The Job (2)

It turned out that Nettles, the bar where she’d hoped to land a job as a janitor, was way more than a bar. The entire building was the bar. And the bar was a dungeon.

She kept trying to wrap her brain around it, as her boss–for certain she was not going to call him Sir–Jakob led her around through the various rooms.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of kink. BDSM, right?”

“You mean like all that fifty shades stuff? Well, yeah. It’s been on tv and that book and now–well. Yeah, I’ve heard of it. I just didn’t imagine all this…”

Her voice trailed off as she spun a slow circle on her heel, taking in the largest play space. Whips and chains didn’t begin to cover it, she mused eyeing a variety of implements hung meticulously on the wall closest to where they stood. Paddles with large holes in them, fer gosh sakes. Enormous contraptions including a cross, a ginormous wheel, a pommel horse..

“I don’t suppose you use that for gymnastics,” she murmured, making the giant man laugh with delight.

“No! No we don’t. Would you like a demonstration?”

Her hands flashed a warning ‘no no no’ as she shook her head vehemently.

“I’m not into all that sex crap.”

“Sex. Crap.”

He pondered that, pondered her, looking at her in a way that made her feel uneasy.

“Look–I don’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend or significant pet or anything. I’m…I’m just not into all that.”

His head canted to the side, his curiosity piqued.  “Sex is normal and healthy and fun. In here it can be painful, erotic–or not present at all. Not all painsluts want sex. Not all sadists do either. A plethora of sensual, erotic and/or sexual proclivities are explored within these walls. This is a safe place for those types of activities. Why are you not interested in sex?”

“I don’t think that matters much for my job.”

“Only inasmuch as you may be around during some of my client’s activities. It wouldn’t do to have one of my employees sneering at them for their choice of play.”

“I wouldn’t–it’s not that I don’t appreciate people having sex. It just isn’t for me.”

“Maybe your prior sexual experiences just weren’t the right ones. Perhaps your partners were lousy in bed.”

She blushed, staring at her toes.

“Not them. Me. I’m…broken, if you must know.”

A large finger lifted her chin until she was looking up into his dark eyes.

“In here is a place where sex, bodies, and temperaments are all explored. We push boundaries, we push limits, we fully enjoy the experience of being living, sentient beings. Some enjoy controlling others, some enjoy submitting to that control. Some come for events, some come for a safe place to try new things, to find friends who understand the lifestyle, people they can be “out” to, in a setting that is not judgmental, or calling “abusive”. I don’t believe that someone who calls themselves “broken” finds their way here by accident. In here, we can often fix the “broken” bits…”

“I don’t need to be fixed…any more than I need to learn the right liquor to drink. I’m here for a job, Mr. Jakob. A regular paycheck, a place to show that I do have skills. I *like* cleaning. It’s a peaceful, yet useful skill. I enjoy the quiet of dusting, the hum of a vacuum under my hand, the feel of a place as I transform it from scruffy to shining. That’s what I do, and it makes me happy. And I’m damned good at it.”

He knew when to leave a seed planted in the soil, to let it germinate. While she wasn’t defensive, there was definitely a story there. And he didn’t have to fix her, she was correct. But he liked her somewhat abrasive, honest style.

“Well, consider yourself hired. There is usually some activity each night here except for Monday when we’re closed. That’s when I do inventory, shuffle stock, check equipment for failures, and when you’d do your deepest weekly work. Players are expected to wipe down the equipment, it’s not for you to attend to that. I have a girl who takes care of the play room floor as it gets very…moist…and she enjoys that task.  Different strokes for different folks,” he spoke with a smile in his voice.

He clarified the pay, which was generous, and her hours.

“You are allowed to explore the place to your leisure. If you play, you do so on your free time, not on the clock. Mostly that won’t happen as I’ll want you here in the mornings. The club is open until 3 a.m. most days, excepting for special events which go longer. But the optimum time for clean up is in the pre-noon until 3 p.m. time slot and I’m flexible as to when you choose to come in. If I feel you’re abusing my privilege, I’ll put a stop to it, but I suspect you’ll be diligent.  You’re also invited to watch any evening–no attendance fee for my staff. Maybe you’ll begin to understand a bit more what the Lifestyle is once you’ve met some people, seen some scenes played out. What you choose to experience–or not experience–is up to you, little one.”

She snorted at that.

“I’m hardly a little one.”

“I thought you’d prefer that to ‘midget’…”

Infinitely. Though you could just…you know…use my name?”

“Mandy, you’re a fine girl. What a good ….cleaner….you will be.”

She grinned. Wouldn’t be the first time someone had misquoted that song on purpose. Only he was funnier about it. This might be the strangest place she’d ever been, but in an odd way, it suited her kind of strange, too.

Funny, though, a girl who had never, could never, have an orgasm, working for a sex club. The gods worked in mysterious ways. And likely laughed about it, too.

18 thoughts on “The Job (2)

  1. Pingback: The Job (3) | Vanillamom's Blog

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