by Elle Cross
Prince Arris blinked at me. “I have misjudged you, little one.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Consider him taken care of.”
I pushed through. I was in the subway terminal. I glanced back and I saw that I had emerged from the dingy, pock-marked, warped sheets of metal that substituted for mirrors in the older terminals. I would never look at one the same way again.
No one noticed that I was here. Then again, no one commuted in the middle of the night, at least not many. And those that were here, were too blissed out on their drug of choice to notice that I’d just emerged from the wall.
A rumbling signaled a coming train. I stepped to the line, assuming I had to get on since I was dumped here. The train came to a stop, and the doors opened. Instead of a subway car, it was like looking into another corridor.
I remembered their words. Think of your destination. Your one destination is The Lord Master. That was as clear a destination as anything else I could think of.
The Lord Master, I whispered to myself.
I stepped through the doors, and they closed behind me.
The Lord Master, I whispered again, and a tugging that started from my belly pulled me forward. I walked the length of the corridor, making sure I didn’t stray from the center line.
The tugging slackened, and I glided to a door. It opened. Curiously, it reminded me of the white tile that lined the subway tunnel.
I swallowed nervously.
“Just think of the Lord Master. Think of the Lord Master,” I muttered to myself.
I got squeamish thinking of the grime built up on the tiles.
But it faded. That spongy, marshmallow of dense air came back, and I grumbled, “This better take me to the Lord Master,” as I walked through.
My re-entry was even smoother this time. I’d be a pro in no time.
I looked around, and I at first I figured I was in exactly the wrong place. The walls were a gleaming white so pristine I could almost see my reflection in them. There was a kind of sliding window in the wall, and a seating area with really modern, uncomfortable-looking seats from a modular furniture set from the sixties. It was truly unsettling, like a doctor’s office or a really uncomfortable office reception area.
The window slid open. It really did remind me of my doctor's office.
"Hello, and welcome. How may I direct your business?"
The receptionist looked me up and down, taking in my clothes, my shoes. Especially my shoes. She must have been an extremely good judge of character working where she did. "Here for the club, Lady? Do you have your coin?"
Club? Coin? I blinked. Was this…? Surely not. This couldn’t be one of those boltholes that Deimos talked to me about. I wanted to back away and turn around and run back to the safety of my apartment.
But…Jack. And not to mention, I owed a favor to the Sylphs now. Or was it technically to Prince Arris? I shook those cluttering thoughts from my head before the receptionist thought I was crazy. To her credit she waited in that calm stillness that reminded me a little of Sage, Deimos’ assistant. I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry I do not. I have a black card, though." I felt it tucked in my shrug’s inner pocket.
She nodded as if she was taking in the information rather than typing it into a computer. "Of course. First time with our location?" she asked.
I hoped it wasn't because I stuck out like a sore thumb. "Yes, is it obvious that I’m new here?"
"Oh no, ma’am,” she said in perfectly genteel hostess tones. “Both new and visiting clients bring extra clothes. The local or regular clients have assigned personal storage if they choose to use it."
Oh, well at least that was enlightening and not something that I had lingering around me: the scent of fresh meat.
The receptionist had been gathering paperwork from where she sat. Where those papers came from since I didn’t see any standard office equipment around her, I couldn’t guess. "I will create a file for you since it is your first time here with us. You will need to answer just a few questions before you can move forward. Would you like a refreshment while you wait?"
She had gestured to the assortment of flavored waters at the sideboard and I helped myself to the concoction of mint leaves, cucumber, and lemon zest. Not bad.
I sat in the middle of the reception area in the egg-shaped chair. I was kind of disappointed. For an underground club, I was expecting…more. Especially since Deimos hadn’t dispelled the ‘fetish’ connotation of the rumors about these clubs and hinted to something about empowering sex. I felt the heat creep into my cheeks thinking about it.
Oh, not that I thought there’d be chains and whips everywhere, and people strung up in cages. But I didn’t really expect the reception area to be so…mundane. My office was more exciting than this one. I could be waiting for my appointment with my lady-doctor, Dr. Kyle, though at least her reception area had plants.
Technically, this was still part of the tourist area. So, maybe they thought to keep this area as vanilla as possible.
A man swaggered into the room from a door I couldn’t see. He was tall and blond with fair skin, dressed in leathers and a fish net top that exposed his pierced nipples and tattoos. He could have probably been fairly attractive, but his smooth features didn't quite do it for me. At least he smelled nice.
The man stopped when he saw me sitting there, blinking at me as he said nothing.
“Uhm, hi?” I said.
That seemed to break the spell. He moved again.
“I apologize for the delay—” he referred to a piece of paper on a clipboard. How had he gotten that? I peered toward the receptionist, but the window had closed.
He seemed to be leafing through the paper to figure out what to call me. “Seren,” I supplied for him.
“Right. Lady Seren.”
I had an odd feeling that he knew that wasn’t my name. And not because everyone chose their scene names in underground clubs. But because he knew what my real name was.
We just looked at each other without speaking in some kind of odd standoff of who would speak first.
I looked pointedly at the clipboard in his hand. “Did you want to give me those? The reception lady said I’d need to fill something out.”
He blinked and shook his head, handing the clipboard at me. “Yes, papers, please be as thorough as possible so we can find what you’re looking for.”
The way he looked at me, I’d say he wished that he was the something I was looking for. “I’ll give you some privacy of course. When you’re done, we’ll be—I’ll be—right outside.”
We, huh? I hoped he meant that in the general sense, though I had a feeling that he referred to a group.
I scanned the papers that he had handed me. I was kind of expecting something like this, especially since I was a newbie and didn't have the luxury of an introduction or referral. Hells, I wasn’t given a warning that I’d be stumbling upon a place like this, but that was what happened when I didn’t ask enough questions of a Sylph.
At least the questions were clinical. Any less so, I’d have giggled in the middle of this waiting area. I lingered over the ‘safe word’. They gave a suggestion in choosing a word that was memorable, but something that wouldn’t be confusing in the throes of passion. It actually said that. Throes of passion.
Before long, I filled out the blank spaces as best as I could. Checking it twice, front and back, I signed my name, taking care to sign it ‘Seren’ and not ‘Vesper’.
I stood up and headed toward the window of reception when I heard a scurrying and then the same man appeared from a different corner of the room. Where the hell were these people coming from?
“Were you done, Lady Seren?” he asked, breathless.
I fixed a neutral smile on my face. “Yes.”
He leafed through the paper, as if with a practiced eye, checking that every box and line that needed to be filled out, was filled out. One of my answers toward the end gave him pause, a flicker of something passed over his face. Instead of eager to serve
, he became…anxious.
“Please follow me, and we’ll make you more comfortable.”
He led me to a room that fit more of what I’d expected.
Sure, there weren’t any dildos and strap-ons mounted on the walls, but it did have discreetly mounted whips and handcuffs.
I shivered. I was explicit on my form that I was not to be tied down.
The decor almost made me feel like I was waiting in someone’s apartment. There was a full seating area, complete with a fireplace on one side, and a bed on the other.
‘Bed’, though, was an understatement. It filled up half the room. It looked more like a stage with cushions and pillows.
The room even had window treatments, though there were no windows in this room. Unless… I pulled the window treatments aside. Yup, they had flat-screen televisions mounted on the walls in lieu of windows. So, in between your slap and tickle sessions, you could draw back a curtain, and watch your favorite show.
I sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace. The leather was unbelievably supple. I itched to feel it under my skin, but was afraid to take off my gloves. The fire was a nice touch. Very cozy.
I scrunched down into the pillows and blanket. If someone didn’t come soon, I’d kick off my heels, curl up on the couch, and take a nap.
Someone knocked on the door.
I sat up. “Come in.”
The door opened and storm clouds rolled in, billowing around the last man I’d expected to see here.
White noise settled in my brain again. I kept trying to speak, but my body forgot how to breathe.
I couldn’t stop looking at his face.
Even with the red and gold swirling in his black eyes, and all the luscious gold skin that shifted to a coppery-bronze as he moved in the light, I knew who this man was.
Deimos.
His whole top half was bare. Leather stretched over his legs like a second skin.
Thick black whorls looped and circled his gold skin and accentuated the expanse of hard muscle and rippling strength of his body. I followed their pattern, wanted to run my fingers over them, especially one loop that disappeared past the waistband of his pants…
His eyes flashed red and gold, then as if he knew my thoughts.
He smiled, slow and sensual.
Even from across the room, his look pulled at me.
The man from earlier scurried in after him. Standing next to Deimos, he looked small, like a lanky teen, even though I knew he wasn’t. He gave Deimos a clipboard.
It looked out of place in the hands of this wild creature.
His eyes flicked to it before looking back at me.
“Lord Master,” the breathless man started. “This is—”
“Lady Seren, I see that. Run along now.”
The man literally ran out of the door.
Gray tendrils pushed the door shut.
I suddenly felt all kinds of trapped.
He moved slowly, with the animal grace of a predator. The promise of sexual decadence in his every movement.
He settled into the seat opposite from me, his overflow of power filled the room, swirled around him like the majestic robes of a king.
And that was exactly what he was here. The king. His reign and authority absolute and I was an interloper in his domain.
“It is a pleasure to see you here, my Lady.” He lingered over the word ‘pleasure.’ My body tightened in response. “I had hoped we would see each other soon. This was not what I had in mind. But I shall not complain about these unexpected turn of events.”
Were we pretending that we didn’t know each other? Am I not supposed to know who he was? I wished I could ask.
He still had the damned clipboard in his hand. I had a funny image of being in an odd job interview.
“Our most sacred rule here is honesty.”
He lingered on that word, and I tried to find a shade of meaning there. But my thoughts were slowly evaporating into smoke and my mind was just filled with thoughts of him. Lords Above, give me strength.
“When we are honest about our expectations, then we can be the most satisfied. Please tell me what you want. What you like. What your limits are.”
My face grew hot. I fidgeted with my hands. It was like he was giving a rehearsed speech, and I felt a little more comforted about that. I didn’t have to scramble with an explanation about why I was here so randomly. Now I just needed to focus on his words so I didn’t sound like a blabbering moron.
“Uhm. My what, now?” So much for avoiding being a moron. It didn’t help that he was so present. Just the idea of him filled every bit of me, and he hadn’t even touched me yet.
“Let me help you.” He started from the top of the first page. “You definitely do not want to be tied down, correct?”
“Yes. No rope or chains or bondage like that. Please.” I worried at my lip.
He peered over the clipboard, inspecting me. “I would have you feel safe. So if you say you do not want to be tied up or restrained, you will not be.” He looked thoughtful for a moment.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I held. Was he going to go over that contract, point by point? Because, since he was already here, I could just let him know this wouldn’t be necessary—
He swung that piercing gaze back at me. “What are your thoughts about being held down?”
I blinked. I had no thought whatsoever. “Uhm, do you mean…”
“For example, if you were laid out on a bed, and your hands were held above your head, or if you were held tightly from behind. Would that constitute as restraint for you?”
I shook my head at the images he evoked in my mind. Of being stretched out on a massive bed, hands held above my head, while he rose large above me…“No, I think that would be nice actually yes,” I stammered. I hadn’t felt this warm when I was alone.
He murmured some of my responses, and then stopped. “Here, you have said you do not want to touch. Please explain.”
“Oh, only that I would rather not—”
“Rather not or do not want?” He gently corrected.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to use my bare hands to touch anyone.”
“And with me specifically? Do you want to use your bare hands to touch me?”
Lords Above, is he teasing me? I curled my fingers into clenched fists at the memory of touching his hard body with my bare hands. I coughed primly. “I do.”
“And would you allow my hands on your body?” His tone of voice took on a decidedly sinful shade of night.
I cleared my throat again. “I would.” Because I already have, and my body remembers his touch, craves it, wants it right the fuck now. I took in deep, gulping breaths.
He glanced at my gloved hands. The dove gray demi gloves matched my gray skirt. “You emphasized bare. You had intended on wearing gloves?”
“Generally speaking, yes. If that’s all right?”
“Of course. You would look ravishing wearing nothing but those gloves and shoes. I had wanted to clarify your meaning between touching and being touched. Thank you.”
I blinked, and just like that he was back to the business professional with a clipboard. I didn’t know how these fetish scenes worked. But sitting here, barely able to sit without squirming, I somehow knew that he’d be up to the challenge of sexual release without physical touch.
He smiled, open and genuine now. With his black and gold, his white teeth were startling.
“I have to ask,” I started. He looked at me expectantly, and I continued, “Can you read my mind?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“Honesty, my Lady. I have no reason to lie to you. Or at all.”
“Oh.”
He leaned toward me for a moment, as if to share a secret. “But if it helps you, I am not trying to glimpse into your mind.” Then he leaned back as before.
That wasn’t much comfort. It meant that I was too addled that I couldn’t remember my discipline of shielding around him. I
thought of earth and stone, and the richness of their scents comforted me.
“So, to sum up what I understand. No bondage. In general, no direct contact with your hands.” Then, he read off the contract like a checklist. “No permanent damage or life threatening injuries, of course. No blood, no broken skin, no bruises. That would be amenable to me. I could easily bite the back of your neck without any of those outcomes.” He said that more to himself than to me as he shifted the papers so that the second page was on top. “Just to put your mind at ease, my Lady, I do not like causing damage temporary or otherwise. At least what I can control directly.”
“What do you mean?”
He tilted his chin at me. “For example, if you bit down too hard on your lip or inner cheek right now. I cannot directly control that. Which would be a shame since I would hate for you to be uncomfortable when you work your mouth on my cock.”
I stopped biting my lip.
He referred back to the clipboard with a smile. Then, his eyebrow quirked.
“No sexual intercourse? Why not?” The question was as clinical and devoid of judgment as his previous ones.
I had no words for him. “Oh. Well. When I filled out the paper, it was a general thing. With faceless people.” And no one I knew or who would know me.
“And,” he said, prompting me as if I’d forgotten his question. “Please continue. Tell me why you answered ‘no intercourse.’"
If I weren’t so mortified, I’d have probably laughed. I didn’t know how to get the fact that I didn’t want random sex. But sex with him was more than acceptable.
“I have told you before, you have no need to be embarrassed around me, just be honest," he spoke conspiratorially.
He is torturing me, I knew it. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want random, uninvited sex. I wanted to know and choose the situation and my partner. And I definitely did not expect to know anyone here. Hence, ‘no intercourse’. I didn’t mean anything by it and…I knew couldn’t come in without filling out that,” I said pointing to the contract.
