Samantha was worried that she’d be wobbly in those new heels when she slid them on her feet that morning. As she tightened the straps around her ankles, she wondered if she should have gone with the more sensible flats that she normally wore for work. But she was feeling a little more dangerous today. Besides, she was damn proud of these new heels. They were Jimmy Choo heels, after all. The new collection, in fact.
Samantha had confidence in her appearance; years of running had rewarded her with a toned and sculpted body, and these new heels had really sealed the deal. Glancing down at her new prized possessions, she was pleased that it perfectly complimented her gray short sleeve dress.
After a short Uber ride downtown, she reached the entrance of the building and steadied herself, taking a deep breath as she walked in. She loved the sound her heels made as they clicked along the tile floor, announcing her arrival. To Samantha, it was the sound of power.
At first, she scoffed at the idea of ever stepping foot in Satisfaction. Now, it seemed mildly amusing.
She still couldn’t get over the fact that Doug had sent her for this story. But Samantha had learned long ago that it was no use trying to argue with her Managing Editor. So here she was, stuck with reporting a story on a highly exclusive sex club which had recently opened downtown. It was “a surefire way to garner more readers,” according to Doug.
In the end, work was work, and this was a legitimate news story.
And now, after nearly two weeks of intense research and a brief phone conversation with Caleb, the club’s operations manager, Samantha was ready for her first visit to the newly opened branch of Satisfaction. She had familiarized herself with this franchise, mostly from her connections in America’s financial world, about how this place makes fantasies come true.
Unlike most sex clubs in murky areas, Satisfaction was located on the top floor of a commercial building, the first of its kind. It was meant to be a place where financial big shots, men and women alike, could take time from their busy days to “relieve stress,” as discreetly advertised.
It was 10 am on a Monday when Samantha made her first trip there. Typically, for these types of personal on-the-record interviews, she’d wear something casual like skinny jeans and a button-up shirt. Stylish, yet professional.
She hoped the height of her heels and the length of her skirt wouldn’t diminish her status in the eyes of the people she’d be meeting. Her legs were stellar and she also secretly hoped that they’d garner some attention from people with high taste. It always give her a little thrill, though she’d never admit that.
She made her way up to the top floor, expecting a dimly lit, seedy lobby with overweight greasy men.
Instead, she was astonished to see an upscale lobby with a professional ambiance, with sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Since it was morning, there was even a table in the waiting room with an array of breakfast pastries, coffee, and freshly squeezed fruit juice for the guests.
Samantha was greeted by an ordinary receptionist whose hair was in a librarian’s bun. She was escorted down the hall by a staff member in a suit – they all wore suits – and hoping to see something salacious, she couldn’t help but peek into each room. But much to her secret disappointment, there was nothing going on this early in the day.
She soon found herself in the main office, sitting across a large, mahogany desk from the branch manager and co-owner of Satisfaction. Caleb appeared to be a few years older than she was and everything about him was groomed and polished. Even the pens on his desk were lined up perfectly.