Agatha Avery lay on her bed, clenching and unclenching her jaw; her blue-grey eyes red, red raw.

The fucking indignity. The audacity.

She had been a budget cut.

Her company, an organisation which on its own hadn't been doing fantastically in regards to its own medical field, had hired her on as a full time program administrator. They promised her a full time job. Security. As long as she did well and followed along with what she was told to do.

A scant few months later, just as she was starting to settle, they dumped her - along with a good 20% of the company - to try and crowbar their profit margin back up to the standards of exponential growth expected of a startup.

Looking in the news a week later a report stated they'd been bought out by a new parent company, citing record profits within the month she'd worked there.

It was enough to make her angry. But that never really lasted long. It always fell away, leaving hollow misery.

Since then, job searching had been one exhausting humiliation after another. Email chains that went nowhere, an entirely worthless networking circle that reposted the same inspirational speeches about homeless men and women becoming CEOs just by being on their "grindset," and passive aggressive comments about avocado toast.

Agatha was starting to get desperate. And she knew that meant she was about to start doing something stupid. But stupid is as stupid does. And if it works out in the end, it isn't stupid, right?

So she was looking for work. But not in the usual places. Admittedly this was just a fantasy, but opening up the web browser she usually used to buy weed and psilocybin, Agatha was looking for work. Still administrative, within her wheelhouse, but perhaps for slightly less ethical people. But at least large scale drug dealers, assassins, or whatever else may still need a receptionist or a schedule manager or some kind of assistant would be upfront about their challenged ethics.

But it was as she scrolled through the listings of people selling or buying themselves, weapons, or entertainment of questionable taste and morality, Agatha felt her eye fall on a particular hyperlink;

"Home Receptionist Wanted: Never Worry About Money Again"

It was an instant click. Her rent and bills were already overdue and another wave was coming, and while her bond was a safety net she didn't trust it - or herself - at all.

The ad, for being in such a seedy place full of seemingly intentionally amateurish or foreign spelling and … creative uses of punctuation, was incredibly formal and proper.

"Live-in full time Home Receptionist for two beautiful and wealthy dominant ladies required as soon as possible. Experience and high discretion required; professional appearance and good grooming a must."

There was something else about resumes, a picture, contact information, the usual prattle. Agatha switched basically into muscle memory, inputting her details, making subtle alterations to her resume to appeal more to the hapless intern whose eyes would only graze over it as they moved the document from their in-tray to the adjacent paper shredder. The picture request was a bit weird but she had multiple professional headshots saved already. But as Agatha was about to click the finalising button, she realised she missed something; an empty text box with a prompting question:

"Why do you want to work for us?"

Agatha felt her pulse spike a little, reading the prompt again. She hated questions like this. To be forced to beg like that, to be made to debase herself just for the privilege of maybe, maybe, receiving an email back letting her know her application was rejected after she'd spent two hundred and fifty words licking some middle manager's cheap split leather shoes infuriated her.

She knew she was a submissive, sure. But work was different. And even if it wasn’t, she wanted the person she’d submit to to be actually worth her own submission. She was a person, damn it. She wanted that to be at least acknowledged.

And since this was for a job application that would in no likely way affect her future, Agatha decided to let out that angry little creature she kept in a tiny locked box in the back of her mind, just for a moment. That force of will she had so carefully bound with chains of passive subservience.

“I will be honest. I want to live. But more importantly, I want to be treated with some degree of honesty, rather than lied to my face for weeks by a boss claiming to be my "friend" or treating their staff as a "family." If you truly are expecting professionalism - and I hope you would be, considering your tone and that would refer to yourself as a dominant - then I would hope that you understand. If not, then frankly I am glad to have wasted your time.”

The catharsis Agatha felt pushing the "Send" button with far more force than necessary was worth it. She felt frustration rise off her like steam as she sat back into her desk chair. Maybe she could just close her eyes for a little bit, listen to something nice while she rested, then get back to making applications.

It took all of thirty minutes before her phone rang.

Agatha lunged forward, composed herself, then answered the private number.

'Hello, this is Agatha speaking.'

'Good, then I have the right number,' the voice on the other end of the line was elegant, mature, and faintly bemused, 'I do not receive applications like yours very often, Miss Avery.'

Agatha felt her spine immediately stiffen. Was this that dominant woman? Oh god oh fuck fuck fUCK.

'A-ah, my apologies for um. For what I'd written in the uh, the cover letter,' she stammered, 'I was … a bit frustrated at the time, I am sorry if I offended.'

Somehow, Agatha could hear the raised eyebrow on the other end of the phone.

'Oh? Am I to believe, in that case, that you intended to mislead me in your application?'

'N-no,' Agatha said, the words rising somehow unbidden, 'I meant what I said.'

'Good,' the woman answered, 'I found your emotional sincerity … refreshing.'

The faint praise felt strangely good. Like an endearing pat on the head. Even though she said so little, her tone carried much weight.

'I will conduct your interview tomorrow, the time and address will be provided in an email I have sent you. We will speak more if you attend.'

'Y-yes Miss! Miss … uh, how should I refer to you, if I may?'

There was another bemused chuckle from the other end, low and meaningful, 'You will learn my name in time, if you are worth keeping around. In the meantime, you may address me as Miss, Ma'am, or Mistress. Understood?'

'Yes Ma'am.'

The phone line clicked closed, and Agatha stared at it. Though the conversation would have felt rude or demeaning coming from anyone else, for some reason she felt compelled, more than anything.

Agatha immediately got up from her computer to shower and shave. Her face and legs and oh christ her hairy arms. She'd let herself get unkempt.

She had an interview to attend.

Inside the cramped interior of her tiny 2003 hatchback, Agatha had to crane her neck to see the extent of the mansion that towered before her. The bald tires scrunched against the immaculate gravel drive, as she was struck with the realisation that she had no idea where she was supposed to park.

As she was umming and ahhing a polite tap at her car window nearly made her jump out of her skin. A man with a full, clipped blonde beard and a gentle smile offered a polite nod of greeting as she wound down her window.

'Good evening Miss Avery, my name is Frederick. May I take your car to the garage?'

Agatha blinked for a moment in confusion before cultural osmosis filled in the gaps. Oh, a valet service! Obviously.

Wait. For an interview?

'Yes, please. Thank you,' Agatha said, stopping herself before more nervous words tumbled out of her mouth.

She stepped out of the car and Frederick smoothly entered after her, expertly steering the bright red two-door out of sight.

Now she was alone, staring up at the imposing entrance of the mansion. However castle, maybe palace, was a more appropriate term in her opinion.

Agatha had dressed not so much to impress, but to be exactly what she assumed would be expected of her. So, normal office attire. Pleated skirt and black woollen sweater vest over, a freshly ironed white button-up blouse and demure slate grey tights. The most classic "background extra in a coffee shop scene" look she could pull off. Her hair was pulled backwards into as neat a ponytail as she could muster, though she had missed the opportunity to put on make-up.

The one unusual part of her outfit was her black leather military boots, practical and mid-shin height, they were one of her most enduring pieces of clothing. Genuine leather, not any plastic polyester "mixed materials" garbage that would start shedding its exterior within the year. She'd spent much of last night polishing them, and she was proud of the way her combat boots shone in the afternoon sunlight.

But the afternoon would end soon, and she had an appointment to keep to.

Stepping up to the doorway, she beheld the remarkable and imposing door of richly coloured, unmarred wood. She was about to grasp the handle of a sturdy brass knocker when she noticed an intercom system. Thinking that was a better idea, she pressed the button and hesitantly spoke into it. Not long after, a crackling hiss preceded the voice of the woman from the phone.

'State your name and purpose.'

Agatha gulped, 'Agatha Avery, for an interview with … the Mistress of the house?'

She got a strange hunch that the woman was smirking when she heard the response, 'Enter. I will be down to collect you shortly.'

There was a solid click as the door unlocked and the door swung open wide. Stepping into the manor entrance was like entering an ornate museum. Or at least, a recreation of some historical palace for a movie set. Though she couldn't recognise the artists, lavish and stylish paintings and sculptures which decorated the space held a thematic or emotional cohesion with one another, elaborate and intricate in their own ways. Even the most simple, abstract pieces held a depth of complex colour and possessed some sort of hypnotic draw to their deceptively simple patterns.

The lush carpeting covered solid marble flooring was polished to a brighter shine than even Agatha's boots. The furniture was ornate, but tastefully so, swirls of polished wood and golden hardware, absurdly soft cushions of crushed velvet and filled with what she could only assume was actual feather down.

But most eye-catching of all were the occupants. Maids, all in matching uniforms of exquisite quality, were cleaning, polishing, dusting. The lobby was a hive of activity. They were clearly preparing for something, but what could that be exactly? It surely couldn’t be for her.

Agatha's thoughts were disrupted by the sounds of delicate footsteps across the marble, as a small and mousy maid almost a full thirty centimetres shorter than Agatha stood to address her.

'Miss Avery? The Mistress will see you shortly, please make yourself comfortable.'

Not needing a second invitation to do so, Agatha sat down on one of the nearby couches, trying not to disturb the cushions too much. Not that she needed them anyway, as she sank backwards into it like her whole body was being enveloped in memory foam. She almost let out a surprised gasp of comforted pleasure, but managed to contain it. Gotta keep it professional, Agatha, she reminded herself. Don't screw this up!

It wasn't long before sharp tapping sounds broke through the remarkably quiet bustle of the maid's work, and Agatha's attention was drawn to the source of the noise.

To call her a woman would be akin to calling the sun lukewarm. She was radiant in maturity, powerful eyes instantly locking to Agatha's from across the room. She felt as if every little detail, everything from her clothes to what she carried in her pockets to her most intimate secrets were laid bare in an instant under that intense stare.

Her hair was beautiful too, silky and smooth and black like crude oil, as if anything about her could be described as crude. Her tight pencil skirt and black blazer fit perfectly to match, a silk red blouse contrasting her ferocious green eyes.

Her black stiletto heels caused echoes throughout the house as she approached with speed – though not haste – and Agatha rose to meet her.

'Ah. Miss Avery.'

As she spoke, Agatha felt something like a snake coiling around the back of her neck. She couldn't call it a bad feeling, per se.

She noticed that the Mistress of the house was looking down at something, faint hints of disapproval besmirching her face. Agatha looked down at her boots, then looked back, embarrassed, her eyes caught by the Mistress' own stare.

'Follow me.'

Agatha fell into step, surprised at how quickly the Mistress could walk in such tall heels. They couldn't have been any less than three inches!

She was honestly beginning to struggle to keep up, but managed to rally herself on the flights of stairs upwards. Though the Mistress appeared unaffected. And unimpressed.

Eventually they arrived at a small room, the door of which the Mistress opened to reveal an office with two chairs seated across from each other, separated by a heavy-looking desk.

'Sit.'

It was not an invitation, not a suggestion. Agatha knew this tone of voice very well. She did as she was told and sat in the small cushioned chair across from the high wingback which the Mistress would sit in. And so she did, drawing a few sheets of paper from a desk compartment and handing half to Agatha.

'Normally my wife would be joining us for these proceedings, however as she preoccupied with some family matters at the moment, we shall proceed without her,' she said, explaining the process of the interview, 'You will respond to each of my questions with either "yes" or "no" and will elaborate or clarify only if explicitly requested. Do you understand?'

'Yes Ma'am,' Agatha said, the honorific accidentally slipping out.

A dangerous curve briefly showed itself at the edge of the Mistress' lip, 'Just "yes" or "no" will suffice for now, miss Avery.'

Agatha, a little embarrassed at her faux pas, nodded in understanding.

'Good. For this interview you will be applying to join our staff of personal assistants, and so your responsibilities will be aiding in the management of accounts and contracts, contacting associates, as well as occasionally acting as drivers and couriers and retrieving coffee. Now, do you understand that you will be signing an NDA prohibiting you from speaking about anything you have witnessed during your tenure working with us, should you be accepted for the role?'

'Yes.'

'And you also understand that you may witness – but are under no obligation or invitation to participate in – sexual acts or activities involving our slaves or the aftermath of such, intervening in which will result in your immediate termination within this position?'

Agatha paused only momentarily. Okay, so this was the big catch. She had thought she had glossed over something in reading the application. But the Mistress was looking at her, and Agatha felt a weight of expectancy in her neutral expression.

‘Well, miss Avery?’

'Yes,' she said without further hesitation.

After all, she wasn't expected to join in. From the sounds of it she was encouraged not to. And at least as long as everything was mostly consensual she could keep her conscience clean.

‘Good. Rest assured that the members of our harem have each knowingly and willingly signed their rights to us, and we do our best to care for our playthings during their time here,’ she smiled before she continued reading, 'Furthermore, you understand that you will be living within the walls of our mansion, and you will be expected to act with decorum and standards we would hold you to, failure to do so resulting in admonishment and consequences, and in severe cases the termination of your position?'

Agatha was about to answer affirmatively, however something caught her mind. Knowing she couldn't outright ask her question, she tentatively raised a hand. The Mistress' eyebrow arched, a bemused smile briefly appearing on her face.

'You have a question, Agatha?'

'Yes.'

'Normally I would have you ask questions only at the end, but as I feel this is pertinent to the point at hand, you may ask it.'

'Yes. I mean, thank you,’ Agatha verbally fumbled, blushing as she realised words more complex than "yes" or "no" were beginning to sound foreign. She continued, ‘I have an apartment within the city that is in my name. If I were to,' Agatha chose her words very carefully, 'to be accepted for the role, what would I need to do with my apartment?'

'Should you be found suitable during your trial period, your personal belongings will be moved into your living quarters in the mansion grounds. Additionally your apartment would be paid off in full, to avoid any legal or financial impact on yourself. If, of course, being the operative word.'

Agatha nodded and the interview continued. The Mistress' entire process was meticulous, she could tell. Absolutely every detail of her being was weighed and measured. She had to press her thighs together to avoid letting anything show. How the hell was an interview making her this aroused!

'I see from your resume you have a few months experience in the medico-legal field. So you have some experience in discretion and information security?'

Ah yes. The best job she'd ever had, before her employers had given her the boot without so much as a severance package, 'Yes.'

'And before that, several years of working with numerous restaurants. How would you describe your role in these jobs?'

'Uh, a little bit of everything. Bartending, waiting tables … pizza delivery,' she feared she was losing value in the face of such a simplistic job history, 'I have a lot of experience in high pressure environments with high expectations of service and standards.'

The Mistress gave the barest possible shrug and looked back to Agatha's resume.

'I suppose we all start somewhere. Now,' she continued, 'Do you have any medical requirements that may need to be accommodated for?'

Agatha counted in her head all the various medications she was having to sort for herself weekly, remembered she was only meant to answer simply, and affirmed the question.

'Good. We can discuss the exact details of your medications at the end. Do you have any obligations, personal or prof-'

Her words were interrupted by the intercom system on the desk suddenly blaring, causing Agatha to jump with a barely suppressed yelp.

With a terse breath, the Mistress addressed Agatha, 'One moment.'

She jabbed a finger at the intercom and enunciated her words as if shaping them into a solid mass.

'State your name and purpose.'

The intercom crackled with static for a moment before an unknown voice responded, 'It's me. You know who it is.'

Agatha saw a flash of recognition burn through the Mistress' eyes, but still she pressed the button again and said, more firmly; 'Sate. Your name. And purpose.'

There was silence for a moment before the response came, slowly as if forced out through bared teeth, 'It's Jenny. I'm … here to apologise to Nicole. And pay my dues.'

The Mistress paused for another moment. After pressing another button, she spoke again, 'You may enter, but you will not leave the lobby without being in my sight. Do not make me regret this, Jenny.'

She had spat the name as if it were a slur. The Mistress released the button with a final click and turned her ferocious green eyes back to Agatha, who all of a sudden felt incredibly small.

'You will stay in this room until I return. You are to sign this NDA in the meantime,' she pushed the sheet of paper closer to Agatha as she stood, 'You are not to leave this room, this chair, until I get back. Is that understood?'

'Yes.'

The Mistress stepped closer, menacing Agatha with her height, 'Yes, what?'

Agatha couldn’t look away from her eyes, 'Y-yes Mi- Ma'am.'

Without another word, the Mistress strode from the room in barely a few steps, the door closing with only a click but feeling like it had just been slammed.

Agatha looked around the room. Just how long was she going to have to stay here?

In the silence of the small office, it only now struck Agatha as odd as to why a couple – even one as ridiculously wealthy as this pair clearly were – would have a receptionist for their house.