The One “Job” My Sugar Daddy Was Happy to See Me Work Hard At: Part 2

What’s the wage for a bar­tender?” I inquired. “We pay $5.00 an hour plus you’ll make tips. If you dress a bit more like the dancers and less like grandma, you’ll make more,” he said with a grin. “When can you start?” he asked before I could respond to his jibe about my outfit.

Would tomor­row work?” I asked.

No, Sat­ur­day nights are packed. How about you come in on Mon­day and we’ll get you trained. Here’s a sched­ule and a for­mal appli­ca­tion. Fill this all out and bring it with you so we can report your earn­ings properly.”

That’s it, I have a job?” I asked hes­i­tantly. “Yep, you’re young, hot, and these guys have been drool­ing over you since you came in the door. Go to this store and buy some out­fits to wear to work,” he said as he wrote down the name of a store I would later find out was a sex toy shop.

As I left the bar happy and giddy, the bouncer walked me out to my car and made sure I was safely locked inside before step­ping away. I drove home with the music blar­ing and the win­dows down on my pickup. I just got a new job. I burst through the door, but Marco was gone. There was a note on the table. “Couldn’t find you at work, so when you get this, call me.”

Shit, he knew I skipped out on work. I fig­ured I was def­i­nitely going to be in trou­ble. Before call­ing him, I noticed the mail was on the table. There was an enve­lope from my employer, the gro­cery store. I opened it hap­pily think­ing it was my hefty pay­check. It was my pay­check, but despite doing two 40-hour work­weeks, it was barely $300. How dis­heart­en­ing. Work­ing full-time and study­ing full-time was hard enough, but work­ing for peanuts was the last straw.

I called Marco, but he didn’t answer. A few min­utes later, I heard the garage door open and the motor­cy­cle being parked, so I patiently waited for him to come upstairs. He was smil­ing, in a good mood after hav­ing a few hours of ban­ter with his friends at the pub. “Where did you go? Where have you been?” he asked while remov­ing his shoes. “I got a new job. I start Mon­day,” I replied as I jumped up and gave him a huge hug.

You smell like cig­a­rettes. Were you smok­ing? Yuck,” he said while kiss­ing me gently.

No, it’s the bar I was just hired at to bar­tend. It’s a smok­ing bar,” I assured him.

Oh, a bar? A strip club?” he inquired.

Yes,” I answered, as I watched the expres­sion on his face change into a more seri­ous look.

Will you be remov­ing your clothes for money? Does that excite you?” he asked with a grin.

No, I am bar­tend­ing and serv­ing beer only. They do smoke inside, and the man­ager did tell me this out­fit wouldn’t work, but just to wear some­thing a bit more reveal­ing for bet­ter tips.”

Why do you want to work in such a dirty place?” he asked, some­what annoyed. “Don’t you make enough money at the grocery?”

I laughed and handed him my piti­ful pay­check. “That’s not very much for all the time you spent work­ing, is it? You know, I find it sexy that you would be work­ing at a strip club. I would like to see you strip for me, and for other men—” Marco responded with a kiss before we made pas­sion­ate love.

This was hardly the reac­tion I was expecting.