I lied during that interview. A lot. My brilliant master plan was to get access to the women who work as dominatrixes and their clients and learn about the everyday business of running a reputable BDSM dungeon a legal business in New York state. If someone had told me this minute interview would instead change my life forever, I would have laughed at them.
I still remember how fast my heart was beating as I rang the bell and waited for the manager, a woman in her 50s, to open the door and let me in.
As I entered the space, I stopped to look around. Up to that point in my life, I had held about 15 different jobs including sales, working the register at a bakery, being a secretary at a PR firm and a few waitress gigs while I studied to be an actress. I had fully prepared myself to walk into a room with chains, whips and all sorts of torture devices, but there I was in an ordinary waiting room with cheap art hanging on its walls, a tiny locker room and a coffee machine.
The manager held my New York state ID in her hands and asked me about my accent, my height and my shoe size. Less than 10 minutes into the interview, I was offered a job and asked to pick a dominatrix name for myself.
Three days after that interview, I began transforming from Stavroula to Mistress Kassandra — much easier to remember and pronounce, right?
