by A. W. Scott
“You want me to put an application ahead of all the ones currently waiting for review? Who is this person that’s got you so twisted up? And Mateo wants this, too?”
A knock at my door has me asking Lewis to hold while I yell out for them to come in. The man I just mentioned walks in smoothly, shutting the door behind him.
“Speakerphone. I know that’s my boy.” He grins at me, as he points to the device on my ear. I pull back, then press the button on the base.
“Hey baby, I’m here now with Patrick. I figured you would need backup since he’s a stubborn mule.” I make a face at him, then lean back to listen to their case.
“Tell me what I’m working with here, gentlemen. Something feels off about all of this and I need details before I push aside the others. I know you’re both my bosses, but I feel like I need to question this.”
Mateo nods, then sits in one of the chairs across from my desk. “You were at the picnic Saturday. I’m sure you remember the conversation about Tucker, right?”
The name has the same effect that it did before. My need to worry and protect lights up at just the sound of it. Reacting this way is strange, even for me. Something about this man’s story has me torn up though.
“I remember him. Is he the candidate?”
“Yes,” Lewis tosses in from the phone line. “I went to visit him like I said I would. It was a disaster, Pat. He was a zombie living in a pigsty. He’d been getting his act together enough to work, but his personal life was in shambles, just like you suspected. I made him shower before taking him out to eat. A cleaning crew came in to take care of the house while we were away.”
“Damn,” I choke out. “I had a feeling. When you mentioned it, something just told me that he needed someone to check in on him.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not where it ends. I made him talk to me at length about his hangups and what happened with his ex. He’s apparently been a Little for a long time, but he suppressed that side of himself since the ex was such a jerk. Now, he’s basically lost all sense of feeling.”
I look to Mateo, hoping he’ll elaborate. Thankfully, he does. “What my boy is telling you is that Tucker has lost his ability to feel anything. He laughed while out with Lewis and he seemed startled by the sound. He can’t cry. He doesn’t smile. Nothing that isn’t a plastered on expression anyway. The real, true emotions aren’t there anymore.”
“This guy really did a number on him, eh?”
Lewis chimes in again. “He did. But the real Tucker, the one who is happy and flirty and full of light is too beautiful to be smothered by some asshole who thinks Daddy kink is sick and twisted. The guy was after Tuck’s connections to Miguel anyway. He invested the time and energy thinking he’d get to him at some point. It was all just a ruse.”
“I really want to get my hands on this guy. He’s a disgrace to mankind,” I mumble out.
“Stryker is handling it,” Mateo throws out. “And if he wasn’t, Lewis and I would be. There’s something really sick about a person who’s that fucked up to do what he did. Money can be a crazy motivator it seems.”
I nod along, then lean forward in the chair, my focus intent. “I can vet him. You’re wanting to get him to connect with his Little side again in hope that it breaks the emotions free, aren’t you? It’s not a guarantee, though it is quite possible it could work.”
“We just want to try something. If you could have seen him, Patrick, you’d know why I’m so sure he needs this. He looked so lost, so confused. Everything he’s loved was trampled on by the one person he thought was going to honor and cherish him forever.”
“I get it. Like I said - I’ll vet him. If he passes everything, then I’ll let him in no issues. But I won’t go easy on him. If he’s not a good fit, then you’ll need to think of something else to help him. Deal?”
“Deal,” they both agree in unison.
“Get him to fill out the forms and have them brought in to me. If I review them and he fits the profile, I’ll bring him into the interview stage.”
“Done,” Lewis agrees. “Mateo will bring the forms to me and I’ll get Lewis to fill them out. You’ll have them back before the club even closes.”
“Sounds good. Now if you two don’t mind, I do need to work on the forms I have here before I have to shift it all around again to accommodate your friend.”
They both bid me farewell. With them gone, I turn my focus to the applications on my desk. I resolve to go through at least five of them before I turn to the physical tasks that need to be done.
For the first form, things look pretty steady at first. The request is from a wealthy businessman in the city, much like the others are. This guy is single and looking for a play partner. His interests are varied. Almost too varied. It’s like he thought if he was open to more things, then he could get access to the club.
I take a look at his business and see a few articles pop up claiming wrongdoing and violent crimes charges being settled out of court for the CEO and many of his investors. It was a big deal a few years back it seems, but the business has died down now.
His form goes into a stack for my resident hacker to dig into a little further. My gut tells me it’s a no. I usually trust it, though I’m willing to be thorough in case my own emotions are compromised.
The next three forms are a bust from the start. They are all missing information or claim to be experts in BDSM.
When reviewing forms I have two main rules:
Rule 1 - If they don’t take the time to fill out the form properly, then they do not respect the process enough to be a full fledged member here. These relationships and interactions require attention to detail. Not completing the application is just another sign that they think they are above it all.
Rule 2 - If they claim to be an ‘expert’, then they most definitely are not one. Credentials speak for themselves, as do references. There’s a spot on the form for both. Using other places to indicate your skill level just tells me you’re a wannabe alpha male looking to get off on having power over others.
The last application gives me a bit of hope for the rest of the forty plus forms I need to review. This one is, surprisingly, from a woman. She is a sub looking to find a partner to regularly play with. She runs a number of businesses across the city, from clothing to sports facilities. It’s clear she’s a powerhouse in the boardroom by the accolades I find about her online.
At the recommendation section, I recognize a name of a friend. I dial him up right away, wanting to check this out. Ten minutes of conversation later, I know this woman is the perfect fit for the club. She’s everything we look for in a potential candidate.
I mark her approved for the next round, though I doubt I really even need it. I send her an email to request her to give me an opening in her schedule.
Done with the applications, I move on the list of things I need to do around the club. I have another new hire coming on, a bartender this time. The one we had before got moved into the public side when we realized she would be a good fit there. Unfortunately, this left us short a staff member in the MOA.
I also need to get product ordered for the private rooms and ensure the safety features are all in place. As we grow, I’m going to recommend we have a coordinator handle these steps, but for now I can take care of it.
I’m in the middle of ordering a bulk supply of miniature lube bottles when there’s another knock on my door. “Come in.”
Lewis struts in while Mateo stands smirking in the doorway. “Here you go, Pat. All done and ready for you.”
“That was quick,” I mutter as I grab the papers and begin to scan them. “Thanks for getting it to me. Let me finish this product order, then I’ll go over it.” When they don’t move to leave, I stop staring at the screen to look over at them. “It will take me twice as long to go over it all if you watch me. I will drag it out extensively just to mess with you.”
“Come on, baby. Let’s go get some dinner and let him get back to work. Maybe we could even find a play
room that’s open later.”
Waving them away, I focus on the computer screen to complete the order. I don’t want them to notice my eagerness to get to Tucker’s application. Something is drawing me in like it never has before.
After a few quick clicks, I can mark the ordering tasks from my list. I sit back, making sure I silence both my personal and office phones while I focus on this.
Name: Tucker Jamison
Age: Twenty-seven
I identify as: Male
Profession: Assistant to Miguel Stryker
Preferred Classification: Little, Submissive, Brat
Activities enjoyed: Age Play
The rest of the application goes into further detail, with everything from last experience in the lifestyle to what his dream scenario would be if given the chance to fulfill all his desires.
When I finish reviewing it all, I drop the papers on the desk, then push back my chair to stand. I pace the space in my office with hurried steps, the energy flowing through my body feeling like a bomb waiting to detonate.
How can he be so perfect?
Tucker Jamison is everything I’ve been searching for for years. I’ve scoured clubs and chat rooms online looking for someone that embodies everything he claims on these forms.
Of course, as fate would have it, he’s been here in the same city as my best friend this whole time. The same best friend who begged me for years to move here to be closer to him.
I stop the negative thoughts as soon as they form. The self-hatred at taking so long to get to this point could overtake me easily if I let it. Instead, I focus on the next issue.
Tucker’s heart.
Because I know the story that led him to me.
I know that some asshole took advantage of his sweet nature and manipulated him to meet his desires. I know that this guy also caused him to hide the part of himself that needed time to grow and explore freely. I also know that I do not stand a chance of convincing him that I can be trusted right now.
He needs time to heal. He needs to see that not everyone is like his ex. He needs to find himself again.
So I’ll do what I can to help.
Not because I’m some saint.
I’ll do it because I know that the moment he’s able to feel again, I want to be the first person he thinks of. I want to be the Daddy he needs and wants to be with.
I want to be his.
Chapter 8
Tucker
Today has been absolute chaos. From the moment I stepped off the elevator, I was needed in every direction. As Miguel’s assistant, I tend to filter what makes it through to him and what doesn’t.
I’m the gatekeeper, if you will, though with the level of madness I’ve dealt with all morning, I’d say I’m more the zookeeper. I was lucky that it slowed around lunch enough for me to meet up with Lewis. He brought the paperwork for the club over for me to fill out.
Still working to get my hunger levels normal again, I found it easy to eat a light meal while filling out the form.
One of the first pieces of instruction on the paperwork is to be honest and to fill out everything. I decide that I only get one shot at this. If Lewis thinks it will help me, then it’s worth a try.
I gave him the form when I was finished, then I dove back into my work. Three hours, eighty-seven emails, twenty-five calls, and a coffee run later, I’m finally done with the day.
At home, I slip out of my shoes at the door, then move down the hall to take a shower. I make sure my clothes make it in the hamper, taking care to not make mess. The cleaning company left my place spotless. I refuse to allow myself get back to the way I was when Lewis found me, so I make a conscious effort daily to keep things in line.
I’m down to my underwear when my phone rings. With the chaos of the day, I answer as a reflex.
“This is Tucker. How can I help you?”
“Tucker Jamison?” The voice is rich and smooth in a way you don’t hear often. It washes over me, distracting me for a second before I shake myself free.
“Yes? Who is this?”
A throaty laugh crosses the line. I feel my cheeks bunch, the muscles in my face straining against the lack of use these few weeks.
“My name is Patrick Fuller. I’m a friend of Mateo and Lewis. I run the MOA of the club and they brought me your application just a bit ago.” I pause, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I speak up.
“Ok. Are you calling to tell me I’m not a good fit? I appreciate you letting me know. I understand.” Before I can hang up I hear him yelling out for me to wait.
“That’s not the case at all, Tucker. I was calling you because I think you’d actually be a perfect fit for us.” The way he says ‘us’ has a shiver working down my spine. He can’t possibly mean him and the club, but it feels almost like that’s the case.
“So I’m in?”
“Not quite. The next step of the process is the interview. You would need to find a time to come down to the club for me to speak with you in person. Unfortunately, my hours here are usually around noon until I finish. I know that may not work with your schedule. We can adjust as needed.”
Some deep-seated part of me begs me to speak up, to stop him and accommodate his schedule. “Is today a late day for you?”
“What?” My words seem to have stumped him.
“Are you at the club now? If so, how much longer will you be there? I can come tonight if that works.”
He pulls the phone away, his voice now muffled as I hear him moving things around. I hear a clattering noise, then he’s back on the line.
“I’ll be here for about another hour and a half. Can you make it in that time?”
I nod, though he can’t see. “Yeah, I can. I’m about to take a quick shower, then I’ll be there. Is there some procedure for when I get there?”
“Go inside the club. Ask for Rob, the manager. Tell him I sent you and then he’ll help you navigate to me. It’s tricky to find alone, and I’d hate for you to get turned around or discouraged.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
“Absolutely.”
We hang up and I feel a bit lighter. Walking into the bathroom, I turn the shower on to allow the water to get hot. As I turn my head past the sink, I notice the smile I felt is still there full force. There’s even a slight tinge of pink to my cheeks. My hand reaches up, touching the area gently, as if it will disappear if I acknowledge it.
My skin is soft from my shave earlier in the day, with only the slight hint of the hair that will be back on my face by morning. I could never grow a ton of hair, a fact that made me the butt of a few jokes in high school.
The joke was on them though, because girls flocked to me because of it. Too bad I didn’t want them. I was too busy mooning over posters of male celebrities and rockstars. I had a thing for a certain type - dominant yet gentle.
With steam pouring from the shower, I turn and climb inside. I wash off quickly since I don’t have a ton of time to catch Patrick for this interview. I don’t want to hold him up since this seems to be an early enough day for him.
Once out of the shower, I decide to not put on another suit like I was wearing at work. At my closet, I look at all the fun clothing I haven’t worn in weeks. When not in the office, I’ve stuck to sweats or pajamas.
Seeing a glimmer of light, I turn to see one of my sequin tops that I love. It’s lined on the inside to prevent it from being itchy, and I always feel fabulous when I wear it. I haven’t put it on in nearly a year though. It was a weekend the asshole ex was out of town for a family wedding. He decided not to take me, so I went dancing with a few old friends decked out in the most fabulous and outlandish clothing I could find. That night was one of the best of my life.
I should have known then that Jalen was bringing down my life.
Not wanting to reflect on him and the past anymore, I grab the top and slip it on. I pair it with a pair of shorts that show off my legs beautifully. I slip on some flats, since I don’t kn
ow the terrain of where I’m headed. It would suck to trip in a pair of heels or get stuck in some grated flooring.
Been there. Done that. Have the broken heels to show for it.
I slip on a trenchcoat to combat the cold, then head out. A quick cab ride gets me to the club entrance, where I find a line wrapped down the block. It seems this place is more popular than Lewis and Mateo let on.
Moving around the growing crowd, I approach the bouncer at the door. He’s dressed in a suit, much like the ones Lewis and Mateo wear. Right away, I get a completely different vibe from this place than any other club I’ve been.
“Name,” he asks me with a small smile. I know it’s the clothes making him look at me like that.
“Tucker Jamison.”
He doesn’t even look at the list, instead, he moves to the side to let me in. “Go straight to the bar and ask for Rob, Mr. Jamison.” I nod, then take off inside.
The inside is even nicer than I could have imagined. The vibe they’ve created is welcoming to a wide range of ages, a sight which is evident from the clientele spread out everywhere. There’s men in their fifties and twenties all mixed together in the booths as they scan the room for a potential partner. Women are much the same, though less in numbers. Having two openly gay owners gives people the safety that can be hard to find other places.
At the bar, I lean over to get one of the two bartender’s attention. One of them is proficient, moving around smoothly as she twirls the bottles. The other, looks more like he’d rather be anywhere but here. He’s reading from a book as he attempts to make a drink for a group of women at the counter.
Thankfully, he gets it done and to the girls. He turns my way, his eyes looking for someone with an easy order. I smile gently as I wave.
“What can I get you?” His voice is shy, almost reserved.
“I actually need to find Rob. I was told to come straight to the bar to ask for him.” He nods, then moves over to a walkie talkie on the counter. He speaks into it, then turns back to me.
“He’ll be over in a sec. Don’t go anywhere.”