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MrStrapwell -> The Training of Mimi (9/17/2004 7:58:05 PM)
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"Dangerously Sexy Young Nymph Needed To Be Personal Canine Slut", read the caption to the e-mail. Mimi sighed ...she was now having second thoughts about quitting the $8 / hour filing job in the dismal University Chemistry Department in favor of a budding "career" with a mysterious Madame Yukie, a self-proclaimed "Madame" specializing in fulfilling "unusual" tastes of Beverly Hills gentlemen. "Oh my God" Mimi said aloud, staring at her In Box in disbelief. The first assignment had barreled into her In Box like a freight train.
Mimi's cursor hovered over the ominous caption, and with a "click" the e-mail's contents splashed across her screen:
Dear Mimi,
Your assignment for this evening: A Gentleman in Beverly Hills has seen your photo and has taken a fancy to you. He would like you over at his place at 7:00 sharp. This gentleman, Master Todd Strapwell, is very selective, and usually finds some fault or other with my girls, but he has taken an immediate attraction to you. Your job is exactly what the title of my e-mail says. Master Strapwell has requested that you dress in a tight body suit and high heels. Please be on time, and please do everything he says.
"Oh my God" Mimi repeated. What had she gotten herself into.
"It's just a job", Mimi quietly reassured herself. She grabbed her purse, fumbling through its contents. Four dollars were finally found. She frowned, gazing at the meager sum of dollar bills, and whispered to herself in a tone mixed with earnestness and desperation, "I need the money".
Mimi flashed her gaze at the clock on her desk. 5:30 p.m. glowed ominously. With money in desperately short supply, Mimi acknowledged there was simply no choice. She must get dressed, and present herself at Master Strapwell's door at 7:00 sharp, come what may.
"Doggy training", Mimi silently mused. "Oh my God" she whispered. Mimi closed her eyes, a moment of quiet reflection soothed her troubled mind. Just then, an image floated into her mind, the scene was crystal clear. A handsome gentleman attired in a black business suit, his black leather shoes immaculately polished, brandishing a thin black leather riding whip. There was Mimi in her skintight body suit, kneeling on the floor in an upright position, her back straight, her hands in front of her, her wrists bent at 90 degrees, like a doggy standing at attention on its hind legs. The gentleman came close, studying her posture with a critical gaze. The gentleman taps her just above her derriere with the whip "Back straight!" he commands. "Naughty doggy", he reprimands in a disapproving tone. A swish of the whip, a split second of agonizing anticipation ....(phone rings). Mimi sighs, the daydream brought her to near-exhaustion. Summonsing whatever strength is still left, she grabs the telephone receiver and answers, "Hello" with trepidation. "Mimi, I want you to write down these instructions", the husky female voice on the other end quickly rattled off. "Madame Yukie?" Mimi replied. "Well, it's not Mother Teresa darling", returned the husky female voice. The voice had a particular quality, a distinctive Japanese American voice, perky, though roughened around the edges by too many cigarettes and evenings up late drinking Scotch whisky with Japanese businessmen, and the orgies which followed."
"Now write these down", Madame Yukie commanded in a very serious tone:
"Doggy bowl, the best porcelain", "Pink Rhinestone studded collar", "Pink Leather Rhinestone studded leash", "Ruffles chocolate doggy truffles", "Slender and whippy black riding whip", "Bottle of Veuve Clicquot Champagne", and, oh ya, "A jumbo size bottle of KY Ultra Gel".
Continued Madame Yukie, very matter-of-factly,
"Stop at Dream Dresser on Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood to get the whip and the KY", then your next stop is "The Pampered Poodle" on Canon Drive in Beverly Hills to pick up the doggy bowl, collar, leash and Ruffles", then last go to "Elegance De France" on Beverly Drive to get the chilled champagne. I'll call ahead with my corporate credit card to arrange for payment at all the stores", continued Madame Yukie. "And write down this address (here she whispered in a secretive tone the address of the client)." "It's his private apartment, he only uses it for very confidential liaisons - don't tell anyone!" cautioned Madame Yukie. "No, I promise I won't" Mimi quietly replied, a mild strain in her voice reflecting her state of near exhaustion just thinking about getting to all of those stores before 7:00 this evening. "And don't be late" barked Madame Yukie. "Master Todd will be expecting you at 7:00 this evening, sharp. Am I clear, young lady?" commanded Madame Yukie. "Yes Ma’’am", whispered Mimi, politely. "Click", the phone went silent, Madame Yukie having finished her orders, and now rushing out the door to a "business engagement" with the CEO of a Japanese corporation, in town for only an evening.
"Oh my God" whispered Mimi, staring in disbelief at the hurriedly scrawled instructions, which she clutched nervously in one hand. "What have I gotten myself into"? She sighed rhetorically ...."Majoring in Education and Minoring in Doggy Training", Mimi mused. "So this is what life at UCLA has come to." No time to think, she reasoned. Nervousness and anxiety crept in like the chill of a winter day, while adrenaline coursed through her veins, exerting her forward. "Get dressed, and just go" she whispered to herself in a hushed tone, as if to prod herself along. Movements became automatic. Clothes came off and were flung onto bed, socks were strewn on the floor. Mimi stood briefly in the mirror, striking a seductive pose. She stood before the mirror, gazing in self admiration, turning slightly this way and that, flipping her derriere to the side, teasingly. Turning away from the mirror, she stole a glance over her shoulder to gaze at her tight and shapely derriere. Her derriere - it was always her most erogenous zone. Naughty thoughts sometime came to her late in the evenings, of how her derriere might be touched and explored by a skillful male lover ... if only such a lover would come to her on a lonely evening, as if by magic, how heavenly that would be!
All the while Mimi stood before the mirror, now getting aroused, daydreaming of a lover, time had quietly slipped by. A quick glance at the clock, "Oh my God, it's 5:45!". "No time to think", she exclaimed in a hushed whisper. On went clean panties, and next, a skin tight body suit. She scurried for a suitable pair of high heeled shoes, and grabbed her purse, heading toward the door, but stopping briefly before the mirror to smooth on some lipstick, and apply some smoky eye makeup. "Oh my God, the list!" she exclaims, almost having forgotten it. She grabs the crumpled piece of paper from the desk. One last glance in the mirror, a long sigh, and Mimi hurriedly flies out the door, her purse streaming behind her and the list clutched in one hand.
Mimi strolled briskly to the car. Keys in the ignition "Oh my God, almost out of gas!". Her expression turned to despair as she studied the needle on the gas gauge hovering near empty. "No time to buy gas", "Just go" . Her car sped out from the dorm parking lot, and spilled onto Sunset. She lost track of just how many traffic laws she broke by the time she got to Dream Dresser on Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood. Car screeches to the curb in front, door slams. Rushing through the front door to the store, her eyes took time to adjust. It was very dark inside. Mimi could just start to make out the racks of leather corsets, bustiers, and ruffled French Maid costumes. A rack of paddles and whips stood nearby. Her jaw dropped, as she let out an audible gasp. "Oh my God, what kind of place is this!", she blurted out, hoping nobody heard her. "I better just get the things and go". She strolled anxiously to the sales counter, studying with fascination the lady behind the counter. A gothic creature with Raven black hair, tattoos, black corset with large boobs barely held back, silver bondage jewelry, and a piercing in her lower lip. "Madame Yukie", started Mimi, "sent me here", she continued, slightly unsure if the counter girl even knew who Madame Yukie was. The raven haired gothic girl nodded slightly and reassuringly, as if to silently demonstrate to Mimi that she knew exactly why Mimi was there. "So you're the girl for doggy training", said the Goth girl matter-of-factly. "Madame Yukie arranged for everything", said the Goth girl calmly, now rustling under the counter, and producing a large black paper bag with the shop logo, a thin black riding whip sticking out of the bag, by about a meter. The Goth girl handed the bag to Mimi, "Madame Yukie took care of it". Mimi clutched the bag, nodded her head appreciatively and whispered "thank you", so faint as to be barely audible, and rushed out the door.
Keys in ignition, bag with whip on passenger seat. "Oh my God" exclaimed Yukie, trying to keep her composure at the sight of ominous thin black riding whip. Her derriere hurt just looking at it. She wiggled her derriere in the car seat and pressed her legs together. A slight tinge of excitement came to her nether regions. Why, she did not know. Her car sped from the curve. "Next stop" she spoke to herself, "The Pampered Poodle". More traffic laws broken. Her car speeds into Beverly Hills. "Only 30 minutes until 7:00" she exclaims nervously. Her foot hit the gas. Screeching to a halt in front of "The Pampered Poodle", Mimi once again slams her car door, and rushes through the door to the store. A Beverly Hills woman (the kind who are about 70, with dyed auburn hair, and enough makeup to choke a Chihuahua) stood chatting with the shop girl at the counter. The old lady was holding a white Maltese in one arm, stroking it as she carried on her conversation with the shop girl. "Oh my God, that's the last thing I need is for some old bag to be tying up the shop girl with only 25 minutes left to get to the client," Mimi whispered to herself, frustrated. "Yukie?", Mimi called out, toward the shop girl, as if to signal that she had come to pick up the items her employer had ordered. The old Beverly Hills lady just kept chatting to the shop girl. The shop girl didn't seem to have noticed Mimi's attempt to get her attention. Mimi strolled closer to the counter. "I've come to pick up some things for my boss, Yukie", Mimi said, assertively. The Beverly Hills lady cast a snobby snare in Mimi's direction, as if to imply "who are you to interrupt my conversation?". Mimi stared back, and cast a threatening glance at the Maltese clutched in the woman's arms. The dog yelped, and snuggled closer to its owner for protection. "I'm in a bit of a hurry and just need to pick up the items that Yukie called in" Mimi once again repeated, hoping that this time, the shop girl would get it. "Oh, let's see, I have the list here", replied the shop girl. Mimi could not hide her displeasure at the shop girl for not having the items ready. "I'll get them right now" continued the shop girl. The Beverly Hills lady cast another snobby glare in Mimi's direction, and Mimi fired back by grimacing threateningly at the Maltese, which again yelped and snuggled yet closer to the old lady for protection.
"Let's see ..." wondered the shop girl. "What size collar is your doggy?". This caught Mimi off guard. Mimi began stuttering ....quickly trying to compose a response. "Ummmmmmm ....oh, let me think ....ummm ...about the same size as my neck." "That should do", Mimi continued, hoping her response will be convincing. The shop girl cast a perplexed look at Mimi, and zeroed her gaze in on Mimi's neck. "Let's see, I think you'd be about a size 10. What kind of dog is it?" the shop girl pressed on. "Um ... German Shepard" Mimi replied in an assuring tone, proud at the speed of her response. "Must be a small German Shepard" the shop girl replied. "Yes, he's a toy, a toy German Shepard" Mimi shot back, nodding assuredly (in dog terms, toy always meant "small version"). "I never heard of a toy German Shepard before", uttered the shop girl, as if to express her dismay at Mimi's reply. "This should fit you ...I mean, the dog", said the shop girl lifting a pink rhinestone studded collar from the rack. The shop girl glanced further down the list, and meandered through the aisles plucking the items from the racks. Mimi glared back at the Maltese, as if to taunt the creature, still being clutched nervously in the arm of the old lady. The shop girl was taking her time picking the items off the shelves, but alas made her way back to the counter, plopping the items unceremoniously atop the counter: White porcelain doggy bowl, with a raised emblem of a poodle on the front. Pink Rhinestone studded leash. Pink Rhinestone studded collar. "Wait, I'll be right back" uttered the shop girl, as she headed toward a small refrigerator off to the side of the counter. Mimi once again grimaced at the Maltese, which let out a nervous growl, and once again snuggled close to the old lady for protection. The shop girl returned, setting on the counter what resembled a Chinese take-home container, but with the logo "Three Dog Bakery" and, in course looking type the word proclaiming its contents, "Ruffles". "Can I just take everything, and you'll bill Yukie?", Mimi pressed hurriedly. The shop girl didn't answer, instead jotting down the items on a bill of sale. "Okay, you can take everything" she finally answered, having finished writing up the sales slip. Mimi gathered up the items between her two arms, cast one last evil glance at the Maltese, and strutted toward the doors, pushing them open with one shoulder. She flipped open the car door, and the items tumbled onto the passenger seat, piled next to the bag with the whip. "Oh my God" Mimi said once again, disbelief crossing her mind at collection if items strewn atop the passenger seat.
"Next stop, Elegance de France". "Just down the street" Mimi uttered. Car screeching to the curb in front of the wine shop, the car's tail still sticking out into the street. Mimi runs inside. "Yukie?" she calls out, hoping this time the shop clerk will handle the matter expeditiously. A dapper French man, the store keeper, casts a knowing and admiring glance toward Mimi, nodding approvingly, and quickly makes his way to the refrigerated champagne case, reaching for the bottle with the distinctive Orange label. Mimi heads toward the counter, the French man hastily heading to meet her with the bottle of champagne in hand. He presents to her the bottle with the distinctive orange label "Veuve Clicquot" he announces, as if to solicit her approval. Mimi nods, as if to signal her approval, not quite knowing whether "Veuve Clicquot" is a good thing or not, but imagining that it must be, since the writing on the orange label is so pretty. The French man quickly bags the bottle, looking around suspiciously for any unwelcome observers. The French man nervously hands the bag with the champagne to Mimi, his thoughts on Mimi's shapely breasts and tight derriere, more than on the fact that he has just handed a bottle of Champagne to an underage customer. The French man realizes that Madame Yoke's business is too important to lose (thousands of dollars in expensive Scotch each month for her wealthy Japanese business-men clients) over such a minor technicality as handing a bottle of Champagne to a beautiful 19 year old girl. Mimi takes the Champagne, smiles at the French man, and quickly breezes out the door. Car door flung open, keys in ignition, Champagne bottle piled on the mountain of doggy items and the whip on the passenger seat. Car screeches out from curb. Gas needle hovering over the down side of "empty".
"Rexford Drive", Mimi whispers to herself, "Just around the corner". "That's it!" she exclaims to herself with nervous excitement, pulling up to the address scribbled on the paper. Her car edges slowly into a parking space, as if to be very quiet, and discreet. She stares at the mountain of unusual items piled onto the passenger seat. A black paper bag, with a whip sticking out of it (and she remembers that something even more intimidating lurks inside - the KY Ultra Gel), sundry and assorted doggy items, crowned by a bag containing a bottle of Champagne. "No time to think". She casts a glance at her watch. 6:59 . "Oh my God" Mimi exclaims, hurriedly leaping from the car, briskly slamming the door, and strutting over to the passenger side, flinging open the door. Nervously gathering up the items in her arms, she can barely keep them within her grasp, piled as high as her head. No arms free to close the door. Leaning her derriere against the passenger door, she gives it a quick flip. The door closes with a resounding "clunk". Now walking nervously into the courtyard, items piled high between her arms, arms growing sore, she whispers "Oh my God, what apartment is it?". Mimi panics silently. No arms free to review her scribbling on the note. "I think it's number 7", she hints nervously to herself, now out of breath, and hoping desperately that no neighbors will cross her path. "Oh my God, what would they think?" she worries silently to herself, hoping that such an unspeakable occurrence as neighbors walking crossing her path will not transpire. "Number 7", she whispers aloud, casting a glance at the ominous brass plate the door. She moves closer to the door, items teetering from between her arms, barely in balance. The weight between her arms has grown unbearably heavy, steady pain gripping her arms. "Must hold on", she whispers, trying with all her might. Her thumb pushes into the doorbell before she has time for a second thought. The faint ring of the bell penetrates the black door. Adrenaline rushing through veins, pulse racing, palms cold and sweating, breathing heavy, arms aching, a deep breath, and a loud sigh as she exhales. The sound of a person pressing he latch from the other side ...
To be continued.
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