PSA/trigger warning: This chapter contains consensual non-consent scenes. There should be ample warning to prep for it but if you want to make sure you avoid it skip down to the section with Dakota's point of view.
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Sam
Sam pulled her car up to the valet station. The kid manning it took her keys and car, practically bowing to her and never making eye contact. On the one hand it gave Sam a thrill, but it also made her eyes roll.
The name "Don's Realty" sounded like it should be a cardboard sign taped to the inside of a window in a corner of a strip mall, matched to a web site with a 90's aesthetic and functionality. Instead it occupied an entire floor of a modern office building in Burlington. The city was still too remote and too reliant on its "quaint, rustic" reputation to have anything like high-rises; Sam thought the tallest building was probably only ten floors or so, and most of the visible ones were either brick or had brick façade exteriors, with tan or dark gray concrete making up the rest. The other buildings tended to have classic New England lines, with peaked roofs and layered siding. No glass-sided skyscrapers, and finding modern, brightly colored apartment complexes with sharp corners and solid panels of color took some doing.
Don's Realty opted for a mix of classic and modern with its interior decorating. There was lots of stained, dark wood in the entryway with hard floors made to look like marble. But as soon as you got past the main doors there was corporate carpeting, taupe walls, and workstations for employees were low-walled with plenty of frosted glass and light gray metal. The offices were similarly all glass, though again most of it was frosted, giving the whole office a much more open feel than it would have with old-fashioned cubes and solid-walled offices.
The exception was the Don's office.
Sam had to smirk as she was reminded how far the Don took his near-obsession with keeping people off-balance and subverting their expectations. First of all, Don was a title, not a name. Even people who assumed that much were tripped up again expecting someone Italian, or at least a Godfather fanatic.
Don Cordoba, as he liked to be called, was Spanish. He was also short for a man at 5'5" and thin, probably topping out at 135 pounds. All of it was wiry, corded muscle, though, as Sam knew well; both of them worked out at the same dojo, one of the few that allowed free sparring between its members without requiring them to be part of a current training track. The Don's preferred style was Capoeira mixed with Brazilian Ju-Jitsu. Thanks to her formative years in Isreal and the insistence of her father, Sam's was Krav Maga.
She arrived at what she mentally called the antechamber to the office. It featured floor-to-ceiling double glass doors that were unusually thick. Sam knew that was due to them being electrochromatic; there was fluid within the glass that could be darkened to block anyone seeing inside.
Off to one side was a small arrangement of a loveseat and some plush chairs with the recessed button upholstery, set up around a classic wooden coffee table. Opposite that was a fully modern desk with a clear glass top. Sam quickly appraised The Don's latest assistant.
She must have been fairly new; she was probably the same age as her Princess, if not a year or two younger. He'd gone outside his usual type, as well; the Don had a known preference for voluptuous women, bordering on what might be called Rubenesque. The girl behind the desk was very slim with bright red hair and freckles everywhere. She wore a forest green wrap dress and matching flats, and the dress was tight enough that Sam could tell the girl had few curves to speak of.
"Um...you are Mistress Sam, is that right?" the girl said, her voice quivering and nervous.
Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The reason for the choice of this girl was obvious to her now. "I am. You will lead me in."
"Yes, of course Mistress," the girl said automatically. Then she looked up in fear. Sam enjoyed the visual; the girl's skin was so pale she could see every shade of red as the blood of her embarrassment and anxiety flooded her face.
Sam didn't give her any relief, simply nodding toward the door.
The door to The Don's office was where any nod to modern aesthetics was abandoned. It was heavy, solid wood, with a round carved knob that gave an audible metal "clank" when it opened, as if the latching mechanism were over a hundred years old and heavy. Inside the carpet was plush and deep burgundy. The large window behind his ornately carved, dark mahogany desk gave a commanding view of the city and Lake Champlain. An actual grandfather clock sat in one corner next to a framed portrait of the Don dressed up like a sixteenth century Spanish noble, while a bookcase with more awards and knickknacks than books sat on the opposite wall.
Despite the imposing setup of the room, Sam made out the tricks. There were two more plush chairs facing the desk, but they weren't as nice as the near-throne the Don sat in, and they looked to have seats a bit lower than normal, meaning those who sat would be looking up by default and they would have trouble getting out of them. There was also the subtle shadow on the carpet suggesting the floor of the office was physically higher where The Don's desk was. The portrait was also placed so people sitting in the chairs would constantly have it in their peripheral vision. He even went as far as sorting the objects on the bookshelves; everything closer to the door were larger items and awards, while the ones closer to him were smaller, making him look subtly larger while intimidating visitors with the bigger items.
The only question was whether he'd come up with the design himself or had his wife help. She was the only person Sam could think of whom the Don would have clued in to the purpose of the design, and also the only one he would even implicitly admit his inferiority complex to.
"Senorita Nazari, Sam, it has been too long," The Don said, actually coming out from around his desk. Sam bent over to receive European kisses as a greeting. She wouldn't call his return to his desk a 'scurry', but he certainly moved fast to regain his position of dominance.
"I see you're still doing well for yourself, Don," Sam said, sitting purposefully in one of the chairs. Sam had worn a high-end white skirt suit and gathered her hair back with an intricate turquoise clasp; she looked like a major executive. Rather than fight against the chair's lower height, she settled into it and leaned back, crossing her legs. If she wasn't careful, she'd give The Don a view right up her skirt, and they both knew it.
Such were the power games when two dominants interacted. They actually mostly liked each other, but the games of who was over whom never stopped.
"Maria's still keeping you from getting sued into bankruptcy?" Sam commented.
"Please," The Don said as he rose and poured them both water. He, like she, didn't like drinking outside of the home, "We haven't been sued in years. She spends most of her time negotiating with the city government over zoning and expansion. She's more a politician than a lawyer now."
"Oh really?" Sam said, "Am I going to find you begging to stick a sign on my lawn in the near future?"
"As if anyone would see it in the hidden forest where you live," The Don quipped, "When are you going to let me pull you out of that Reagan-era cardboard box and find you a condo in the city? There are some nice luxury units going up where they tore that old strip mall down. Or at least a nice colonial in South Burlington?"
"I'm sorry, did you forget that I don't actually own my own business like you? I'd have to call my uncle Medo in Cairo and hope he found an oil well in the desert," Sam said.
"Please," The Don replied dismissively, "You can get that 'plain white collar cube worker' act past the rubes but I've known you too long. You practically run that agency, and if rumors are to be believed they are noticing you."
"Yeah, noticing how far it is from my office to the door."
The Don's face turned serious and Sam flinched. She hadn't meant to get that personal with The Don; they were friendly, but not exactly friends. It was just that there were only so many people in the lifestyle.
"Sam, you make them money on top of money they already made. How could they be letting you go? Did something happen? Did someone...talk? Or find out?" The Don asked darkly.
Even though nothing about their lifestyle was illegal, it still did more than raise eyebrows when people found out, especially for the doms. When someone found out a person was a sub, they usually tried to protect them and convince them they were being abused and had a way out. But when someone was outed as a dom, labels like "abuser," "rapist," and "groomer" got thrown around.
The community was
very
