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I fucked up, big time. That’s how I ended up here. I had a promising career going as an assistant principal at the high school, with a wife and two kids and a house in the suburbs. Then one day, boom! It was gone in a puff of smoke. It was totally my fault, too. I knew better. I’d been having an affair with this woman who worked for me. Call it a mid-life crisis, I guess. The sex with Amanda was great for a while, but when I told her I wanted to end the affair because I felt guilty about cheating on my wife, she got angry. She filed a complaint with HR, claiming it was sexual harassment, saying I threatened to end her career if she didn’t put out. It wasn’t true, but once I admitting to having sex with a subordinate, no one wanted to listen to anything else. I was quickly fired and unceremoniously escorted out of the building. Of course, my wife, Kayla, found out. She barely said a word to me, just told me to get out of the house then filed for divorce. Before I knew what was happening, I was homeless, owing child support to a woman that hated me, and unemployed. The timing couldn’t have been worse, either. Just about the time I was fucking myself out of a job, the economy took a huge downturn, and suddenly everyone was out of work with few jobs to be found.
I found myself a shitty little apartment and some second-hand furniture. I was going through my portion of the savings trying to make ends meet until I found a job. I got so desperate for work I started applying for anything. The few interviews I did get turned sour as soon as they found out why I left my last job. I finally got so desperate I applied for work as a security guard with a small local company. It was one guy named Carl running the company from a tiny, low rent office, and you could tell he was operating on a shoestring. But I was desperate, so when he offered me a job doing unarmed security for $12 an hour, I wasn’t really in any position to say no. I was almost out of money, and still had to make rent.
I hated it from the moment I started. I’ve never liked security guards. I’ve always thought they were obnoxious, or stupid, or both. It felt humiliating to put on that cheap polyester uniform, but I really didn’t have much choice. At least I didn’t have to carry a gun. Carl told me I’d be working security at a construction site, mostly at night. He gave me the address and instructed me to report to my new boss, Brandon, that evening.
I got to the construction site, which was an older office building being renovated, and found the security office. When I went inside to introduce myself to my new boss, I got a surprise: Brandon turned out to be Brandon Mabry, a former student at my former school. Just. Fucking. Great. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough, now I’m ataşehir escort bayan working for some kid I used to deal with in school.
I didn’t know Brandon well, but I’d had a few encounters with him in my capacity as assistant principal. His family was poor, and he was sort of the trashy redneck type. He never was very bright nor dependable; sort of an irresponsible mouth breather with more muscles than brains, who barely managed to squeak by in most of this classes. I have no idea how he managed to graduate. I mostly remembered him as a bully who liked to use his fists.
The only thing I could think of that would be a worse idea than making Brandon Mabry a security guard would be allowing him to supervise others; and yet, there he was, dressed in a uniform with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve, acting like he was something special.
Brandon was about 23, and not a big guy. He was only about 5’9 but had a fairly muscular build without a lot of fat. Brown hair in a crew cut, brown eyes, and lots of tattoos on his arms. You got the impression talking with him that the got the tats because he thought they made him look like a badass, or because they showed off his muscles, not because they had any particular meaning for him. He was dressed in some sort of a SWAT-style tactical uniform of dark blue BDUs, a nylon gun belt and gear, a tactical vest, and black combat boots. He sported a Glock pistol on his hip. (I found out later this was because he also occasionally worked fugitive recovery as a bounty hunter). He looked just like a cop, except for a short goatee.
While Brandon showed me around the job site and explained my new duties, he filled me in about his life since he left school. He told me managed to get his girlfriend pregnant just before graduation, then ended up marrying her due to pressure from her family and his. They had three kids in four years. He had a house full of toddlers, a wife that nagged him a lot, and a marriage that had quickly grown old and tiresome for them both. He didn’t sound like a very happy man.
I could tell that Brandon enjoyed having someone who used to be an authority figure in his life working for him, and he seemed to get off on bossing me around as much as possible. The job itself wasn’t hard. Fortunately, I didn’t have to deal with Brandon much. He supervised a number of sites, only stopping by once or twice a night to check up on things, unless someone called in sick or quit, in which case he might have to work their shift.
The job was monotonous, guarding a large building that was under renovation, and most of the time, I had to work the overnight shift. After years of working days, though, being awake all night was tough, no matter how much coffee I drank. Sitting escort kadıöy in the guard office one night, I just closed my eyes for a minute…
I received a rude awakening when I was slapped hard on the side of the head. I actually fell out of the chair from the force of the blow. When I looked up, Brandon was standing over me, and he was pissed.
“You fell asleep, dumbass! We aren’t paying you to sleep. If this site gets ripped off, we will lose this contract, dipshit,” he said, clearly infuriated.
“I’m sorry, Brandon. I didn’t mean to, but that’s no reason for you to hit me. That’s entirely uncalled for. Apologize right now!” I replied angrily, getting up from the floor.
He advanced on me and got right in my face. I could feel his hot breath as he berated me. “You don’t get it do you?” he said. “You aren’t the boss here — I am. I guess you still think you’re Mr. Big Shot at the high school, but you aren’t. From what I heard, you fucked that up pretty good. Well, now you’re in my world, and here you do things my way. And you’d better show me some damn respect, or you’ll get fired from this job, too. Won’t that be fun to explain, how you got fired from guarding a construction site?”
“That’s still no reason for you to put your hands on me!” I practically screamed at him.
Apparently, that was too much for Brandon. He hauled off and punched me in the stomach, hard. It knocked all the wind out of me. He punched me several more times in the body, until I fell to the ground and curled up in a ball to keep from getting hit any further. I’ve never been much of a fighter, but Brandon certainly was. I got the feeling he was releasing some of his pent-up frustration on me. After several more blows and a couple of kicks, I found myself actually begging him for mercy.
“Oh, you want me to stop?” he snarled. “Are you ready to do what you’re told and show me the respect I deserve, or do I have to beat your ass some more?”
“I’m sorry, Brandon. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do whatever you say.” I was practically in tears, both from the pain and from the humiliation of having been beaten up by this kid.
“First things first: from now on, you will address me as Sir or Sergeant. Not Brandon. I’m your boss. I tell you what to do and you better obey me without question, got it?” he demanded.
“Yes Sir, I understand. Please forgive me.”
Something in his tone changed. “Now,” he asked, “just how bad do you need this job? Seem to me you are pretty damn desperate, huh? I should just fire your ass.”
“Yes Sir, I am,” I admitted. “I’m about broke, and if I don’t have this job, I’ll either end up homeless or in jail for not paying my child support. Please, please don’t fire me, I’m begging you.”
“Yeah?” maltepe escort he sneered. “Then that’s exactly what you better do. Beg me. Crawl over here and kiss my feet and beg me for your job.”
I couldn’t believe what he just said. I looked at his face to see if he was joking, but he was dead serious, and still glowering at me like he’d just as soon give me another beating. He was standing there with his legs slightly spread, and one hand resting on the butt of his gun. I didn’t think he’d actually pull it out or shoot me, but I knew from his years in school Brandon was unpredictable with a volatile temper, two things that clearly hadn’t changed.
I’d never done anything like that. I was repulsed at the idea and wanted to refuse. But the alternatives flashing through my mind were far worse. I felt completely trapped, with no choice under the circumstances. I’m sure Brandon could see the fear and resistance on my face, and probably also saw the resistance gradually being replaced by acceptance. Slowly, I crawled forward until I was at Brandon’s feet with his left boot right in front of me. Reluctantly, I leaned down and kissed the leather top of his dirty combat boot. Then I crawled over and kissed the right one.
Without looking up at him, I said, “Please Sir…please don’t fire me. I desperately need this job and I’ll do anything to keep it. Please forgive my insolence and me falling asleep.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Not good enough, loser. If you are so desperate to keep this job, then prove it. Lick the dirt off my boots. Now.”
I can’t do this, I thought. It’s too low, too disgusting, too degrading. He’s half my age and a former student of mine. A high school bully, and now he was bullying me. There is no way I’m licking his dirty boots.
I was shocked when my tongue came out and started cleaning Brandon’s left boot.
I don’t know to this day why I did it. Desperation, perhaps. Guilt and humiliation over everything that brought me to this low point. Fear, certainly. I can’t say for sure. But I did it. And after the first few licks, something broke deep inside me. Suddenly, it felt right to be performing this degrading task. I felt like this was exactly what I deserved, and that somehow this was a fair outcome for me. I cleaned his left boot, then moved over to his right without having to be told. It only took minutes, but to me it felt like a lifetime. By the time I was done, his boots were shiny with my spit.
“Look at me,” he commanded. I looked up at him. He had a smug look on his face. “You’re my bitch now. Don’t forget that. If I say jump, you jump. One wrong move and you’re fired, got it?”
“Yes, Sir, I understand,” I replied, still on my hands and knees.
With that, he turned and walked out of the office, got in his car, and drove away, leaving me to ponder what had just happened while nursing my sore abs and ribs.
Strangely, no matter how much water I drank, I couldn’t get the taste of dirt and boot leather out of my mouth for the rest of the night.
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