Beware of Ms. IED and her Cutlery

Oh yes, one other thing…the English Headmaster is returning to his country tomorrow and wants to see me one more time.  The bruise he left on my ass last time isn’t black anymore, but it’s still pretty bad.  

If he goes over the same area again, I’m going to be roadkill.  

The Mathematician took it in stride last time, but there’s no telling how he’ll take it again, especially in such a short time frame.  I could really be pushing my luck here.  And I don’t want to do that.

But it’s easy money.  A lot of easy money.  I could take the rest of the week off and focus entirely on my other job.  

He’s coming at 2.  I have a decision to make.

                         *                  *                 *                * 

   My conclusion of “Shopping with the Mathematician” is almost ready, but I wanted to write this post first.

     Man, I don’t know who’s been doing the hiring at the Superstudio recently, but some of these new hires are just not going to cut it.  Is that talent pool in NYC really that shallow this winter?  It brings to mind what a former co-worker would always tell women who asked her advice about how to get a job as a domme:

     “Call every dungeon in town and ask if they’re hiring.  If you were born a female, someplace will take you on.”

      Let me tell you about one new girl in particular…let’s call her “Miss IED,” because as far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly what she is.

     At first I thought she was going to be okay.  I know why they hired her–she’s gorgeous.  Really stunning.  She looks like Pocahontas from the Disney cartoon.  She’s not too young–about my age, I think.  She has a little experience and knows what the job’s about.  So yeah, I thought she’d be okay.  

     First sign of trouble was when I took her into a session with me to show her how I conducted an equestrian session with a pony.  First, she laughed at the guy.  Not good, unless you know that they want to be laughed at.  That’s unprofessional.  Then she tried talking over me a few times when I did her the favor of letting her interact with us instead of just requesting that she watch from the corner.  Hey Ms. IED–don’t fuck with my authority while I’m running the show, ok?  It makes me look bad. I noted the rudeness and filed it away to think about later.  

      I heard from a few other women that Ms. IED has been a little rude, patronizing, or arrogant towards them.  A little sharp.  I guess prickly would be the right word.  

      Now, I don’t like Ms. IED anymore, so I’m not going to warn her…but the Studio is not a safe place to act like an asshole.  There is a hierarchy, especially among the night-shift women.  I am mostly exempt from the hierarchy because I stay out of the drama and social network as much as possible, meaning that I don’t hang out with these people outside of the Studio.  I’m also mostly a sub and they know it and leave me alone because I don’t have an alpha, Queen Bee personality.  But some of the dommes in the hierarchy have big fucking personalities, if you know what I mean, and they’re territorial.  If Ms. IED condenscends the wrong person, they’re going to make her life hell.  Or maybe punch her out.  

       Then, I found out that Ms. IED is a major germophope.  A major, major germophobe.  It’s pathological.  She can’t touch the trash.  She freaks whenever she has to use the women’s bathroom.  If she drops a tool on the floor, she’s scared to pick it up.  She won’t sit on the furniture, even if it’s just been sprayed with bleach and alcohol.  If you try to touch her with something “dirty,” like, say, a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, she recoils like a vampire from holy water and gets this really ugly, hostile expression on her face. 

     And something is wrong with her “filter.”  She has told me–a person with whom she is only modestly acquainted–about how her family used to beat her with extension cords.  Why is she telling Miss Margo this?  WHO KNOWS!  Because I didn’t ask!  

     “It wasn’t as bad as the big wooden spoons.  Those were the worst,” she told me, as I sat there reading the newspaper.  

      It gets better.  The other day I was sitting in the locker room on the sofa, trying to read.  Ms. IED’s costumes and makeup bags and hair straightener irons are all over the couch (on top of towels for sanitary purposes, natch).  Kinda rude.  I looked over at a leather dress she’d just thrown down next to me.  

       The fabric looked interesting.  I wondered if it was real leather.

       I reached out my hand and touched it for a second.  Just a quick pat, really.  My hands were clean.  I didn’t move it.

      I looked up to see Ms. IED bent over me, her hands balled up into fists and an absolutely batshit expression of rage on her face.  I mean blazing eyes, snarling mouth, tight attack posture, the whole bit.  

      To say that I was taken aback would be an understatement.  

     I looked over at Kitty.  Kitty was watching Ms. IED with big round eyes, her mouth open. 

      Ms. IED snatched her leather dress up.  “I really hate it when people touch my things!”

      Yeah, no shit, I thought.  What I said was: “Sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.  I just wanted to feel the fabric.”

     “I got in trouble once because I stabbed a guy in the thigh with a fork  up to the prongs.  He snatched a French fry off my plate.”

      Jesus Christ, I thought. This is troubling for two reasons.  The first reason is that she actually did that. The second reason is that she didn’t see anything wrong with admitting that she did that in public to her co-workers.  I mean, if I did some crazy shit like that, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell people about it, you know what I mean?

      “I’m not that bad anymore.  I just really hate it when people touch my stuff.”

     “Okay,” I said.

       Mr. IED stormed out, presumably to de-germ her dress and get my cooties off of it.

      Kitty said, “I really thought she was going to kick your ass.”

     “Me too.”

      This creature is unstable.   She’s not wired right.  She’s either going to go off on the wrong domme or else she’s going to flip out on a client who touches her wrong or something.  She’s a liability.  

     I hope I’m not around when she goes off.  


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