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The very next evening, I found myself in the cool, dark cellar cleaning and tidying. I was slightly disappointed not to see any of Charlotte's clients, curious to know what sort of person paid for her services. My blood ran hot as I thought of an uptight Mr. Money-bags type-someone rather like Howie-and of how he would look, quivering and naked, on the floor, whimpering under the whip of the dominatrix-and of how outrageously sexy it would feel to be the woman wielding it. I shivered and tried to concentrate on the job at hand.

The next evening I found a handwritten note from Charlotte, thanking me for doing such a great job. I felt a surge of pride and happiness. It felt strangely natural for me to come from cleaning offices to scrubbing down whips and chains in a dungeon. Over the next few weeks I settled into a routine: While I worked, I'd let my imagination drift off, picturing myself in the clothes that I washed, imagining that I was the one playing Charlotte's role. I saw her once or twice a week, and we'd sit down to enjoy a cup of coffee together. She always wanted to know what I'd been up to, and we'd talk about books I'd read, dates I'd been on, that kind of thing. But I never saw any of her clients.

"I take care to book time with my clients when you're not around," she said. "They like the anonymity that I give them, and, besides, it can sound quite extreme when you're not used to it. You're the best cleaner I've ever had. I'd hate to scare you away."

I didn't tell her that far from scaring me away, it would probably be all she could do to stop me from joining in.

I'd been working for Charlotte for about a month when I came to work one evening to find her dressed in a black-and-red leather bodysuit, looking beautiful, powerful, and sexy but also rather flustered.

"I'm sorry, Tina," she said. "I've had to rearrange a booking. There's so much work coming my way these days that I can't really turn it down. I'll be working in the water-torture room while you clean out the dungeon. I can't avoid it. I hope it doesn't disturb you, and do be discreet."

I nodded and assured her that of course I would. I went about my usual cleaning routine, and for a while I heard nothing but the trickle of running water from the wet room and two low, murmuring voices. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me, and I stopped my cleaning routine, sidled over to the door that divided the two rooms, and peered through the keyhole.

I was astonished to find that what I saw turned me on, and quickly, too. I went, in the split second it took for my eyes to adapt to the murky light in the wet room, from a normal state of being to one of desperate, ravenous sexual hunger. I saw Charlotte from the back, sexy and strong in her leather costume, but instead of a whip, she was brandishing a hose on full power. She was directing a forceful jet of water at a beautiful young woman who was strung up against the wall with her hands in handcuffs and her legs forced apart by a pair of leg irons. Charlotte was taking turns blasting the girl's tits and then her clit with water. When she trained the hose on her breasts, the flesh dented as though poked by an invisible finger, and the woman's nipples, flushed dark brown and highly erect, moved in a series of jiggled, jerky movements. Just when I thought she couldn't take any more, Charlotte would direct the gushing jet against the girl's clit. I watched, crazy with arousal, as the water pummeled the girl's pussy and thighs.

"Oh, mistress, this hurts so good," she begged. "Please let me come! Please let me come!"

Charlotte immediately turned off the jet of water.

"What have I told you about begging me like that?" she said in a stern voice I had never heard her use before.

"I'm sorry," said the girl, her wet hair slapping at her pink breasts as she hung her head in shame. "I just need to come so bad."

"You'll come when I say so, you little bitch," said Charlotte, and turned the hose back on, aiming it right back at the girl's clit. Even from where I crouched I could see her pinky-brown pussy convulse a couple of times and her body, constrained by the iron shackles, stiffen and then grow limp as she surrendered to her orgasm. I squeezed my thighs together and rocked back and forth once. That tiny movement was all it took for me to come, too, harder and faster than anything I'd ever experienced. The whole thing from first sight to arousal to orgasm had taken about twenty seconds. I hadn't even had time to get wet, although my postor gasmic juices were now filling my jeans with a warm dampness. I pressed my sizzling cheek against the cool of the dungeon wall for a few seconds, and then backed away from the door.