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The appointment

I shift uncomfortably in the taxi that I'd pre-ordered before I left the dorm. I couldn't use the actual S&S address because Rayna wasn't taking her eyes off me even for a moment. It forced me to set Seco Longue as my drop off point. Luckily, the restaurant is located just one or two blocks away from my initial destination.

I rest my head against the cold window, totally oblivious to every single bump in the road that causes my skull to repeatedly vibrate against the glass surface, making my temple feel quite sore.

I wearily observe the picturesque landscape of the bustling city of London. My attention turns towards numerous, colourful hoardings. Huge, digital screens keep displaying various advertisements, all equally luminous and flamboyant. Regardless of the late hour, the streets are lively. Treacherous pavements occur iridescent with the billboard lights reflecting in their dark, wet surface. We're halfway through November, therefore, some stores already glitter and twinkle all sorts of colours. Many windows seem to have aged as they turned white due to the fake frost and snow that they had been decorated with. The biggest and most attractive, however, are the pine spikes pointing upwards from concrete squares - each tree beautiful and incandescent, each proudly carrying an aureate star.

I retrieve my eyes to the screen of my phone. The minutes tick on by, and with every single one I become more anxious, especially when Nathan decides to ring me.

"Hello?" I mutter.

"Hi, babe," Nathan slurs, knocking me off balance.

Is he drunk?

"Have you been drinking?" I ask, still amazed. Nathan barely touches any alcohol. Him being intoxicated is like me staying out of trouble.

"Yeah." He gets a sudden attack of hiccups. When it's finally gone, he adds, "Just a few beers. Okay, and maybe one or two shots . . . or three? I can't really-"

I shake my head, amused. "It's fine. What made you call me so suddenly? Need a lift?" I giggle into the phone. I don't even drive.

"I miss you," he mutters in the sweetest, most touching voice. "I'm also a bit sad." Even though he's not by my side right now, I can see his face fall. "That's why I'm drinking."

"Why? What happened?" I ask, watching the view outside the window stretch into blurry, luminous lines as we drive.

"I think you don't love me anymore."

It's just a few simple words, but the way he says them, makes my heart break into million tiny pieces.

Tears spring into my eyes. "Of course I do love you, babe."

My furious subconscious puts me in a headlock. You shouldn't be telling him this. You should break up with him and leave that poor man alone!

Nathan sighs a heavy breath. "The thing is . . . I was acting like a dick, but I had to ignore you for a few days. I wanted to surprise you. Instead, I made you feel angry and lonely. And then you picked your bestie over me." His voice turns contemptuous when he mentions Will. "And . . . I don't know. I'm sorry, love."

My subconscious releases me from her murderous grip. A surprise?

"What are you talking about?" I frown. "And I certainly did not choose him over you."

When it comes to Nathan and Will, I can proudly say that I didn't lie. I love my boyfriend, and Will . . . Well, maybe there is some smoldering chemistry between us, but it can't compare to what I feel when I'm with Nathan.

Nathan continues. "I wanted to drive us to my parents' house on the weekend. I wanted you to meet my family."

My heart clenches painfully. He wants to introduce me to his parents.

Me.

The liar.

I try to fight back tears, but despite my effort, two torrid rivers run down from my eyes. What am I supposed to do now? I was planning on breaking up with him, and meanwhile, he was sorting everything out to drive me to his house. His home.

"Wait. When did you get a driving licence? I thought you were still learning." I suddenly realize, happy to skip the answer as to the trip.

Nathan clears his throat, his voice sounds more confident now. "That's another reason why I was ignoring you. I literally passed my test only yesterday. I wasn't quite sure if I would, so I was ready to buy us train tickets just in case."

The guilt stings me right in the heart. I shouldn't have judged him so fast, thinking that he was moody and didn't want to have anything to do with me, whilst he's been preparing this trip all along.

Driver's voice spurts me out of my miserable thoughts. "We're here."

The car comes to a stop. I hand the driver a tenner and hop out of the vehicle without waiting for a change.

My subconscious blinks at me, a jar of pennies poised in her hand. Don't you think you might need that three pounds?

Nathan's voice resounds anew. "Wait. Where are you?" He seems to have rapidly sobered up.

I proceed to walk down the street. "Town. On my way for a job interview." My chin begins to tremble. I hate lying to him, yet I can't tell him the truth. The rules are rules, and I must blindly obey them, unless I want to get myself into even more serious trouble.

"Really? That's amazing, babe. I'm so proud of you." He seems animated by my fictional job interview. "I'm not going to disturb you any longer then. Let me know how it went, and good luck."

Another pang of guilt squeezes my stomach. "I'll do. Thanks. Speak to you later."

"Laters. I love you," he says in a sing-song voice.

I chew on my lower lip. A single tear tickles the skin of my cheek. "Love you, too," I mutter, then end the call.

Stop crying, stupid. You'll make the mascara run down your-

With that in my mind, it starts to rain.

Brilliant. I haven't even got an umbrella. I live in the United Kingdom and I don't own a daft-

Thinking it can't get any worse, it actually does, because I ram into a stranger and make his milkshake splodge my sweater. I am going to stalk into that stupid office looking like a day release - dirty and disgusting, with fury in my eyes.

The guy's face contorts in an apologetic grimace. "I'm so-"

"Don't worry. Strawberry is my favourite one. I'LL JUST LICK IT OFF MY SWEATER WITH REAL PLEASURE!" I boom, feeling my throat tighten in rage and despair. I just want to get there, get it over with, probably first give my master a heart attack with my nasty look, and then, I'll just go back to my dorm.

That's if he lets you.

When the stranger slinks past me, I can't help but burst into tears. Pearls of rain relentlessly splatter on my head and the area around me, cold and transparent - a contrast to the mascara suspended in my hot tears. The downpour drenches my clothes in no time, causing the milkshake stain to look even less appealing than it did before.

My bottom lip quivers, but I sniffle loudly and finally succeed to fight back a sob. It's C'est la vie after all, isn't it?

And then I realize.

Knowing my luck, things can still get much worse.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually, I reach the S&S headquarters. The building itself is steel-framed and very modern thanks to the impeccably clean and glossy curtain walls. It undoubtedly isn't one of the American skyscrapers, but it's decent in size and very much appealing, even quite welcoming I'd dare to say.

Regardless of the ordinary look of the exterior, which is illuminated with soft glowing ground lights, I am still frightened to find out what sort of things wait for me inside the building.

I quickly smooth and comb my matted hair with my hand, trying to make it seem less awful, but I'm well aware that I could be easily mistaken for a wet hen.

Finally, I cumulate enough courage to push the glass door open and step inside.

The main hall is spacious, very neat and contemporary. I feel like a large blob of mud, standing on this shiny floor with tears of nature dripping from my soaked outfit. Single drops keep intermittently poking my neck as they slip from the end of my ponytail and trickle down my back.

Nevertheless, I am positively surprised that there is no vulgar nor provocative decorations adorning this place, which I was frankly expecting. There are, however, some tall, looked-after plants standing in each of the corners. They seem real but they might as well be fake.

Just like your profile name and picture. Are they going to punish you for this?

I chase this thought away, focusing my sight on the minimalistic surrounding. This place is bustling, crowded mostly with well-groomed women and dapper men, all of them immersed in their own matters. I'm slightly relieved by their occupied state, because I look horrible, and certainly do not want anyone to blatantly scrunch their nose at me.

I step aside when the door behind me flies ajar. A young gentleman walks in, heading straight to known only to him direction.

I wrap my arms tightly around my waist, feeling overwhelmed by this whole situation, but also because I want to hide the awful, pink stain on my sweater.

"Would you like some tissue, ma'am?" A very pretty lady emerges by my side, startling me.

I smile meekly in embarrassment. "If possible, please." I fiddle with the unpleasantly soaked sleeves of my sweater. "I'd very much like that. Thank you."

Once she makes it back to me, she proffers me some wet wipes. "I thought these would be better to remove the mascara streaks." She smiles a genuine smile.

I feel myself shrink, tremendously self-concious. "Thank you," I mumble in gratitude. "I . . . um . . . I've got an appointment." The words finally squeeze through my throat.

"What kind of appointment is it exactly?" Her tone is non-judgmental, which encourages me to go into more details with her.

"I . . . Well," I fake a cough. "I am supposed to meet my new master." The amount of effort it takes for me not to look away in embarrassment is indescribable.

The woman's eyes become alight with some sort of insight. "Oh, I see." Another of her winsome smiles fills her mouth. "Let's head to the desk, shall we? I'll check the list for you." She proceeds to walk, and I obediently follow after her. The way her hips sway from side to side whilst she paces with grace is mesmerizing.

She's a real woman that radiates class and sexiness from miles away. Her silky, titian hair is almost as beauitful as her long, shiny legs. I wish I was more like her. She's absolutely stunning, unlike me, covered in food with make up smeared all over my face — I think that the wet wipes might have only worsened the situation as there is no mirror for me to check.

When we reach the desk, the lady looks at me with her big, blue eyes.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asks, and takes the wipes from my hands, subsequently discarding them into a bin that must be located under the reception desk.

Is she only calling me all these nice things because I look young and miserable, and she feels sorry for me? Or is it just a normal thing for the employees here?

"Um . . ." I'm not sure whether I should give her my real name or–

"Your profile name," she answers my unspoken question as if she was able to read my mind.

"Emily," I reply, nervously picking on the fabric of my sweater.

"And the last three digits of your number?"

"Six, two, zero."

The lady types something on her keyboard, making me awkardly wait in silence. I peel my eyes away from her seraphic face and shift my head to the side. I still can't comprehend how professional this place turned out to be. I was prepared for something brothel-like — maybe a dim, stuffy box room with dozens of sweaty bodies, but instead, the hallway is painted a nice, lavender colour and the air smells of some distinctive cleanliness. The walls are decorated with a variety of framed, serene pictures. An enormous chandelier baths the white, stone floor in its bright light. This place is marvelous.

"Found you." The woman's voice causes my attention to turn back to her figure. "The gentleman is already waiting for you. You'll be escorted by one of our lovely men." She smiles for the hundredth time today, and summons one of the mentioned individuals. "Please, take Miss Emily to the room number twenty-one. Her master is awaiting her."

"Of course." The man nods his head. He then disappears behind the reception desk and pulls one of the drawers open, making me frown.

What is he looking for? Maybe a key?

"Put your hands forward," he commands, and my eyes become a bit round at the sight of a thick, red ribbon.

I feel utterly intimidated. "Is this necessary?"

A flicker of a feeble, professional smile flashes across his face. "It's just a standard for all the introductions."

I sigh. There isn't really much that I can do about it anyway. "Okay then," I mutter, and put my hands forward, letting the gentleman secure the silk fabric around my wrists.

I check the strength of the knot. Holy cow! That's a bit tight!

"Just one more thing," he says, and I take a deep breath, noticing another silk ribbon, this time a black one. "Close your eyes, please," the man commands, and I instinctively take a step back.

My throat feels tight. "Why are you blindfolding me?" I ask, petrified.

"The gentleman who purchased your service paid extra for you to wear it," he explains politely.

My shoulders slack in capitulation. "Whatever." I sigh, frustrated.

My heartbeat accelerates a little when the thin, cool silk shrouds everything in an overwhelming darkness.

"Shall we?" The man's voice reaches my ears. He then circles his fingers around my arm in order to steer me.

I nod my head. It's not like I've got much of a choice anyway.

The guy escorting me and I remain silent all the way to the destined room. Finally, we reach the number twenty-one, or at least that's what I assume, because he unexpectedly made me halt my steps.

"This is you first time, right?" His voice cuts through the air.

I find myself barely able to speak. My stomach is a bunch of knots. "Yes," I rasp.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen." His tone softens a little. "I'll open the door, walk you in, and then I'll just leave you with your new master. Whatever happens next, is a part of the contract between you and the client, so you must obey anything he says."

I swallow hard and lick my chapped from being nervous lips. I'm not sure whether I can do this, but before I get to contemplate about it for a bit longer, the guy pushes the door open and gently pulls me into the room.

Once we're inside, he leaves, pronto. There is no words being spoken and it makes me extremely uneasy. I'm stood idly like a complete idiot, still blindfolded with my hands tied, my hair is wet and unkempt. I don't even want to know what the master must be thinking about my soaked clothes and the hideous stain on my sweater.

"So much money for such an average girl," he finally speaks, and my face falls at his obnoxious comment. His voice is mature and deep, undoubtedly belongs to a man in his fourties, maybe fifties.

He's old and embittered. Wonderful.

"I hope you made the right choice," he continues.

I frown, unsure what he meant by that. Then I hear some other movement by my side, which appears to come from a much closer distance than the man speaking.

The other person must have silently responded to his comment, because the old one adds, "Well, I'll leave you to it then." Subsequently, he leaves the room as I hear the characteristic click of the door being closed.

There is an awkward, loaded silence between me and the person that decided to stay.

Should I say something? Or is he not going to like it? But if I don't, we might forever-

I stiffen when I hear the stranger approach me. His strong but divine perfume penetrates my nostrils. I inhale deeply. Despite the fact that he's probably older than my father, I can not resist the urge to smell him. That's the least I can do — imagine him being young and handsome, before he finally takes my blindfold off and makes me look at his shriveled face.

My whole body freezes at his sudden, unexpected touch. His fingers begin to play with the buttons of my wet and dirty sweater. He must've leaned forward because the fragrance got much stronger and his breath made itself known against my skin.

If he decides to kiss me, I'm going to vomit.

I whimper when his fingers snake around my throat. He then drags his thumb down to the dip at the base of my neck and gives that spot an odd caress. In the end, his hand travels up to my cheek, making me want to scream and cry but most of all, run as far from him as possible.

"Please don't touch me," I implore. Hot tears start to race down my ashen cheeks. Half of the salty fluid, however, is being soaked up by the silk ribbon that covers my eyes. "I've got a boyfriend." This pathetic statement leaves my mouth, but I'm still hoping for it to put him off. At least for now.

"I know you do," he finally speaks, and my heart stops at these words, not because they scare me, but because I immediately recognize his voice.

Will.

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I hope you're enjoying the story!