New Story - again written exclusively on Steemit - WiP - Bouncer Part 25

This story is evolving with a pace all its own. I'm listening to the feedback and if something resonates, I've decided that I'll go with it (thanks @kiwideb). Feel free to give feedback on characters, storylines etc - even if you think it's harsh.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23

Pictures from Google free to use search

Please note: This is the FIRST DRAFT, no editing, written straight onto paper. I don't know how to highlight that any more than it is. I'll NOT be making any alterations to what's already been written. As a good friend and excellent author has said, First draft is a race to get the story down before it decides to stop telling itself to you. Thanks Glenn. @alienbutt

57 pages, 22,725 words so far.

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“I do. You punched the Head Barman when he decided we were easily-replaceable scum,” Zack said.

“What?” Taylor said.

“Another tale for another day,” Crackers said. “Yeah, I remember that arrogant twat. You guys walked out right behind me and they had to close the bar down because there weren’t any door staff left to cover it.

“Yeah, we were asked back by the manager, but he couldn’t have you on the premises again,” Zack laughed at the memory they shared. Taylor watched, a smile on his face.

Then Zack started his tale again. He set the scene as an experienced storyteller should, giving details that made the events not only plausible, but realistic, as though the audience of two were actually there.

Zack put down his coffee mug and started telling the tale.

The front doors opened out right onto the street. If a rowdy customer was thrown out by the front doors, there was a probability that they would either land in the road, with the danger of passing vehicles, or stumble into a passing pedestrian. Because of that, any customers that had to be removed from the premises were taken out of the back, through one of two fire escapes, either on the ground floor or the top of the stairs on the upper floor.

Dave Starkey came down the stairs, leading a girl through reception. He wasn’t throwing her out, he was taking her out through the front doors. All the lads knew what he was up to. He took her out to his car, and sometimes he’d let her do her thing right there, but sometimes, especially in the summer months when people passing by could see into the car, he’d drive off and go to a deserted street. Not too far away, of course, he had to get back to work, the team couldn’t cover him indefinitely.

About five of the team stood around in reception because there was nothing much doing upstairs in the club and the jokes and banter were more entertaining downstairs.

Starkey came through with this girl, but he forgot one very important thing… his fiancée’s best friend had started working in the reception and she watched him leave the club.

The lads just though it odd because the girl really was not his type – heavily goth, black lipstick, pale face, the lot! Whereas his fiancée was tall, slim, blonde and beautiful, this girl was shorter, rounder and nowhere near as classy.

The lads whooped and cat-called because they knew what he was up to. The girl put her head down, but I don’t think she was ashamed, she seemed… pleased with the attention. She had that little smile, you know… ‘Oh yeah, I scored!’ kind of thing.

His fiancée’s friend came out of the little room, locked up and followed them. He must have driven off like the hounds of hell were after him because she came back furious.

It didn’t take long for Starkey to get back. He walked right in through the reception. The goth-girl trotted to keep up with him.

He went straight for the stairs and she went to follow him. He shook his head, pointed at the cash desk at reception and made her pay to get in the club. She’d already been in the club once but now he’d had his blow job, he was no longer interested.

Shame-faced this time, she paid to get back into the club and went upstairs as fast as she could.

Starkey stayed upstairs all night. That in itself was unusual, up until that night, he’d been downstairs to chat to his fiancée’s friend whenever she was in. They’d been friends for years and she knew what he was like.

They had this pact. ‘What happens at the club, stays at the club.’

Starkey came downstairs with the last of the punters. The goth-girl and her friends had been giving him ‘earache’ all night about how he treated one of their number.

They were still giving him grief when he shepherded them down the stairs.

“You didn’t even ask for her number,” one said. “You made her pay to get back in!” said another.

As the irate little group came into the reception area, they decided to make their final stand, believing that male door supervisors couldn’t and wouldn’t touch them to throw them out.

They had no idea about the receptionist's fury. She'd had all evening to stew in her anger on her friend’s behalf.

“Oi!” she said to gain their attention. “They might not be allowed to throw you out, but I sure as hell can!”

She pointed to the ‘devastated’ goth-girl. “That slag wanted to give him a blow-job and he’s not going to say no to that, is he?” she said, snarling.

She leaned out of the little hatch in the door to deliver her message. “Now, if you want to walk out of here, go on, fuck off and walk! But if you want me to help you out, I can do that too.”

“Can she do that?” one of the girls asked Starkey.

“What do you think?” he said.

The group of girls left.

Once they were out of earshot, she turned on Starkey and we were all amazed because he took it.

She had a right go at him for two-timing her friend. That’s when I found out about their pact.

“Yeah, when I took this job, I promised that what happens here will go no further, but there’s no fucking need to rub my face in it!” she said. “And do NOT give me that sly grin because you think I’ve dropped a double-entendre into the conversation. I’m not fucking joking. I know what you’re like and I accept that, but if you ever take a bit of strange outside for a blow job, you’d better damned-well take her out the back way, because if you take her past me, I’ll be saying something.”

He looked up at her. “You promised not to,” he said and he looked just like a little boy getting caught with his catapult when his mum had hidden it.

“I promised not to tell, and I won’t - this time – but I’m not promising I’ll keep quiet next time, so don’t take any chances, don’t bring her past me,” she said. She was absolutely furious but her voice was so quiet, it was fucking scary to hear.

Starkey didn’t stop accepting blow jobs, but he didn’t take any more girls down through reception to do it.