Luxury Customer Service

A tale of submission

There are more commemorative dates than days in a year. From religious events and national holidays to celebrations of certain professions, groups and even people with certain diseases, every turn of Earth reminds us that (unlike the periodic table) not all elements of life fit into a calendar. For Margaret, that Tuesday was a date like no other: an extremely special event known internationally as "today." Despite not being featured on any timetable, almanac or even worthy of a Google Doodle, the successful entrepreneur had several reasons to celebrate; she had officially achieved the sales leadership in her segment; the tenth million; a second branch; three years of divorce from that jerk; eleven pounds lost; and, of course, her birthday.

Sitting in front of her laptop after filling out an endless form on a luxury services website, the hesitant businesswoman remained paralyzed by doubt before finally hitting "submit." She was even startled by the intervention of Rose, her business partner and best friend:

"Go, girl! Confirm it now! You deserve it. Life is not just work."

"Okay, okay... there! Will they really respond?" tapping hard on the touchpad and quickly moving the chair back a foot or two with her legs.

"You bet! They are super professional," trying to reassure the friend although, deep down, she was looking for complicity as a client of the company whose services she had also contracted on her own birthday months before. "They are worth every penny of your hard-earned money. Top-notch service!"

"Let's see! Remember that my order is quite different from yours," pondered the demanding woman.

Lust&Lux is a new company in the adult entertainment market that aims to materialize the most demanding fantasies of its target audience: rich and horny women. Designed to cater to an obviously VIP audience, their services are not only pornographically expensive but even difficult to hire as their online contacts are practically hidden from the general public. More than just a menu of pre-established options, a team of professionals is responsible for meeting the most niche demands; exotic kinks, fetishes that are almost impossible to fulfill or simply (for many lonely clients) a more spicy companion.

Margaret had spent nearly an hour filling out forms, selecting preferences, adding custom items, and -- almost as an act of anticipatory masochism -- providing payment information; she was torn between the excitement of being able to describe in excruciating detail her most ardent fantasy and having to pay, in advance, for the costly adventure.

"Bet that wasn't cheap, huh?" inquiring Rose with curiosity written all over her face.

"Fifty grand. Upfront! I just hope that--"

"Relax! Guaranteed pleasure, ha-ha," encouraging her suspicious partner.

After eight torturous years of a dull marriage and many repressed sexual desires, all the young lady wanted was to live out at least a part of the unfulfilled fantasies that consumed her inside; and these were many; and they were truly fiery. Interspersed with many professional commitments, she was invaded almost daily by the wish to be dominated; to be in inhospitable places -- with many characters involved; clothes being violently torn; her body being shared and rough sex.

"And when was it set for?" asked Rose as the two left the office.

"Friday."

"But on the day of the meeting with the Smiths?! What time will it be?"

"They haven't confirmed yet. It must be at night, after the meeting. I think."

As they entered the elevator, Margaret inquired:

"What clothes should I wear? Perfume? Makeup?"

"Don't worry about it. They'll give you all the details. Well, that's how it was for me."

That Friday during the business meeting, the anxious woman kept discreetly checking her phone every moment waiting for some message from the dream-making company. Having said goodbye to the Smith brothers and Rose -- after closing a new and profitable partnership -- the elegant lady (who at this point was trying to hide her nervousness) headed to the parking area to go home. She was unsure whether to keep wearing the same black suit, take a shower, or -- most likely -- demand a refund from the damn firm that had not yet been in contact.

"Margaret, right?" hearing a voice coming from behind as soon as the first foot was set in the parking lot.

"Huh?! What--"

Everything went black when a hood was placed over her head. Grabbed tightly by what seemed to be more than one (strong) person, she was quickly dragged to some corner of the deck. With the mouth tightly sealed by a large hand, screams were of no use. Hearing the sound of a trunk opening, the helpless prey was thrown inside like a bag of potatoes.

"Watch your fingers!" instructed a voice as the lid was slammed down.

Unlike typical kidnapping scenes, that group seemed to act with a certain calm; the same calm with which the car started and left without rushing. Having removed the head-cover by herself, the captured businesswoman noticed that -- despite the confinement of the roomy cargo area -- she was completely untied, unharmed and free to move. After shouting for explanations, the only sound that could be heard from inside the vehicle was the low noise of the engine; asking for help over the phone was also useless since the purse had been taken away. It was impossible to see the time on the clock due to the total darkness, but it could have been about twenty minutes before the car stopped.

Noticing doors opening and people moving around, the first contact with some kind of light occurred when the trunk was finally opened. The image to form was of a huge bald man dressed in a gray suit.

"Извините, мадам," said the muscle-head as his face was hit by the angry woman's flying shoe.

"Help the lady out of the car, Yuri," asked a euphonious voice a few steps away.

"Yes, Mr. Padovani," replied as he pulled Margaret out by her wrists.

Standing and trying to compose herself, the confused victim was finally able to take a look at the warm concierge group in its entirety; besides the disproportionate bald thug and the gentleman with the Italian name and refined air, three other figures made up the team -- all impeccably dressed: a black guy who wore sunglasses even at night, a muscular girl with scars all over the face and a dwarf, the most elegant among them.

"Da plane! Da plane!" joked the little man as he was being stared at by the furious woman.

"She won't get the reference, Paul," commented a smiling Mr. Padovani (who certainly seemed to be the leader of the pack), adding, "it's not from her time."

"Can I have my shoe back?" demanded the impatient beauty.

"Absolutely!" answered the capo handing her back the object and officially making his introduction:

"Margaret, I welcome you on behalf of Lust&Lux! We sincerely hope that your experience will be one of complete and fulfilling satisfaction," pointing toward the door of a far from glamorous warehouse, and adding, "please be so kind as to accompany us to the beginning of the service."

"Are you guys fucking crazy? What the hell kind of service is this? I don't remember ordering anything like this," asked the stunned lady in a mixture of relief, anger and fear.

"Little surprises are included in the package by default, ma'am," told the host as they made their way to the mysterious depot in the dark.

"And I paid fifty grand for this rubbish? I hope this piece of crap at least has a bathroom because I'm about to piss myself," trying not to trip on the poorly maintained ground.

Having taken about ten steps forward, she could no longer see anyone around.

"Hey! Anyone!? I hope your legal department is up to my anger. I'm going to sue the shit out of you!"

A door opens in front of her. The figures of three naked women can be seen in the light coming from inside. Taking the client by the hand, the welcoming-looking maids guide her through a long, well-decorated room with slow, solemn steps. Seeing that the businesswoman was about to say something, one of the girls delicately touches her lips with the finger as if demanding sacred silence; a few steps later, another one takes off the jacket; her shoes were taken off by another girl just before they reach the next room as if a holy place demanded it.

Overcome with uncertainty and curiosity, Margaret enters a white room, accompanied only by the gaze of the three women who led her to the door. No furniture of any kind was visible. As soon as the lights are dimmed by half, a naked man -- except for a black cape -- of extraordinary beauty approaches calmly. He looks into her eyes for a few moments with indescribable tenderness. She feels her legs go weak. The Greek god gently lifts his muscular arms as if he were going to give her a loving hug. The until then silent young lady blurted out:

"Oh, gosh! You're so--"

"SLAM!" unexpectedly pushing her to the ground.

By this point, it was clear what the game was. And it was for real.

Three other equally naked (but hooded) men entered the room with a chain in their hands. The four of them chained her neck, lifting her up from the floor with the same object. "It's becoming true!" thought the now aroused prey as she was guided to a door on the opposite side of the room. Before they passed the next area, the procession paused. Taking the woman's face between his hands, the man in the cape approached the sacrificial goddess with a fixed but gentle gaze and gave her a loving kiss on the forehead, then saying out loud:

"Let the liturgy begin!"

At that exact moment, Margaret felt a pain in her belly typical of a thrill she hadn't experienced since adolescence. A hard life full of demands (and disappointments) robs people of the most primal pleasures that can be felt by a young heart. "What we repress returns to us -- disguised," would say Freud to describe what was being like a reunion with her own true, horny self.

Now in complete submission, the lady is taken to a dark chamber where she is left alone. The silence punctuated by her own breathing is broken, a few seconds later, by the click of spotlights turning on one after the other. The picture of the environment was the exact materialization of her hottest dreams: walls covered with rustic stones; the cold floor; chains coming down from the ceiling and cameras (dozens of them) scattered everywhere like the eyes of a thirsty audience. Several people, men and women -- in different outfits, physical characteristics and facial expressions -- entered the room through different doors; some were holding objects, others, saying obscenities.

Forming a circle around the woman, who was already drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, they approached -- one by one -- tearing off a piece of her clothing. With each pull or tear, she screamed (or cried) with pleasure. All under the watchful lens of the cameras. Within minutes, she was completely naked, vulnerable and surrendered. A multitude of arms carried her to a sort of red leather divan. With long, heavy ropes (which spanned the chamber from side to side) around her wrists and ankles, the trembling beauty is held as if she is about to be slaughtered or eaten. A new character with a notepad in hand comes and sits down, crossing his legs like a caring therapist who asks:

"Tell me, my dear... what have you been missing?"

"I... I... I--" puffy and with her face smeared with melted makeup.

"I understand perfectly. Too many repressed desires. The remedy for this is trivial," indicating with a nod what the actors should do in that scene.

With the old man's Freudian instruction -- like a medical prescription -- all the characters present crowded around the voluntarily submissive woman like a school of piranhas; noisy sucking, wet tongues, kissing lips, firm hands and all sorts of limbs and organs enjoyed the "patient's" body like a sacred healing ritual. A strange man with a long beard was holding her by the hair; a black guy with a huge tongue sipped the sweat from the thighs; a red-haired girl sucked the belly button as if she wanted to extract a demon; others licked her ears; others, simply tickled; a gentle-looking lad was sucking her toes; so that everyone (without exception) was occupied with every piece of the lady's beautiful body who at that point was not only screaming, crying and moaning but even laughing.

"It looks like we're making progress," said the "therapist" who added, "can we discharge the patient?"

"Nooo! My body is yours! Hummm... Possess me!" between explosive moans, screams and pleasure.

The body, hot and damp with sweat, saliva and other fluids, slid across the surface of the couch in erratic movements like a mellow fruit on the surface of a plate. That clamping in the stomach, that she remembered feeling in her youth during the first sexual explorations, visited the mature girl once again after years of oblivion.

Taking notes on his pad, the interested "healer" bombarded his surrendered client with questions that were as provocative as all that licking, biting and tickling:

"Feeling hot?"

"Yeah! I'm so delicious! I--"

"Yes, you are definitely hot! And I'm sure all these mouths, tongues, hands and organs completely agree."

"Please don't stop! Pleeease... I--"

"You are the lead actress and the main dish of your own life. Isn't it delicious?"

"Y-yes! I adore myself! I love my body... all of it!"

"Being worshiped is the experience you've always dreamed of, isn't it?"

"Fuck! Yeah!" screaming and shaking.

"And is the--"

"Shut up! Eat me! Hummmph... eat me!"

In what seemed like a new phase of the game, the psychoanalytic figure leaves the scene to make way for a trio of naked men wearing only kitchen aprons and chef's hats. Having poured all sorts of creams, sauces and pastes on her, one of them announces:

"You all heard the lady! It's time to satisfy your hunger! Bon appétit!"

The horde voraciously sucked the entire smeary body of the woman whose screams could be heard in the distance. Descending from the ceiling, a large screen began to show in real time all the images recorded by the cameras (from all angles) so that the main character could see herself. Seeing her own figure displayed so graphically, Margaret's pleasure seemed to receive an instant boost -- scrunching toes and clenching fists.

"Oh, yeeesss... don't stop!" pleading the sexual object in a squeezing voice.

One of the girls in the crowd approached and began to whisper something in her ear; the words of which would never be known but that made the young lady writhe and moan like never before. The screamed words and groaning that followed were both indiscernible and unwritable.

At this point, seeing that the immolated female could not hold back her rapture for long, a loud and clear voice cried out:

"Let the 'priest' come in!"

Through the same door she entered, Paul (the midget), is seen passing by -- stripped of his suit. Having approached with regal steps, the small man whose head was at the height of her intimacy begins a ritual of adoration with oral skills never seen before. The two, the priest and the object of immolation, stared into each other's eyes for unforgettable minutes.

"Suck me you fucking imp! Worship me!" with her voice already hoarse.

Feeling that the moment of apotheosis was about to come, the same voice that had announced the voracious dwarf solemnly ordered:

"Move aside, brothers! The time has come."

A sudden, paralyzing silence took over the chamber.

After exactly six seconds -- six fucking exact seconds -- Margaret rolled her eyes as if she was expelling a demon (or many) and, with a deafening groan, gave in to her pleasure alone. Watched by the motionless and reverent crowd, the exorcised woman writhed in movements and moans that not even the most skilled of writers could describe. Feeling something exploding inside the belly, she finally allows herself to be devoured by unprecedented orgasm. Not having been able to go to the bathroom until then, the beauty relieved herself right there getting anointed with a mixture of fluids that carried the flavor of her deepest -- and now fulfilled -- desires.

With the ropes untied, all the characters calmly leave the room through its many doors. Regaining the composure amidst the silence, she sees the same handsome caped man from before walking towards her. Kneeling down, he delicately leaves a mark on the trembling lady's thigh with a stamp. In carmine-colored ink, a small symbol containing the Lust&Lux logo signaled the completion of the service provided in its entirety. The durability of the ink was yet to be discovered, but the mark on the soul would be indisputably permanent.

The three naked maids who had welcomed the then suspicious woman cover her body (now in an almost fetal position) with a silky towel and, with a previously inexperienced affection, offered soothing touches and kisses to which the tired female replied, "take care of me," in a sweet and quiet tone. They then lead their valuable customer to a luxurious restroom where she was properly washed, dressed and pampered with all sorts of delicious treats. Two or three hours later, an elegant limousine dropped her off at home, clean, fragrant and certainly satisfied. A gold-embossed certificate completed the package.

"On behalf of all of us at Lust&Lux, allow us to extend our deepest gratitude for granting us the privilege of serving you. It has been our distinct honor to welcome you into our world of excellence and refinement. We trust your experience reflected the highest standards to which we hold ourselves, and we look forward -- most ardently -- to the pleasure of your continued patronage," described Margaret (the following Monday) to her business partner when talking about the contents of the certificate.

"Mine was like that too," replied Rose.

"And your stamp, has it been rubbed off yet?" lifting the skirt a little and showing the symbol.

"Well..." taking off a shoe and showing the same logo marked on the sole of her foot.