Blue Dress - White Slave - 1

The advertisement for the dating service was simple, elegant, and enticing. "Seeking educated, attractive women for wealthy, attractive men. Please call to arrange your personal interview (allow one hour). Free trial 'quick date,' opportunity, at your option. No obligations--only opportunities."

Rose stared at the ad for a few minutes. "What do I have to lose?" Her job search had not been as fruitful as she had hoped. "Whether it's a date or a desk, it's a chance at something better. What's the harm in trying?"

The woman on the other end of the line was polite and professional. Only after a thorough interview would Rose be allowed to apply to meet with the services exclusive clientele. Her advice was a simple as the ad. "Remember that this is a dating service, not a job interview. Be yourself. You never know what these gentlemen are looking for in a potential companion. We want you to be as happy as they are."

Rose smiled at the thought of meeting someone "exclusive." She dug through her closet for her simple, blue dress. It had never failed her, yet, and it was not going to this time. It reflected her crystal blue eyes almost like magic. She gave herself a little wink in the mirror, as she smoothed the dress over her curves. This will do the trick.

The interview started promptly on time. Rose was led into a small but well-appointed office and seated in a comfortable armchair that faced its twin. Moments later an attractive, middle-aged woman entered. She introduced herself quickly but warmly and sat across from Rose. "I hope you do not mind, but I am going to ask you quite a few questions and take notes throughout. I also apologize in advance, as many of those questions will be quite personal--even a bit lewd. It is in everyone's best interests, especially yours, if we think think ahead. Of course, no one is forcing you to be here or to answer anything. However, if you want your best chance at happiness, you will answer completely and honestly."

"Of course," Rose nodded. "That makes perfect sense. I'm ready."

As the interview progressed, Rose began to realize that she had described much of her sexual history, as well as many of her deepest desires and fantasies. However, she had yet to feel the least uncomfortable about anything she said. The obviously skilled interviewer had elicited Rose's deepest feelings without so much as a blush. After about forty-five minutes, the interviewer paused, squinted, and smiled a bit. She lightly tapped the top of her pen on her bottom lip.

"Miss Rose, I don't usually do this, but . . . well . . . it seems you are a perfect fit for one of our clients. Typically, we need to run an extensive background check on a new applicant and discuss potential matches, but you and he seem tailor made for each other. Without getting into too many details, he is one of our highest paying clients. Very, very particular. You and he share . . . shall I say . . . 'complimentary' interests when it comes to what tends to . . . excite you? If you like, you can meet him today. Are you interested?"

Rose's blue eyes sparkled even more than usual. "That sounds wonderful, and it just so happens that I'm free."

The interviewer briefly flared her eyebrows. "Yes, so it seems. For the moment, at least. Can I get you something to drink while I make a phone call? Soft drink, tea, even champagne?"

"Please. A glass of champagne sounds so good right now. I hope I'm not presuming too much, but I did not expect anything like this to happen. I sort of feel like celebrating."

"Certainly not. This is special." The interviewer quickly produced a bottle from a small refrigerator and lifted a small champagne flute from the shelf above it. She poured and extended the glass to Rose. "Quite special. I'll only be a moment."

Rose took the glass and quickly sipped. As the office door closed behind the interviewer, Rose began wondering just what in the interview were the "complimentary interests." Travel? Good food? Experiences? "Wait." A chill ran down Rose's spine. She took a large drink from the flute. "It wouldn't be about the . . . b . . . ."

Just then, Rose felt almost as if someone had punched her in the gut. A fog started descending over her mind. "What . . . wh . . . ." Seconds later, Rose slumped over an arm of the chair, with the champagne flute alling to the floor.

Rose awoke hours later. The first thing she noticed was the soft, plush mattress and soft, satin sheets underneath her. She tried to get up to look around but found her arms pinned behind her and her ankles bound together. Ropes crossed above, below, and between her breasts, creating a harness that held her fast. A momentary struggle instantly revealed that she was going nowhere.

"Good evening, Rose. I am pleased to meet you." It was a man's voice. Before she looked up, Rose noticed that she still was in her blue dress. Perhaps it worked, after all.