin when she came up behind me.
“Get that trash, would you?'
A flyer of some sort had lodged itself at the base of one of the palm trees that flanked the entrance walkway.
I recovered quickly. “Yes, ma'am, Dr. Jeffries,” I said with a slight bow. I tucked the flag under my arm and went to retrieve the offending paper.
“Good,” she said, and with a brisk nod, she got into her silver BMW and roared off to God knew where. Well, actually, I knew where; a ritzy neighborhood just north of Tampa, a gated community where shipping magnates, tennis stars and retired generals lived in idyllic, if not authentically central-Floridian, lushness. Walt Disney proved you can improve on nature. I hadn't gotten so bad yet that I would stalk the woman, but I did have a map program on my computer. Enough said.
I was idiotically pleased with myself. I had not babbled. I had not blushed. I had not fallen at her Gucci'd feet in paroxysms of orgasmic ecstasy.
She still had no idea who I was. Garbage collector and mopper of puke to Her Majesty, and that was about it.
The next four days, all I got was the sniff again. I thought of letting pieces of paper fly loose as I went outdoors each day, so she could send me scampering after them like a crazed puppy. Eager as I was for her to notice me, I managed to restrain myself. Whatever way there was to get her attention, it would have to be a lot more sophisticated than that.
As I drove home in my aging Toyota, my mind jumped ahead to the dungeon. I wondered if that woman in the blond wig and dark glasses would be back, and if or when she might overcome her inhibitions and relieve the pressures I knew were building inside her. I didn't have to know anything about her except that she kept coming back. I had kept coming back. I had never left. We were all of a type, the D/s sisterhood. The love that dared not speak its name had mutated. Plain old same-sex sex was all but passe. Same-sex D/s was still uncharted territory to most of American society, and not because they thought it was cool and chic, either. Weren't we funny? Just about the time we were almost accepted, we managed to find a behavior to set ourselves apart all over again. If that isn't perverted… well, never mind. That thesis will keep.
By 11 PM, the place was jammed and people were taking numbers. When I punched up my next number,
