Pantherra Unleashed

As there are rules in the jungle, so must there be within the confines of a dungeon. Each Jungarian must obey, follow and adhere to such regulations or the binding relationship shall be severed. Mothers tend to their children. Animals tend to their young. Dominants tend to their submissives. Lessons are taught, learned and handed down. It is societal. A cycle not to be broken nor severed, or else the bad, unworthy, and weak never would have survived for the tribesmen will have consumed them whilst their bones were still soft.

JUNGARIAN LAW

The secretary types over eighty words a minute on the keyboard, using the tips of short un-manicured fingernails to stroke the keys. She’s focused on her work, sitting up straight, minding her posture. Her attire is professional—a light blue blouse and a black skirt. Nothing special, none of her clothing is designer. Underneath the desk, she has slipped off her pumps. For sake of professional appearances, and just in case anyone happens to notice, her toes are in the shoes, while her ankles rest atop the heel, which is less confining.

Her desk has two computer monitors, a mesh metal in-box, a stack of files for the day’s appointments, and a small recording device. Everything in its proper place, each task she performs is done efficiently, intricately functional and always busy, busy as a bumble bee. Seldom are moments to decide which task to tackle, where to start, and far too engrossed indeed for a break.

The reception area is small and dark. Secluded and withdrawn in design and detail. Its furnishings are scant. Two file cabinets, considerable in size; one black, the other white, stand tall against the wall in the office while a large blackish tortoiseshell bowl sits atop a white pedestal in the corner next to the entrance. A sealed envelope lies in the contribution bowl, the seventh one so far on this day half past four o’clock in the afternoon. The secretary will take out the envelope in a matter of minutes to open and record its contents. Usually, this particular plain white envelope at this exact time of day contains four hundred dollars but inside this particular one, the amount is much larger, a sum closer to a thousand, but that is a sporadic occurrence. She divides half of the cash into two envelopes, one for the designated Mistress, and the other for the expenses of Pantherra. As always, the reception area must be clear of clients because the counting of monies is considered vulgar, disgusting, rude and absolutely unheard of. As there are rules and order in the jungle, they too apply with the dungeon and as well in the office. One of the leather chairs is occupied.

Music comes from unseen speakers playing in the room while the secretary works and the seated man waits. Mr. Albertazzi is wearing a dark brown business suit and expensive reddish-brown dress shoes. All that surrounds him exudes wealth; old money and his polished attire speak volumes of fashionable discretion. He sits with his hands clasped tight around a tan briefcase on his lap. He recognizes the classical piece as Pavane, Opus 50, written and composed by Gabriel Urbain Faure. Mr. Albertazzi seems appreciative someone has taken his choice into consideration.

Eyes closed, he listens. An inner office door opens from down the dark hallway. The click-clack of stilettos is ascending. He hears it. His lips tighten, and his breathing changes. The sound he’d been waiting for since his arrival, ever since he scheduled and confirmed this appointment. The comfortable expression on his face a moment ago as Pavane soothed him is gone. Crraacckk! Hearing the single-tail whip, his knuckles lose color, turning white as his fingers press down, gripping. He smiles. It’s time to be seen. Within the confines of his shoes, his toes wiggle with anticipation. Crraacckk!

*

“There is no coming to consciousness without pain.” (As quoted by the great Carl Gustave Jung.)

~*~

It wasn’t pain Monica, the secretary/receptionist was experiencing. Her discomfort was deeper because it was the need to pee in the direst of sense. It was no secret that Mistress Oxide liked to keep Jungarians’ waiting, but by 4:08, Monica feared she might start wiggling in the seat, or worse, a piddle-piddle-dee-dee was about to fill the padded leather computer chair. She wondered for a brief second if Mr. Albertazzi might pay extra to witness that as well. Who was she kidding? Mistress Oxide pulled Mr. Albertazzi by his collar down the hall. This relieved Monica as she shot out of her chair and ran to the bathroom.

Washing her hands at the sink, she peered into the mirror staring at her plain freckled face. Her bangs made her look a few years younger than she was. With a smile, she is Lydia once again, but the serious expression belongs to Monica, the first person the clients come in contact with inside the dungeon. Underneath the façade, the webbed toed almost quiet-n-sweet girl had always been Lydia in need of some sun.

Within minutes, Monica had returned to her desk to finish transcribing. It was the end of the day. Mr. Albertazzi, or as his file indicated, Pantherra’s client number 062 as far as the Mistresses were concerned, was the last appointment. Monica would tend to her duties at the front desk for the last hour and then go down the hall making sure everything was clean, orderly and in its proper place before locking up and leaving.

The green light on line three began to flash. The telephones are always set on silent. This was for professional reasons as well as policy in the dungeon.

Monica answered, “You have reached Business Documents by Secretarial Mechanics, this is Monica, and how may I assist you?”

“It’s me, Lydia…” Zarah started.

“Monica,” she immediately reminded the newest Dominatrix of the dungeon.

“Oh right, my bad. Monica,” Zarah said. She had been lounging on the black lacquered chaise with the television remote control in her hand. She smoothed back her thick long auburn hair which complimented her exotic features, turned down the volume on the television and sat up straight for the remainder of the conversation.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“Right. I just wanted to go over the schedule for tomorrow if you have a sec. You know, to give myself a heads up on the day,” Zarah said, sounding both nervous and excited about tomorrow being her first official working day at the dungeon.

“Of course, I can do precisely that.” Monica stayed in dungeon mode. It was almost as if she had practiced this all of her life, being professional, impersonal, and very clear. It came natural. She knew it would take Zarah some time to get used to the way things were in Pantherra. Working in a dungeon wasn’t the usual 9 to 5, not even if it doubled as another business.