Mistress Jennifer, you presume

A drop-dead gorgeous woman answers the door in a very beautiful knee-length dress of a shiny material that almost looks normal at first glance.. She’s got long, neck-length hair, with a sublime smile, and you know that she knows she’s more than beautiful. Something tells you’re not the first person to see her and stand mouth agape, ogling her thin, toned body and if you had to guess she probably knows how to manhandle someone if she has to. You stand there, nearly slack-jawed at her beauty til she clears her throat and you recover your senses.

“Can I help you?” “Yes, yes Ma’am. I’m here to apply for the position.” And what position would that be?” “The dogwalker, ma’am.” “Ah yes, Sam, wasn’t it?” “I see. Follow me inside.”

She turns around, not even looking back at you as you walk into this mansion of opulence. The sounds of dogs has somewhat faded, and as you take in the foyer of this mansion you don’t see any evidence of these dogs you are meant to walk. Usually most people who own dogs will let them roam around the house or have photos of them, but instead she seems perfectly normal, with the photos that are present are of Mistress Jennifer and other similarly dressed men and women, either at a convention or some kind of club or theater, which makes you note that Mistress Jennifer takes her personal life or business life very seriously.

She sits down in a fairly sleek and modern office, and sets a small stack of documents in front of you with a pen. “So, Sam. Do you know what this job entails? I presume you do.” You chuckle sheepishly, then answer. “Yes, ma’am. Walk the dogs, feed them, make sure they have a good time during the day while you are away during the day.”

Jennifer nods her head in agreement. “I will warn you that my boys are an unruly bunch. I’ve gone through three different men before you who all said the same thing, but all ended up not finding the job that they’d imagined it to be.” This makes you nervous, but you feel you can handle whatever Great Dane, St. Bernard or Pitbull she owns.

“Well then, you sound confident enough, and if you want to start today, all you have to do is sign the contract.” You nod your head and sign your name. The ink dries and she puts that in a manilla folder. She claps her hands together and stands up. “Let’s go look at the kennel then.”