Page 7 of The Ties We Break

“Can you have sex while on shift then?” The words rush out of my mouth without me even thinking about it, and I feel the blush spread across my cheeks. All I was thinking is they clearly have an awesome job if they can have sex whilst getting paid, and make tips on top of that. My waitressing job pales in comparison. The more I thought, the more it resulted in verbal diarrhoea.

Sian begins to scold me for asking such a personal question, but Cory silences her, holding her hand out in the universal sign for stop, and replies. “Most of the time, we don’t, but many of us stick around when our shift is over or utilise our break times well. Like tonight, I am on hallway duty for this corridor, so I need to be here when people want a room or are done with a room. Occasionally, when someone covers my break, I play, but mostly I do it in my spare time, so I’m not in a rush.”

Definitely a better job than mine! I’m about to say that aloud, but Sian obviously thinks I’m going to embarrass myself as she steps in. “So, are we okay for room eight?”

“Oh yeah, the gallery is open, so go for it. Although personally, I would take her to room three. Diego is in there doing a scene, and fuck me does that man melt your insides,” she coos, physically quivering at his name.

“Fuck, I love Diego. I wish I had the balls to scene with him!” Sian replies to Cory before turning to me. “But it’s not right for your first experience. Come on, room eight is much more suitable, for now.” There's a hint of mischief in the way she saysfor now,like there is much more to come. I’m equal parts excited and fucking terrified.

As we wave goodbye to Cory and head towards the door labelled eight, my body is physically shaking, and I’m not sure if it's trepidation or the buzz of excitement that’s currently winning. All I know is that I’m anxious to learn more about this alluring, exotic place.

Sitting here at the bar, nursing the same glass of Jack Daniels I've had since I sat down, I take some time to look around the club. I’ve been the manager of Shades now for around two years, which is a great accomplishment for a twenty-six-year-old. I worked here behind the bar from the age of eighteen. I was never interested in being a performer here, preferring to keep my sex life behind closed doors. Don’t get me wrong, there are times I’ve picked up women at the club and taken them to my private room here. It’s filled with all the toys I love to play with, but I rarely use it now. It’s just lost all its appeal. Maybe I am getting older or just haven’t found the right girls.

When I became head barman, Desmond, who owns the bar, threw in a private room as part of the package. He knows I’m not into public sex, and I’m not keen on sharing what’s mine, so he gave me a private room to ensure I can still enjoy myself. This was when I was just twenty-two, so of course, I took full advantage of the room. Now I’m a bit older, with a few more responsibilities, I just don’t get the same pleasure out of it that I used to.

All the women I meet here are the same. There’s nothing unique about them, no sense of challenge. I guess because they are here looking for sex, I don’t exactly have to work hard for it. Obviously, I’m not at a stage in my life where I want to settle down. Fuck knows if I ever will get to that stage. The previous women in my life have hardly been reliable, and the idea of someone sticking around is unbelievable to me. I’ve only had three women in my life that have ever meant anything to me, and all three of them fucked me over before fucking off and abandoning me. So, trusting women isn’t something I’m good at. That’s why a ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’ attitude is perfect for me. Or at least I thought it was before it started to bore me. I have no fucking idea what I’m looking for now.

Allowing that depressing thought to fill me up, I look around the room and take a minute to appreciate just how fucking well run this place is. Everyone knows what their jobs are, and they do them well. My staff are happy because I make sure of it. I give them all free membership to the club, which most take full advantage of during their breaks or after work. We retain staff for a long time because they are happy working here.

When I first took a job here, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had a friend who was a waiter here, and he mentioned they were looking for bar staff. After confirming I could wear a top and didn’t have to dress in anything too revealing, I quickly agreed to an interview. But it wasn’t until I started moving up the ranks that I realised who my real boss was. Desmond Doughty is a name that most people in Limerick know, but I only moved here when I got the barman job. Before that, I lived in Cork.

As a barman, I regularly heard the rumours about Desmond and how fucking batshit crazy he is. I also heard that he’s a dangerous gangster who is not to be crossed. I didn’t know what to believe. Not that it mattered, he rarely came to the club.

When the manager’s position became available, he did come into the club and approached me directly. At first, I was baffled as to why he thought I was capable of running the club, but it turns out he has spies everywhere. I told him I would only take the manager job if the place remained legal. Growing up, I got into a lot of bad shit and vowed I wouldn’t go down that road again. I made it clear to him that it was a dealbreaker for me.

Believe it or not, Desmond said he appreciated my ballsy attitude and that I could speak my mind to him. He agreed that the main part of the club, which I was in charge of, would be legal, but the large party room at the back of the building that barely anyone knows about would be run separately. Basically, he can do whatever illegal shit he wants in there, as long as I don’t know about it and it isn’t connected to the club.

Since then, he’s pretty much left me alone, and the result is what I see in front of me today; a tightly run ship where everyone pulls their weight and helps each other out. Before I became manager, it was a lot more haphazardly run with very little structure. I don’t really need to be here, but I show up for moral support and in case there are any issues, which there never are. So, most of my nights are the same.

Sitting here, on the exact same bar stool, nursing the only glass of whiskey I will have for the night as I contemplate whether I should have a bit of fun or not. I know Elektra is sceneing tonight and fuck does she turn me on. We’ve had fun a couple of times, but she’s a little too clingy afterwards for my liking, which is why I said I wouldn’t bother going there again. Yet, thinking about ending the night with my cock in my hand instead of a nice warm cunt is a fucking depressive thought.

Taking a swig of the honey liquid, I enjoy the burn as it slides down my throat. When I’ve finished with this drink, I may as well do paperwork in my office. Being out here surrounded by sex is clearly rubbing off on me. Before I go, I scan the room again, and the club is buzzing with sexual energy. It's a Friday night, and so naturally, it’s packed. Yet, despite the mass of bodies, I somehow manage to lock eyes with a woman in the middle of the dance floor.

Nobody is dancing yet, it’s still too early. They won't dance until after Elektra’s scene. Instead, the floor is filled like it usually is with people fucking, watching, or just chatting with their fellow members. All except her. She appears to be frozen to the spot, just staring at me. Looking like a deer in headlights, her eyes never leave mine, but I feel sure she has been looking at me for longer, and this is just the first time she’s been caught.

From the moment we lock eyes, I can’t deny there's a weird buzz of energy that seems to crackle in the atmosphere around me, and my body feels like it’s humming. It’s almost like her eyes put me in a trance, and I can’t pull away. Fuck, I really do need to get my dick wet because this soppy shit is not normal for me. As alluring as her big, chocolate-coloured doe-eyed expression is, a part of me is desperate to see all of her.

Our connection breaks as I move my eyes, but I know she hasn’t stopped looking. I can feel a heat prickling across my skin where she is obviously checking me out. Across the smart, crisp navy suit, white shirt, and matching blue tie that I fucking hate wearing. It’s like she is burning a hole through them with her gaze.

I take a moment to appreciate the whole package before I start my perusal. She looks almost a foot shorter than my six-foot frame, and her body’s petite. Even from this distance, it’s easy to see that she has curves in all the right places. A nice round, peachy ass that’s just how I like them, and her tits look like they are just about a handful, which is perfect. Her delectable curves are currently covered by denim shorts and a black vest top that stops a couple of inches above the waistband of her shorts. Suddenly, I wish I was closer so I could inspect that enticing patch of skin.

Although she has the perfect fucking body, when I look at her face, that’s when it feels as though someone has knocked the wind out of me. My breath hitches, and my heart starts to race. What the hell is wrong with me? It's obviously the feeling you get when you are seriously attracted to a girl. I can’t remember the last time it happened to me so quickly, particularly without having met the girl, but it’s happening now, and the more I stare, the less I’m surprised.

There’s no denying this girl is beyond beautiful. Her rounded face with pale skin almost looks angelic. Though, with her dark, sultry make-up, it’s clear she wants to look more like a devil. But it’s all an act. I can tell she’s one of those girls that looks better without make-up. Her big, chocolate-doe eyes make her look kind. I’ve heard the saying that someone can have kind eyes, but I never really knew what it meant until I looked at this girl. Then there’s her plump red lips that she’s currently chewing at with her pearly white teeth. Her long brown hair appears curly and sits in a bun on the top of her head, with little strands descending to shape her face or dropping from the bun and cascading into her inviting cleavage. It just compliments her overall look. She looks like a little doll, and one thing I know for fucking sure, there’s no way she belongs here.

I need to stop thinking about her because this beauty is far too perfect for the likes of me. I am a dangerous, moody asshole who will taint every good part of her to make her mine. She deserves better than that.

Watching as the beauty is pulled into one of our backroom areas, she appears to be with a girl who looks to be her friend. Bright red hair and a big, loud personality that I can hear from on the other side of the room. They look close, given how the beauty lets her friend pull her around, but they appear to be polar opposites, and I’ve no idea how they became friends. Given how she greets people, it’s obvious that Red is a member here, and I know exactly who to turn to if I want any member info.

Holding my glass up, I flag down the barman, Ryan. He finishes the drink he’s pulling and completes the order before strolling my way. He’s a few years younger than me at twenty-two, but he is one of our best bar workers, which is why I keep asking him to be my bar manager. But he keeps turning me down; he doesn’t want the responsibility. Everyone loves to talk to him. His baby face, surfer-style blond hair, and relaxed nature draws people in. That’s what makes him such a good barman, he can strike up a conversation with anyone.

“Hey, boss man. You want another?” Ryan asks as he reaches my end of the bar.

“Yeah, why not,” I say, handing over my glass. “But before you go, see that redhead going into the first row of back rooms, over there. Who is she?”

Standing on his tiptoes to help him see over the sea of people, he finally catches a glimpse of who I’m talking about, and the biggest smile spreads across his face, resulting in symmetrical dimples that add to his boy next door look.

“That’s Cherry, Sir. But her real name is Sian. She’s such an amazing girl, so nice. Why do you ask?” When he talks about Cherry, his face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to realise he has a thing for her. So when his voice becomes more tentative at the end, I can tell he’s worried. He thinks I’m asking him about Cherry because I want her, which makes him nervous. After all, he knows I‘m the kind of guy who always gets what I want.

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