Jakob paused to look at the dollar bill on the wall behind the bar. It was after closing, well into the wee hours of the morning. The last of the staff were stacking chairs, straightening the place for when Mandy came in the morning to clean. Even as he stood there, the lights in the back of the large main room began to shut off.
Hours from now Nettles would re-open, and the crowd of perverts would gather inside to share in the celebration of the club’s five-year anniversary. Nettles was a special place for them to gather, and a club that was doing incredibly well in the revenue stream these days. It was terrific to own a club that was a success, any way one looked at it, by clientele or by profit margin. He thought back to those first nervous days when he’d sunk all his available capital, maxed out his credit on purchasing the old factory building, and all the sweaty hours that had been spent here. It had taken months of sweat equity to convert it to the BDSM club was celebrating its fifth successful season. He was pleased, too, that the local paper touted Nettles as the “Best of the Best” for “Alternative Clubs” when they had written up the anniversary in the ‘About Town’ section.
He thought about the groups that hung here, that called Nettles their ‘playground.’ This particular crowd defied explanation, other than ‘different’. How unique they all were, from Dominants to submissives. Their styles of clothing was as varied as their styles of play. He smiled up at that first bill, framed and forever marking the end to his ‘freedom’ to go gallivanting hither and yon. He’d spent time in Europe, in part thanks to Uncle Sam, and partly just for the guilty pleasure of soaking up the atmosphere in some truly sinful skin shops. One of the first places he’d gone while stationed in Germany was to a fringe club. He liked what he’d seen, been drawn to it, and to what he’d experienced there. And there, of all the places in the world, he’d reconnected with Keegan.
What were the odds, Jakob mused, that they’d meet in that club, on that day, at that particular time? Probably 1000-to-1 if not higher.
They’d come face to face at the BDSM club that masqueraded as a bar, in a mid-sized town in Germany. There had been a moment of shock, a bellow of glee, and one-armed hugs, back slapping, and a series of pokes about each others branch of service. He’d been army, and Keegan had gone to the air. They’d been close friends in college, gone separate ways after graduation, lost touch. It was freaky. If he was a religious man, he might have called it a miracle. As it was, it appeared to be fate. Once they’d met, they continued to hook up at various clubs. They’d enjoyed learning the ropes, the freedom and ability to channel some of the need for aggressive sex, the outlet of beating someone to a sexual frenzy–for themselves and their partners. They’d had a lot of fun over there, Jakob mused. And who woulda thunk back then, that it would become the basis of how he made a living once home. The idea had been planted while overseas, and germinated once he’d finished his stint in the service. He’d come home, unable to settle for the old nine-to-five grind of an office, or the butt kicking thanklessness of being a private contractor. Driving through town one night, he’d seen the FOR SALE sign on the old brick building, and the idea sprang to life.
He’d start his own kink club stateside.
He couldn’t do it alone, he knew. He had a pitiful short list of friends. Keegan had moved back stateside and had been an invaluable help in doing the gruntwork required to rip apart the place, and begin to piece it together. The two of them had sweat in tandum, yet still had time to explore some of the clubs in the city. Becoming active in the local scene meant making more friends who also were invested in the new space. No one was happy to drive for an hour or more to hit the city clubs. A local place was just the right niche at the right time.
Five fucking years.
Who would have thought that here he’d be, contentedly stocking the bar, watching the parade of kinksters moving through his space, playing when he had the inclination–and the free time. His finger tapped the glass covering that first precious bill, then he thumbed off the lights behind the bar, and headed into the kitchen, leaving the closing up to his capable staff.
Jakob wasn’t the kind of Dom who dressed in leather or chaps; he considered that aspect of BDSM as dress up play, and one that didn’t interest him at all. He didn’t begrudge those that wanted that as part of the formality of a scene, but for him, comfortable jeans and a dark-colored tee-shirt did the job. But since tonight was the celebration of five years, and the club had been advertising locally for a week or more, he expected a bigger crowd than usual. Every staff person was coming in, everyone excited to be a part of the night. He’d give a few demo’s and, knowing that there would be a certain amount of vanilla’s and potential newbies, especially with that whole fifty shades phenomenon going on lately, he decided to spiff up just a bit. His work jeans were comfortable, but his play jeans were pretty close to scandalous. Skin-tight, they would have been completely uncomfortable to wear if not for the ‘ball-room gusset’ in the crotch. He liked the way the denim hugged his ass, not that he was vain. But if he was going to put on a show, then he was going to put on one hell of a show. He eschewed a shirt, reaching for his favorite denim overshirt. He rolled up the sleeves to the elbows. He slid his feet into a pair of scuffed black boots, as someone was bound to do a bootblacking tonight.
Leaving his apartment on the top floor, he scooted down the hidden staircase which ended in the second room of his office suite. The small room boasted a closet, a double bed, a wall with a variety of whips, paddles, cuffs, and rope on hooks, and a dresser filled with a host of other ‘toys’. Many people thought that he lived in his office, and slept in this back room, but this was merely his private play space. Virtually no one knew of the secret entry to his apartment upstairs, which was also accessible by an outdoor staircase. One of the joys of doing your own renovation work, he knew, was finding little gems like the secret stairs, and incorporating it into his personal space. This way he could be at home and at work, at the same time.
He sauntered into his office, running a hand through his shaggy mop of hair. He left his denim shirt open but for the bottom button, which would entice some of the subs in the playspace. If he was restless, he chalked it up to not having had much time to play. He had a hunger tonight, to spank bottoms, and whip some asses, and maybe, if some needy little submissive was really lucky, he’d fuck them. He glanced out the window at the sunset, the sky glowing in colorful shades of vermilion and gold. The fantastic light splashed on the outer walls of the buildings, and gilded the long street outside the club. He took a deep breath, pleased to finally begin this special evening. He planned to address the staff, congratulate them on a job well done. Then it would be time to open the doors, and begin the celebration.