The Job (5)

Some of the things she’d seen at Nettles had shocked her, others had made her curious. Cruising the internet she began searching. Knowledge was power, after all, and it couldn’t hurt to be informed about the goings on at her jobsite. Delving into the world of BDSM she’d found things that intrigued, though she was loath to admit to that, and some things that were so totally gross that she couldn’t believe people voluntarily did them. Or submitted to them. Or what the fuck ever you called it. She had taken a hot shower after she’d come home from work that fateful afternoon, yet still felt the weight, the heat of the whip on her thigh and butt. Lowering the water temperature to freezing didn’t seem to stop the feel of the warm spot, either. She had even checked, looking over her shoulder into the mirror, examining her ass carefully, but there was no mark to be found.  Even now, a week and more later, she swore that she could feel the faintest tingle. The heat only burned in her memory, she mused. But the whipping –not that it was a “real” whipping– had done something to her. Something that she was having a real problem undoing. Something in her head had clicked, and for the first time in eons she felt–something. She wasn’t ready to admit that this sort of shit would be what she needed to feel sensual awakening–but according to her reading she wouldn’t be the only person who’d had that sort of transformation, either. But her pussy was broken. She was broken. Things –sexual things anyway– didn’t excite her.  Some people just didn’t need, or want, or desire, sex. People like her.

**************            ************         ***************

Saturday was always a big night at Nettles. She had come on other days, just getting a feel for the place when there were people about, people that Jakob affectionately called “the Perv’s”. Though there was always some activity going on, Saturday was the day most people turned out. She got a vibe from them, a feeling of ‘community’, though they were often quite disparate in their play, not to mention their attire. It felt to her sometimes like Halloween, everyone dressed up and playing a role. Yet the people seemed happy, and not with the same giddiness that All Hallow’s Eve offered, as they strutted in corsets and ropes and sometimes, nothing. Guys in cock cages, girls in tight vinyl, Doms and Dommes, people seeking, people in arranged scenes, drinkers, dancers–the place thrummed with the varieties of submission and domination.

The bouncers knew her, greeting her by her ‘off duty’ name, Kitten. Which was stupid, really. There wasn’t a kitten-like thing about her– but she hadn’t been able to make them stop it, either. Wolffe was even taller than Jakob; both men teased her regularly about her lack of height. Somehow that teasing made her comfortable around them both. The other bouncer, Keegan, was more reserved. She’d call him brooding, but mostly she guessed he was just the strong, silent type. Some people were hard to open up, after all. She greeted them both, then slipped into the club, wearing worn jeans, and tee shirt, covered by her favorite denim overshirt. She was as out of place in her outfit as any of the pervs would be out on the street. Yet as the months had rolled along, she had grown accustomed to them, and they to her.  Seeking out  her boss had become a habit. She wasn’t seeking a replay of that swat on her bottom a few weeks ago. Oh no, she was just letting him know that she was there. He smiled, welcoming her, but then would be off  on one of his circles about the place. He ran a tight club, she knew, never letting things get too crazy. He didn’t want the hassle of lawyers, he said.

She wasn’t sure how the days had fetched up into months so quickly. It felt weird  calling it ‘working’ since the job was so in her comfort zone that coming here, not to mention getting paid for it, filled her. A quick grin flashed across her face at the thought that working in a BDSM club gave her peace of mind. Or spirit. Or whatever. Yet it did.

“I don’t see that very often.”

She turned her head and saw Keegan looking at her steadily. She hadn’t noticed that he’d come inside. He sat across from her, the leather seat dwarfed by his long lanky limbs.

“See …what?”

“You, smiling.”

“I smile,” she protested, then bared her teeth in a fearsome grin. He laughed, a first for her.

“Ha! And I don’t see that, either,” she said, pointing to him.

“See..what?” he spoke in perfect mimicry of her tone of voice.

“You…laughing. Why is that?”

Certainly the drink she held hadn’t loosened her tongue, as her cola and lemon twist was virginal. What had prompted her need to dig, she wondered.

“It’s against the Dom code to smile,” he said, his face falling into sterner lines.

“It is?”

She sat up a bit straighter, looking perplexed. Obviously she had a lot to learn. His laughter broke the fall into her own thoughts.

“Aren’t you the gullible girl!”

She poked his arm.

“Funny. Don’t think I noticed that you deflected there. So, are you always so….”


“Well, I was going to say ‘grim’ but you’re not, really.” She cocked her head to the side, studying his face.

“Maybe….stern? Or maybe…shy? Can it be, that you’re a shy Dominant?!”

A smile bloomed across his face that made her belly clench. It was the smile of a predator, one who had his prey cornered and was ready to pounce.  

“Rest assured, Kitten, that shy is the very last way any submissive I’ve worked with would ever label me with.”

“From where I’m sitting, I call it shy dom, rather than…you know. Whatever label you’re working with. Because ….I’m for certain not a submissive. So .”

She caught herself waving her arms, then quickly crossed them across her chest.  For emphasis. Certainly not to assuage the sudden rash of nerves that danced down her neck, making her nipples rise.

“Perhaps not in a classic sense, no. But like anything in life, it’s really unfair to define any group in absolutes, you know. Submissives, like Dom’s, come in all flavors, sizes, types. Some are high-powered in their day-to-day lives and their submission comes as a need to let go. You don’t fit that category at all, now do you?”

Her head shook slowly side to side.

“Some subs want and need pain in order to feel…a variety of things. See? Not even absolutes there. Some feel turned on. Some feel cleansed, and some just put up with it for their Dom’s. Some subs aren’t into pain at all, but are into other things…”

“I know–I’ve seen some things on the internet.”

She shuddered, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Remember, Kitten, that this is a no-judgement zone. None of us hold with a beating that puts a sub into a hospital…no broken bones, no total non-consent. That said–if a sub says yes, then anything can and will happen. From piss play to suspension to group fucks–there really isn’t a limit if everyone in the scene agrees.”

“It’s still –you know– kind of weird to me.”

“Maybe you just need to experience more, and think less. There’s a world of difference from watching someone eat an ice cream cone, and you actually licking it yourself.”

She didn’t need a 2X4 to explain that metaphor. The blush lit up her cheeks, and he laughed–for the second time. She heard a faint click and his head went up as, she presumed, someone called him on his headset.

“Whoops, got to go. I’ll catch up with you later, Kitten.”

He strode off, heading towards the back staircase, the quickest way to get to the upper floors.

“Phew, I didn’t think he’d ever leave!”

A young woman in a brilliant scarlet bustier flung herself down in the seat Keegan had just vacated. Twirling the end of one fat blonde curl between her fingers, she stared at Mandy for a long moment. Her large breasts were barely held in by the top of her outfit, the ruched lace accenting the pale cleft that split the two orbs. She wore no collar, no ring, none of the more noticeable symbols of being owned. Mandy thought she’d seen her here before, but she didn’t always see patrons faces. And it was rather awkward to recognize someone by their boobs, she thought. The girl kept looking at her, a faint smile on her scarlet lips as she toyed with her hair.

“You’re the toilet girl, right?”

Mandy had to fight to keep a wicked rebuke from singeing the eyebrows off the impertinent child. Her jaws clenched as she bit out as polite a reply as she could manage.

“I work here, yes. As the cleaning woman, yes.”

“Well, I hope I don’t mess up your break time.  I just need a break myself, you know?”

Vapid didn’t begin to cover this chicka, Mandy thought.

“You do look…wrung out,” she said, instead, mentally adding ‘and drunk.’

The girl pouted prettily, obviously unused to criticism.

“The potty on the second floor is yucky. Someone did some pee pee on the toilet seat and the floor. You should go up there and clean it. It’s gross.”

Mandy took a deep breath. Seriously. If Jakob wasn’t calling her to take care of it, it likely wasn’t an issue. He knew she was here, though she wasn’t here for work. Still, best to handle it now, rather than letting it sit until the morning. Nothing worse than dried pee, really. She rose and stalked away, missing the smirk on the girls face, and the quick peck of her text being sent on her pink-jeweled phone.

did wat U askd. grl on her way. want my treat soon!!!”

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