Page 3 of Breaking Vincent
Nope. Not happening.
I barely manage to stop my eyes from rolling, as I explain, “Our shop will not ever pierce an child’s ears, unless they can consent to what is happening.” I can tell she’s pissed at my answer and when she opens her mouth to argue, I quickly add, “Regardless if the parents or carers consent.”
“Why not? I wanted to do something special for my grandbaby. Wouldn’t she look amazing with some sparkles in her ears?” She doesn’t even wait for me to answer before she starts talking again, “I give my full permission for you to do it.”
This time I let my eyes roll to the back of my skull.
“As this isn't your child, you cannot give consent. Secondly, a tiny baby doesn’t need accessories. I can guarantee no reliable piercer will shove a needle through a new-born’s ears.”
She gasps before saying, “Oh, no I wouldn’t want it done with a needle. That would hurt my grandbaby.”
“How were you expecting it to be done?” I ask, with my eyebrows raised.
“With one of those clicky guns. You could do one side and someone else can do the other at the same time, that way it won't hurt.”
“Piercing guns aren't safe, they can cause significant tissue damage. So even though I will not be doing it, please don’t take the baby to a place that does it that way. Can I suggest you wait a few years until the child is older and asks for pierced ears?”
This conversation carries on for twenty more minutes and the woman is red in the face by the time I send her out the door. I just hope she takes my warnings on board and doesn’t take the child to a sketchy shop.
I sit back down on my chair and rest my sweaty forehead against the reception desk, groaning into my hands.
I refuse to let a Karen ruin my day, so I pick my phone up and scroll through Reddit, before re-reading the email from Jamie.
A few more people walk through the front door enquiring about piercings and tattoos – we really need to hire a receptionist to do all this, but for now I don’t mind sitting on my ass when I’m not busy poking holes in people.
It’s still early but I need more coffee. “Nate, I'm heading out for an early lunch,” I shout towards my boss.
Nate sticks his head from behind the curtain and nods his head, before asking for me to grab him something to eat.
Chapter 2 -
David
I have been working at The Bonding Longue for a couple of weeks now, and I have to say I’m enjoying it more than I originally thought I would.
The environment is great and all the other Dungeon Masters have been really welcoming towards me. Well, except for one douchebag named Tom. He’s over 6 feet tall, so he towers over me by a lot, and he's built like a brick shithouse. Seriously, the man is a tank. But he’s also rude and obnoxious.
He’s been giving me shit since my first night here, and it's not anything that I haven't heard before. It would be more amusing if he threw some original insults my way.
Yeah, I'm younger and I’m five foot six, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to bring a Sub to his knees as he begs me for mercy.
People usually take one look at me and label me as a Submissive, and I don’t blame them when I fit the stereotype of a twink.
But trust me, I can make the biggest and toughest looking men crawl on their hands and knees as I pull them along with a leather leash fastened around their necks.
The Bonding Lounge has closed for the night and I'm getting ready to walk out with my boss, William. It'll be nearly 3am by the time I get home, but I have tomorrow night off, so I don’t mind staying behind later.
Since starting my job, I have built a nice friendship with William. It turns out the apartment I'm currently renting belongs to one of his boyfriends. Jamie is a sweet boy who I believe is around the same age as me. The pair have tried to invite me out a couple of times or have asked if I wanted to come to the club and meet the rest of their friends, and I appreciate the offers, but I'm a firm believer in don't shit where you eat.
The last thing I want is to be getting involved with a club member and things getting messy. I can't risk losing this job and I definitely can't afford to lose my apartment.
I have lived in England for nearly ten years, after my family moved from a small village in the north of Spain.
As much as I love my family, I needed space from them and even though my mother was heartbroken when I told her I was moving out I think she understood my need for independence. Plus, the small house was filling up fast, my sister, her husband and my niece all living in my parents' house, as they are saving up money to buy their own property.
So, my moving out when I did was the best choice for everyone.
I do miss them though. I miss always having another person to talk to, regardless of what time of day it is. I miss having big family dinners.