The Mistress Files: The Case of the Brokenhearted Bartender. Tiffany Reisz

      I’ll admit, this client was a weird one. Not her, she wasn’t weird. The job was weird. Never done that sort of thing before, and I’m fairly certain I’ll never do again. Not because I don’t want to, as I rather enjoyed it, but because my client was something of a one-of-a-kind despite her unofficial job title.

      Very few of my clients are women. Perhaps only one percent of them are women who come to me alone. I see a few more with couples, but single women can usually get the kink they need at play parties without having to pay for it. This particular woman, however, was a special case. I only saw her in my dungeon once. I’ll never see her in my dungeon again.

      After all, this client wasn’t kinky. And yet, she still needed me.

      Name: Chris McKay.

      Age: 23.

      Occupation: Head bartender at the Möbius Strip

      Club, i.e. “The New Sam.”

      Orientation: Lesbian (the sexy-cute androgynous kind that looks like a fourteen-year-old boy. I’m sure there’s an actual term for that but I left my LGBT dictionary at home).

      When you have a sexual problem in New York City, and you don’t know who to ask for help, you go to Kingsley Edge. He might not know the answer but he knows someone who does. In this case, he knew me.

      The Mistress headed to her dungeon and found her client waiting outside the door. The client wasn’t alone, however. She had a man with her—a handsome man wearing a grey suit, vaguely Regency-era, and black riding boots. The client and the man spoke in hushed tones back and forth to each other. It seemed the man was trying to comfort the woman or give her some words of encouragement. As The Mistress strode down the hall toward them, she studied her new client, Chris. The young woman wore skinny jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather jacket and battered black boots, and her sexy short black hair had been artfully coiffed. From a distance, she looked a lot like a teenage boy circa 1956. Up close she looked like a stunningly beautiful woman who did everything she could in her power to look like a teenage boy circa 1956.

      “So this is the New Sam?” The Mistress asked as she unlocked her dungeon door.

      “She is indeed,” Kingsley, the man in the riding boots said with pride.

      Chris rolled her eyes. Apparently this was a conversation she’d heard once too often.

      “I’m Chris.”

      “Very nice to beat you.” The Mistress shook Chris’s hand.

      “Beat me? I didn’t think…” Chris began.

      “She’s joking.” Kingsley put his arm around Chris’s shoulder like a protective older brother and ushered her into the first room of the dungeon. “It’s her line. It’s an old line, and she should get some new lines.”

      “You start paying me more and maybe I can afford some new lines, King. Now shoo. We’ve got girl stuff to do.” She tried waving him out of her dungeon, but he didn’t budge.

      “I’m not leaving until Chris tells me she wants me gone. I’ll stay the entire time if she needs me.” He gave The Mistress a pointed look, one The Mistress returned even more pointedly. If they didn’t stop staring pointedly at each other one of them was going to lose an eye.

      “I’m fine. Seriously,” Chris said although she didn’t sound one-hundred-percent sure.

      “I can stay out here if you want. You can have your privacy and know I’m only a room away.” He looked into her eyes as if trying to read them. Chris smiled.

      “Seriously, I’m good. I can do this,” Chris reassured him.

      “She’ll be fine.” The Mistress snapped her fingers in his face. “Stop acting all fatherly. She’s in good hands. I’ll get her back to you in one piece. Now this is personal shit she and I need to do. No men allowed. Skedaddle.”

      “Did you just tell me to ‘skedaddle’?” Kingsley said, his French accent struggling with the word.

      “I did. And I mean it. Chris?”

      “She means it. We win. You lose. Shoo.”

      “C’est la guerre. I’m going.” Kingsley didn’t sound like he wanted to leave but the man was smart enough to know when he was outnumbered. “I’ll be back in an hour to take Chris home. Is that long enough?”

      “If it isn’t then you can wait in the hallway until she comes out. Oui?” The Mistress gave him an entirely insincere smile.

      “You don’t have to escort me home. I’ll be okay.” Chris rolled her eyes again. The Mistress had a feeling this scenario played out fairly often. Kingsley did get a bit overprotective of his Sams. She had to wonder if the Original Sam knew what she’d done to the man.

      “I know you’ll be fine. I’m taking you home anyway.”

      “Fine. Fine.” Chris raised her hands in surrender.

      “Yes, it’s all fine. Now go, Dad. Time for the slumber party. Out.”

      Kingsley raised Chris’s hand and kissed the back of it before giving The Mistress one last menacing look.

      “Take good care of her,” he ordered. “Non. Take the best care of her.”

      “She gets my A-game. You get out.”

      With one more bow, Kingsley left the room.

      “God damn, that man is such a mother hen sometimes.” The Mistress opened the door to make sure he’d really gone. She wouldn’t put it past him to wait out in the hallway the entire time.

      “He is, and I have no idea why. He’s so weird.”

      “He’s French.” The Mistress waved her hand dismissively.

      “It’s not that. He treats me like a princess. Do I look like a princess to you?” Chris motioned at herself to indicate her short