Chapter 3

The next few hours were spent packing and in preparation. I'd never left Illinoise before, barely even been outside the city limits of Chicago. And the though of being anywhere else was both daunting and exciting. 

As the clock struck seven, Mac squeaked in his cage, as if sensing my anxiety, and grabbing the few belongings I was taking with me, as well his cage, I took a deep breath and stepped out the door, pulling it closed behind me for possibly the last time. 

In my drive, a sleek black town car was waiting, the engine purring like a cat ready to pounce, and I whispered to Mac, "This is it, buddy. Time to see if I can pull this off."

 ~~

The drive to the airport was silent, my thoughts racing faster than the car. What awaited me in New Orleans? Would I be able to handle whatever Alex had in store for me?

As the plane took off, the lights of the city grew smaller, swallowed up by the darkness. This is it, I thought ot myself, the start of a new chapter.

~~

The flight was a mix of nerves and excitement and I tried to distract myself by reading a magazine, but the words blurred together, my mind too busy imagining what lay ahead for me.

When we finally touched down in the Big Easy, the humidity hit me like a wall as I stepped off the plane. The air was thick with the scent of magnolias and spices. As I entered the terminix I spotted a man waiting for me, holding a sign with my name on it. 

After greeting me, he led me to another black car, and settled me into the back seat. As we drove through the city, I peered out at the vibrant life outside the windows; I was definitely no longer in Chicago.

Minutes later, when we arrived at Alex's home, I peered at the house wide-eyed. It was a sprawling mansion, nestled in the heart of the historic French Quarter. The wrought iron gates creaked open, revealing a rock driveway leading to the grand entrance. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as we pulled up to the house, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself as I stepped out of the car.

As the driver unloaded my luggage, I took in the grandeur of the place. It was a world away from the tiny house I'd called home. The ivy-covered walls whispered of secrets and sins, the outside pole lights casting eerie shadows across the courtyard making the place look spooky and ancient.

After I'd stepped up onto the porch, I found Alex waiting for me at the door, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. "Welcome to your new home, Elysia," he murmured, his voice a smooth caress that sent a shiver down my spine. Taking my hand he led me into the house, the coolness a welcome reprise from the heat outside. 

I managed a quick glance around, quickly taking in the mix of opulence and dark mystery, as climbing the staircase, I followed Alex as he showed me to my room; a luxurious suite with a four-poster bed and a view of the courtyard. 

"Rest up," he informed me. "Tomorrow, your training begins."

As the door clicked shut behind him, I was left alone with my thoughts and a newfound sense of unease. This was going to be no ordinary job. Not even close. 

Half an hour later, as I lay in the grand bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, I wondered if I could handle this new life-style. I was a criminal, not a club-fly, and I definitely wasn't a BDSM guru. Turning over, I pulled the covers up to my chin, praying I could handle what came my way.

The next morning, I was woken by the soft knock of the door. A woman, dressed in a stylish black dress stood in the doorway. She introduced herself as Mistress Ainsley, my trainer and guide in the art of being a hostess. Her eyes, cold, calculating, swept over me and I felt a tingle of uncertainty mingled with excitement.

"You're not what I expected," she stated, her voice a smoky purr. "But Alex has a knack for choosing the right people. Now, first off, as a hostess, you will observe and make sure all the servers and clients are safe. But you will not participate in any of the acts."

I nodded, the thought of watching the BDSM scenes making me feel both curious and nervous. Mistress Ainsley, having noticed my expression, chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Will I? I wondered.

We started with the basics; serving drinks, mingling with the guests, and ensuring everyone was comfortable. "Remember," she began, her eyes locked onto mine, "the key to being a good hostess is knowing when to blend into the background and when to be the center of attention. You must be observant, attentive to every need, yet unobtrusive."

As we strolled through the opulent walls of the club, I was surprised to learn the basement had been renovated into the club. Mistress Ainsley pointed out various rooms that would serve as my classroom for the evening. Each one held a different scene, a different set of rules. In one, a couple was engaged in a passionate embrace, the woman's cries of pleasure muffled by a velvet pillow. In another, a man was being whipped, his skin glowing red under the soft light of the candles.

"You will learn the art of reading people," Mistress Ainsley continued, her voice low, mesmerizing. "You must be able to discern their desires, their limits without them ever having to say a word."

As time passed, I found the training rigorous, but I was eager to learn, to absorb every piece of knowledge Mistress Ainsley was willing to impart. She taught me about the various implements used in the scenes, the psychology behind submission and dominance, and the subtle cues that could make or break the engagement.

"Your role is to enhance the experience," she explained, her voice taking on a softer, almost seductive tone. "To provide a safe space for our guests to explore their darkest fantasies."

Mistress Ainsley was a demanding teacher, pushing me to my limits, yet I found myself thriving under her tutelage. The hours passed in a blur of lessons and practice sessions, and I discovered a natural grace and poise that I never knew I had. As well, a side of me I'd never known existed.