The Job (6)

She went to her closet and grabbed her ‘go’ bucket, a mini version of her full cleaning kit for small ’emergencies’ that cropped up from time to time. Grabbing her hair, she clubbed it back into a rough ponytail, then slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. She took advantage of the thrall of a group watching a man-slut getting his nipples pierced. It was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting it either, as his yelps were genuine. The crowd was enthralled as his mistress slapped his hairy thigh and told him to stop crying like a baby. Mandy didn’t even shake her head at these sorts of scenes anymore. They weren’t commonplace–but they weren’t out-of-place, either. Gliding around the back of the transfixed group of onlookers, she eased into the back hallway and dashed up the steps to the second floor.

She peered out before opening the door–it wouldn’t do to smack a patron in the face after all. Seeing that the coast was clear, she entered the long hallway and made her way to the end where the bathroom was. And there it was, a small river of urine snaking out of the second stall. She did shake her head over that. People. Geezuz. Propping open the door, she put her”closed” sign in the entry. Taking a wad of paper towels, she got to work. First she sopped up the puddle, getting the majority of the wet mess up. She threw that lot away. She was still pretty surprised that a person could miss an entire toilet bowl…but around here, people did weird shit all the damn time.

Pulling her kit close, she sprayed a heavy dose of sanitizer on the floor as well as the toilet itself. A quick wipe cleaned the seat; lifting that, she also wiped the bottom rim and the base. Dropping the toweling, she used her foot to swab the urine trail remaining on the floor. There was still a bit of it on the side of the toilet, she noted. Dropping to her knees, she bent forward and reached down around the side of the pot.

A heavy foot pressed against the back of her neck, mashing her to the floor. A hand stroked over her bottom.

“Well, and isn’t this a lovely sight to see?”

She didn’t recognize the voice. Anger suffused her.

“Hey! Let me up. I’m not a contestant. Not a sub. Not a playmate. Let me the fuck up.”

“You’re in submissive posture number 5. Ass up, waiting to be spanked and fucked.”

“I’m not…” she hissed in a sharp breath as the foot pressed harder.

“Shhhhh, it’s better for you to just submit, slut.”

The foot pressed harder. Her neck throbbed. She was totally vulnerable in this position, unable to move away with his weight on her neck like that.

A frisson of fear trembled through her. Yet she could still think clearly. You didn’t work for a place like this and not get hit on occasionally. Not ever like this but still. She was wearing jeans. He wasn’t going to be able to fuck her without shedding them and when he turned her loose, she’d make a hell of a ruckus.


“Fine.” She hoped he’d release her, just enough…

“Good girl.”

A hard swat hit her ass, and she yelped.

“You need a good beating for your shitty attitude, whore.”


She yelped again.

“You FUCKING asshole, NO!”

A hand grabbed her ponytail, jerking her head back.

“A rape scene in the bathroom? How quaint. Yet, I feel obliging tonight, pet.”

He tugged her to her feet by her hair and by his grip on the back of her jeans. The pain in her head made her eyes water. She hadn’t realized how much that could hurt. He pulled her out of the stall, slamming her hard against the wall before leaning his body against hers.

“Like it rough, eh?”

“NOooooo!” she yelped again, her cry ending as a whimpering moan as stars danced through her vision.

The bathroom door slammed open. Somehow she hadn’t known that he’d closed it behind him, the fucking asshole.

“What. The. Fuck?”

“Just my girl and I sceneing, J.”

“Who is it? You came alone tonight, Mal.”

“Jakob! Make him let me go…” With a quick elbow into the belly of the man holding her, Mandy found her voice. Her head was still held tightly, but she didn’t give a fuck now. She wanted to be free, to be out of here. And to find the little fucking bitch who had set her up.

“Kitten!…Did you give consent for this scene?”

She stomped on the man’s left foot, hard enough to make him yell. His hand left her hair, snagging a few strands. That fired her up even more. As he turned away, she went after him. She may have been short but enraged as she was, it didn’t matter. She punched him in the eye, in the ear, attempted to knee his groin, which he barely managed to avoid. His quick move bent him slightly, enough to connect with her fist rising. There was a sharp crack under her knuckles, and she knew she’d broken that perfect nose.

“You fucking ASSHAT,” she yelled, “I said NO!”

She would have hit him again, but Jakob intervened then, pulling her away.

“Enough, Kitten, enough.”

The door opened again, revealing Keegan.

“You rang?”

“Escort Malcolm out of the premises. We don’t want Kitten to hurt him any more.”

He paused a moment.


There was a moment of tense silence as Malcolm ignored everyone, holding a hand to his bleeding nose. He did glare at Mandy several times. Eventually the silence got to him and he glanced at Jakob.

“Very good. Glad you could spare me your attention.”

Jakob was excellent at delivering a reprimand in spare words, Mandy thought. Her heart was still racing, but she was under control. Things were fine. She broke the tableau by moving further away from the bleeding man, gathering her ‘go’ kit. She was unhappy to see that her hands were shaking as she put her cleansers back into the bucket.

“Excuse me,” she moved past the men, not wanting to be a part of this scene any more.  Keegan’s hand on her shoulder stopped her momentarily. He said nothing, but looked at her, giving her a brief squeeze before releasing her. She took a breath, and moved away from the bathroom, and down the stairs to her closet.


He found her there, some time later. Sitting on an old stool, arms wrapped around herself. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red.


“I’m fine.”

“Boss wants you to come, I’m here to make sure you do it.”


She rolled her eyes, and passed under his arm. He slung it over her shoulders, giving her a brief hug. A man-style hug.

“I’m fine, I said. No hugs needed.”

“Perhaps *I* needed one. Or perhaps it was more of a congratulations thing–you do give good bloody nose, you know.”

One corner of her lip quirked up, despite her gloomy mood.

“I did, didn’t I?”

There was a slight thaw in her demeanor now, he was glad to see, a dash of color in her cheeks. Best to confront the shock, he knew, face it, talk it through. And he wanted the back story on just how she’d come to be there, on the floor for intense sceneing.

18 thoughts on “The Job (6)

  1. Very good Nilla! I’m so glad that you’re (also) adressing potential abuse in the subculture, aside from writing a suspensely (is that a word?) good story.

    1. Thank you LadyP…It can be a tense topic to attempt to address, even in story form–what is one person’s abuse is another’s kink…but when it involves total non consent in this situation it is abuse. And it does happen even in our community. So best to put it out there and perhaps start a discussion or at least awareness.

      Very much appreciate the “suspensely” (you just invented a kewl word!) comment too!


    1. thank you…I like them too. I’m feeling that this could be a long story…maybe novella-length. I’m enjoying delving into them. And enjoying that everyone else is enjoying them, too!


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