arms around me and crushes me to her leather-clad chest in a bear hug. To say I’m relieved would be an understatement.
“Freya, how are you? It’s lovely to see you again. And how’s the training going? Is my brother shaping up?” She turns to Nick, plants a quick kiss on his cheek, then her attention is back on me.
“Nick tells me you’re a natural submissive, all the right instincts. I knew it. I knew you would be, given the chance. And the right instruction. I told him that. And now you’re to help me out with this Manchester gig he’s gone and got us into. Thank God for that.” She shakes her head as she returns to ease her frame into the chair behind her tiny desk.
I’m not sure what I fear for most—the tight leather pants stretched to splitting point across her bottom as she bends, or her state-of-the-art laptop perched perilously on top of a teetering column of files and papers. It’s all I can do to resist grabbing it—the laptop, not the pants—but Ange is unconcerned.
And she’s not done complaining yet. “I could do with him buying bloody clubs left, right and centre if he was prepared to run them himself. But no, someone else has to up sticks and go charging down there to knock it all into shape…”
She stops to draw breath, flashes him a look of mock irritation, then launches in again, “So, Nick thinks you’d be good at the member services aspect. I gather we’ve got a dungeon master already, possibly. Sorry, mistress. What do you make of her?”
I look at Ange, perplexed. Not only do I have to find a way of explaining my opinion on our staffing situation when as far as I know Ange understands no BSL, but I also need to get my head around the fact that I appear to have an opinion worth hearing. I glance at her, then at Nick, not sure how to proceed. Then Nick steps in.
“Just sign, love. I’ll do the rest. Unless you’d rather write?”
I shake my head as he turns to Ange. “And I can give you the name of a good BSL tutor. You’ll need a crash course.”
“Right, right. Email me the details. So, Freya, tell me about our in-house dominatrix.”
“She’s scary, but I think that’s a good thing.” Hesitant at first but gaining confidence as neither of them interrupts or contradicts me I start to outline my impressions of the formidable Portia. “The staff obviously respect her, and she’s on top of things, knows what goes on in her dungeon. We watched her intervene when a scene was going slightly wrong. Nothing too heavy, but she was on it.”
Nick’s simultaneous translation is impressive—he certainly has a natural aptitude. Or maybe he is highly motivated—I like to think so.
I hesitate in my account. Despite her obvious skills and suitability for her role, I was quite unable to warm to Portia. And I doubt she’ll welcome me. “She was all over your brother, though, and I found that a bit wearing. I think she might be surprised to see me back as her boss. She’d be much happier working for Nick.”
Ange shrugs, dismissing Portia’s concerns. “Her choice, but I reckon she’ll learn to live with it. If she wants to keep her job.”
Ange is decisive, certain of her authority and now mine, it would seem. And there’s no doubt where her loyalties lie. Portia, along with all the rest of the staff at The Glory Hole, will be toeing our line. And I realise, with a start of surprise, that it is indeed ‘our’ line. Somewhere between getting out of the car, nervous about how I’d be received by Ange, and arriving at this conversation, I’ve become part of the Hardisty empire. Who would have thought it?
“Okay, our management style. I think you’re familiar with it to some extent. Emphasis on supervision, safety, consent. That’s why the dungeon is so vital, sort of sets the tone for the rest. Did Nick mention we’d be sending Frank down there?”
I nod, and she continues, “Apart from having Frank on site all the time for the first two or three months
“Freya, how are you? It’s lovely to see you again. And how’s the training going? Is my brother shaping up?” She turns to Nick, plants a quick kiss on his cheek, then her attention is back on me.
“Nick tells me you’re a natural submissive, all the right instincts. I knew it. I knew you would be, given the chance. And the right instruction. I told him that. And now you’re to help me out with this Manchester gig he’s gone and got us into. Thank God for that.” She shakes her head as she returns to ease her frame into the chair behind her tiny desk.
I’m not sure what I fear for most—the tight leather pants stretched to splitting point across her bottom as she bends, or her state-of-the-art laptop perched perilously on top of a teetering column of files and papers. It’s all I can do to resist grabbing it—the laptop, not the pants—but Ange is unconcerned.
And she’s not done complaining yet. “I could do with him buying bloody clubs left, right and centre if he was prepared to run them himself. But no, someone else has to up sticks and go charging down there to knock it all into shape…”
She stops to draw breath, flashes him a look of mock irritation, then launches in again, “So, Nick thinks you’d be good at the member services aspect. I gather we’ve got a dungeon master already, possibly. Sorry, mistress. What do you make of her?”
I look at Ange, perplexed. Not only do I have to find a way of explaining my opinion on our staffing situation when as far as I know Ange understands no BSL, but I also need to get my head around the fact that I appear to have an opinion worth hearing. I glance at her, then at Nick, not sure how to proceed. Then Nick steps in.
“Just sign, love. I’ll do the rest. Unless you’d rather write?”
I shake my head as he turns to Ange. “And I can give you the name of a good BSL tutor. You’ll need a crash course.”
“Right, right. Email me the details. So, Freya, tell me about our in-house dominatrix.”
“She’s scary, but I think that’s a good thing.” Hesitant at first but gaining confidence as neither of them interrupts or contradicts me I start to outline my impressions of the formidable Portia. “The staff obviously respect her, and she’s on top of things, knows what goes on in her dungeon. We watched her intervene when a scene was going slightly wrong. Nothing too heavy, but she was on it.”
Nick’s simultaneous translation is impressive—he certainly has a natural aptitude. Or maybe he is highly motivated—I like to think so.
I hesitate in my account. Despite her obvious skills and suitability for her role, I was quite unable to warm to Portia. And I doubt she’ll welcome me. “She was all over your brother, though, and I found that a bit wearing. I think she might be surprised to see me back as her boss. She’d be much happier working for Nick.”
Ange shrugs, dismissing Portia’s concerns. “Her choice, but I reckon she’ll learn to live with it. If she wants to keep her job.”
Ange is decisive, certain of her authority and now mine, it would seem. And there’s no doubt where her loyalties lie. Portia, along with all the rest of the staff at The Glory Hole, will be toeing our line. And I realise, with a start of surprise, that it is indeed ‘our’ line. Somewhere between getting out of the car, nervous about how I’d be received by Ange, and arriving at this conversation, I’ve become part of the Hardisty empire. Who would have thought it?
“Okay, our management style. I think you’re familiar with it to some extent. Emphasis on supervision, safety, consent. That’s why the dungeon is so vital, sort of sets the tone for the rest. Did Nick mention we’d be sending Frank down there?”
I nod, and she continues, “Apart from having Frank on site all the time for the first two or three months
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