the_glow_worm (the_glow_worm) wrote in metaquotes,
the_glow_worm
the_glow_worm
metaquotes

captain_snarky on how to tackle a tricky customer:

Some of you know (and some of you don’t) that I worked for a few summers as a professional dominant. Assuming there is a possibility some of my readers *aren’t* kinksters, what that means is that people into the bottom side of BD/SM would pay me a truly ridiculous amount of money to beat, abuse, humiliate, restrain, strangle, cage, spank, pimp slap, cane, crop, flog, mummify, torture, talk nasty to and generally treat them like my little bitch twinkie for anywhere from an hour to three hours average. Boy did I love that job. It’s mentally exhausting, but at $250 an hour I wasn’t bitching. The lady who’s dungeon it was kept a hefty bit of that. Her space, clients and equipment after all. But I was still pulling in a tasty hourly for my very own.

As you may expect with a job like that, I saw some hi-larious shit. And here, I will share. Names changed of course to protect various businessmen, cops, clergy (yup), politicos, and yes, members of the Chicago mafia. Hey, I don’t judge a healthy fetish. We didn’t mess around with infantilism or anybody wanting us to pee or poop on them. Everything else was perfectly acceptable.

Today boys and girls, we will tell the tale of the Chicken Man.

The Chicken Man had been coming to see Madame for about a year. He was into being humiliated. That wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was that it had to be in front of at least a moderate crowd, and it had to be a different thing every single time. She paraded him around Grant Park on a pink collar and leash wearing nothing but a tiger striped Speedo and a horse tail. She made him play fetch like a dog with a dildo on a busy street on a sunny afternoon while wearing Armani. She dressed him up like Barbara Eden in “I Dream of Genie” and made him give out table dances at a gay club. She had made him wear an actual outfit from Swan Lake (tutu and everything) in a bar on karaoke night and ordered him to sing “I Got You Babe” in falsetto. These are just a few of the many hideous humiliations she devised for the Chicken Man. He ate it up. This guy came once or twice a month and dished out a pretty fat wad per session. But after a year of this, she was running out of ideas that weren’t going to get one or both of them arrested. The guy had no fucking threshold.

So one day, I was only scheduled to take a couple of clients. Easy ones. Tie ‘em up, spank ‘em till they cried and bid them a good day. I was done and gradually liberating myself from the absurd amount of PVC and zippers I’d been prancing around in all morning, when Madame flings herself on the couch and lets loose an impressive string of expletives.
“Fucking Chicken Man (not really what we called him you understand)!” she shouts.
Our bouncer Ham gets this look on his face that’s like half horror and half “I’m going to blow up laughing RIGHT NOW”.
I have no idea what she’s talking about at this point.
“What’s up with the Chicken Man?” I ask innocently.
It may have been wiser if I’d kept my mouth shut, because at this point I’d only been at it for a short while and was in no way equipped to deal with this particular type of specialist. One who requires so very much creativity on the part of his top. But who said I had a brain?
So she gets this “Ah HAH!!” look on her face and tells me it’s *my* turn to take the Chicken Man. New blood, fresh eyes, yadda, yadda. She gives me a run down on what the guy is about and starts zipping all my zippers back up.

Well I’m freaked right out. It’s one thing to do this in the privacy of my own place of employment. It is quite another to tart up some strange man in god knows what and take him outside for fuck sakes! And I had no idea whatsoever what I was going to do with him. She gave me a tiny synopsis of some of the things she’d done in the past so I wouldn’t repeat them (as if it would occur to me to dress a middle aged man like a cheerleader and attempt to sneak him into a convention and pass him off as the “entertainment”). She then pushes me out into the hall and points to dungeon number 2 and tells me he’s waiting for me. Gee thanks.

This guy has never met me, and so the first thing he does when it’s not his usual abuser in the door way is ask who I am. I’m wiggin’, but you don’t get paid what I was getting paid to hesitate, so I cracked my crop against the side of my boot and told him that if I wanted to hear his voice I’d cut his dick off so I could listen to him scream.
I told him that Madame was bored with him, and since he was such a disappointment to the Lady of the House, I was sent to punish him. Mind you, at this point I had no fucking clue what to do. Usually I looked to my surroundings for inspiration when I started to run out of steam, but we were in the Interrogation Room. Concrete walls and floor, plain fluorescent bulb on the ceiling. You know, where you go to play Gestapo or cops and inmates or whatever tickles their fancy.
I did the only thing I could do. I fucking stalled. I told him to strip down to his knickers and wait on his knees like a good monkey till I got back. Fortunately, this flavor of sub would contentedly do that for quite awhile before even showing agitation, much less getting up and investigating what might be keeping me. So I hauled ass back to the house part of the House where I could possibly get some opinions on just what I should do with the Chicken Man.

I burst into the apartment desperate for some kind of idea. There is Madame, calmly putting honey in her tea and Ham, calmly giggling at what I’m sure was a priceless look on my face.
“So honey, how’s our Chicken Man?”
Oh fuck you both. Then it hit me. Honey.
Ya ever get one of those lightning to the brain moments of utter brilliance? Yep, one of those.
I grabbed the honey out of her hand, riffled the cabinets till (hallelujah!) I found another bottle of the stuff, then stripped her bed of all it’s pillows and ran back to room 2 to complete my plan.

I stalked in, dropped my burdens, backhanded the Chicken Man for twitching when I entered and got to work.
I made him stand in the middle of the room while I emptied two bottles of Sue Bee honey on him, and had him smear it around for good measure while I got to cutting the pillows open. Then I covered him in four pillows worth of prime goose down. It’s what the bitch gets for sticking me with the Chicken Man.

All done, and he looks like Big Bird with glasses and tighty whiteys. He’s all into it too.
“Now, pig. Leave.”
He just stared at me.
“Are you deaf?”
“No Ma’am. You want me to leave?”
“Yes. Leave this House and go get arrested.”
“Arrested?”
“Are you stupid as well? Yes, arrested. You are not to return here or go home until you’ve been arrested. I don’t care if it takes all night.”

I kid you not, he got this glowing look of utter contentment as he made his sticky feathery way out the door.

And did exactly as I ordered him to.


Context is waiting for you in Dungeon 2.
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