by Logan Fox
“Aftercare,” Seth failed to explain. “How am I supposed to give them both—”
Caden’s snort interrupted Seth. “She’ll be watching, not participating.”
“It’s the same—”
“Seth, I’m trying to run a business here.” Caden pointed at Pearl. “Send her in there, let her watch. It’ll save a ton of explanations from your side, I’m sure. It’s all about efficiency.”
“Fine,” Seth said through gritted teeth, getting to his feet. “Will you need Opal later?”
Caden nodded absently at this, his attention already returning to the computer’s monitor. Seth bustled Pearl toward the door.
“This is the dancer, yes?” Caden called out, halting them.
“That’s right.”
Pearl’s stomach tightened. Seth stepped aside, leaving Pearl abandoned in the middle of the thick rug. Caden had a finger pointed at her, his other arm flat on the desk.
“Pole dancing?” Caden asked, narrowing his eyes.
Pearl nodded.
“Come see me at nine.” His attention returned to his work.
Seth took her arm and maneuvered her out of the office. The hallway was empty, the Fox Pit silent.
Pearl licked her lips. “What’s happening at nine?” she asked, doubting she actually wanted the answer.
Seth shrugged. “Anyone’s guess, kitten.”
Induction, it turned out, involved a physical examination from a nurse who arrived at the Fox Pit twenty minutes after Pearl had left Caden’s office. After taking a sample of Pearl’s blood and urine, and asking a host of awkward questions about her cycle, general health, diet, and pain thresholds, the nurse gave her an injection and left.
Well, she left after explaining that she’d just administered Pearl with a contraceptive that would last three months and might have side effects like hair loss, weight gain, and mood swings. And then further explaining how all the guests of the Fox Pit had complete medical histories done to make sure they were all as clean and healthy as the girls because safe play was important to the Fox Pit’s owners.
Then she left.
Pearl lay on her bed, cupping the bruise on her ass where the nurse had almost stabbed her to death with the needle.
Pain threshold? Zero, apparently.
There was a hesitant knock at her door. Pearl lifted her head as Gia came inside. The girl’s yellow dress was rumpled, her hair tousled. Pearl pushed up to her elbows, watching as Gia squirreled past and disappeared behind the room’s partition. She could see Gia’s blurred silhouette as the girl lifted her blanket and crawled into bed.
There was a muffled, “Why? Why, why, why?”
It was one in the afternoon. Pearl shook her head and fell back on the bed.
So no getting pregnant. That was good, right? No periods either, apparently. Another good thing. Possibly. Maybe. The nurse had been tight-lipped about exactly what was in the contraceptive, murmuring something about expensive treatments and FDA approved whatnots.
Pearl’s stomach grumbled quietly. She remembered Gia’s head stuck so far inside the refrigerator she was surprised the girl had levered herself free.
She should eat something.
Pearl let herself quietly out of the room and closed the door softly behind her.
The den was deserted. With the television off, it was surprisingly quiet down here. For a moment, Pearl stood in the middle of the room, soaking up the atmosphere.
Although there were no windows down here, the living area was evenly lit with discrete lighting set in the ceiling and walls. The sofas, upholstered in russet-colored suede like most of the furnishings, bulged invitingly.
She went into the small kitchenette and stood in front of the fridge. It had a large, abstract flower stenciled over the mirrored doors. After staring at her chiffon-draped reflection for a few silent seconds, Pearl opened the right-hand door. Inside: a selection of salad veggies, fruit, whole wheat bread. Small single-serving containers of pasta salad, couscous, something that looked like lumpy oatmeal. She grimaced.
No meat? Not even a slice of sandwich ham?
Pearl grabbed an apple, paused, and grabbed a pasta salad. She checked to make sure someone hadn’t marked their name on it — foster care had obviously left its mark on her — and hunted through the kitchenette’s cabinets until she found a fork.
She sank onto the closest couch and tore open the pasta salad. Half-way through her impromptu meal, she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Pearl got to her feet, smoothing down the diaphanous layers of her dress, and forced her hands out of their fists.
A curly-haired woman hobbled down the stairs, shoulders cradled by Seth. She wore a thick, black blanket around her shoulders, her bare legs flashing out between its folds with every step. She glanced up, saw Pearl, and gave her a small nod. Seth didn’t look up; his attention was fixed solely on the girl. He helped her limp past and opened one of the doors leading off the living room. The woman went inside, Seth following and closing the door behind them.
Pearl tugged her hand away from her mouth. There’d been a smudge of blood on the girl’s naked shoulder.
She started after them, then turned around looking for help from someone, anyone. But it was just her in the small living room. Should she wake Gia? Her heart thumped a trip-hop fast beat in her chest as she stared at the closed door.
It opened.
Pearl jumped, her spine stiffening as Seth came out. He glanced at her, face expressionless as always, and went to the refrigerator. Seth opened the door to the freezer, took out a small tub of ice cream, wrestled a spoon from the drawer, and went back to the room.
He pushed the door closed with his foot. It failed to latch and swung open a few inches as Seth’s bulk disappeared behind it.
Pearl’s feet moved without instruction from her brain.
She inched forward, sidling toward the gap while trying to keep her body out of view. She could hear Seth’s voice — a low rumble — and hints of the girl’s voice — light and surprisingly steady. Her hands brushed the clay wall as she crept forward, breath trapped somewhere between her lungs and her parted lips.
“…chocolate chips are too big,” Seth said, sounding as if he was speaking with a mouth full of ice cream.
“It’s fine,” the girl said. “Still like the caramel more.”
“They were out of stock the last time Adam put in an order. You want me to go into town later and see if I can find some?”
“No,” the girl sighed. “Really, I’m fine.”
“Come here,” Seth murmured.
The girl drew a sharp breath through her teeth.
“Hush, kitten,” Seth said quietly.
Pearl peered around the edge of the door. She could see a sliver of the room: the edge of a bed, a discarded blanket draped over the footboard. A pair of heavy boots. Pearl craned her neck. Jeans carefully folded at the foot of the bed. A long-sleeved shirt — Seth’s.
What the hell?
She stepped closer still, palms against the wall to keep her balance as she tried to see deeper into the room.
Two lumps under the duvet: feet, legs. A tub of ice cream. A dainty hand wrapped around it. Another clutching a spoon, digging into the dessert. Lifting it.
Pearl leaned to the side.
The girl fed Seth a spoon of ice cream. Pearl frowned. Seth ducked forward, cleaned off the spoon, and tugged it out of the girl’s hand with his teeth. She giggled at him and snuggled against his bare chest, practically nestling into his beard where it fanned across his tattooed pecs.
Pearl’s mouth hung open, a severe crease between her eyes. She began shaking her head.
“More?” Seth asked, removing the spoon from his mouth.
The girl nodded into his beard, and he dug out a spoon of ice cream for her and brought it closer to her mouth. She sucked it off and put her head back on his chest as she ate it.
Seth had his arm around her shoulder. His fingertips stroked her neck and shoulder. She would flinch
whenever he reached her shoulder blade, but he kept returning there. Where Pearl had seen blood.
“Jarred?” Seth asked, again making her flinch.
After a moment, the girl nodded. Seth shook his head and fed her another spoon of ice cream.
“I gave consent,” the girl said softly. She nodded against Seth’s chest. “I promise. But… I wasn’t… it was while…”
Seth set aside the ice cream and used both hands to draw her tight against him. “I’ve told you before, Ivy. Don’t say yes to anything when you’re in subspace. Stick to your limits. Jarred knows you. He knows how soft you are, then.”
Ivy burrowed her face into Seth’s beard, twisting so her naked breasts were pressed against him. Which bared her back to Pearl. Her back… and the stripes of red laced across it. Tiny spots of dark blood had congealed in places. A scatter of dried blood marred the pillowcase Ivy had been leaning on.
“One more bite? Then I need to clean you up.”
Ivy nodded, but she didn’t lift her head off Seth’s chest. He stroked her dark curls, twining a thick finger through her hair. He ducked his head and brushed the top of her head with a kiss. Ivy shuddered and lifted her face to him, letting him rain feather-light kisses over her forehead and cheeks.
The door jerked shut in Pearl’s face.
Pearl staggered back, swinging around with a hand over her heart. Opal glowered at her, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Some dragon’s pay extra for that, you know,” the woman said sourly. “Letting them watch the other’s play. But this isn’t play. Fuck off back to your room, newb.”
Pearl straightened, tried to apologize, decided to leave well enough alone, and slipped back into her room.
On the other side of the partition, Gia snored lightly.
Later, Seth came to fetch her. She’d just begun to doze off, perhaps lulled by Gia’s own snores. A hand on her shoulder roused her. Pearl blinked up at Seth’s face, had a flash of him kissing Ivy’s forehead, and jerked herself out of reach. This didn’t seem to faze him: he cocked his head toward the door and left the room.
Gia was still asleep when she padded out behind him.
Caden’s apartments were on the second level of the villa. Seth took Pearl up the same flight of stairs that led into the fox den. This opened up into a wide landing that ran down the front of the villa, with several doors branching out. The east of the hallway consisted of row upon row of windows, facing the front of the property. It was too dark to make out anything except a few lights scattered throughout the property, two of which could possibly have been the gates at the entrance of the gravel drive.
Seth led her past two doors before pausing in front of a third and knocking. There was a murmured invitation for them to enter.
The room was more an apartment: there was a large living area, half of which had been converted into a study, and screen doors blocked out what Pearl could only assume was a massive bedroom.
There was a flat-screen television bolted to the wall, but it was black and dead. The sofas and coffee table arranged around it looked unused.
Caden sat at a desk almost as large as the one in his office downstairs. He had his back to them but held up a solitary finger as they entered the room and kept it there for several seconds.
“Fucking Pomodoros,” Seth muttered.
Pearl glanced at him, but he was scowling at Caden’s back and didn’t seem to notice her confusion.
Somewhere in the bedroom, a fire popped and crackled. As if the sound had been an alarm, Caden clacked on his keyboard a last time and rose smoothly from his padded chair.
“Seth, drink?” Caden asked.
“Got to get Opal ready,” Seth said with a sigh, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyelids. “Maybe later.”
Caden turned his head and flicked his fingers toward the door.
“Will have to be tomorrow then. I have an early meeting with those idiots from the city council.”
Seth nodded once and left the room, giving Pearl a suggestion of a smile before closing the door behind him.
When she turned back to Caden, he was standing less than a foot from her. She jerked, taking a step back before she could stop herself. He still wore his hipster glasses, studying her through them as if she was some rare species of tree frog.
“Hi,” she said.
His eyes roved her body for a few seconds longer, and then he seemed to snap out whatever thought process he’d been following.
“Cherry soda?” Caden said in his quiet voice as he turned from her and headed for a bar fridge set beside a coffee station on the other end of the room.
“Sure. Why not.”
Caden made himself a complicated coffee, or latte, or whatever at the coffee station and returned with can and steaming cup in hand. He motioned toward one of the pristine sofas. Pearl took the soda from him and sat, peering at him over the top of the can as he took a seat diagonally across from her. Setting down his cup, Caden tugged free the hair band holding his topknot in place. Pearl watched him through her lashes as his hair cascaded to his shoulders in messy waves before he tamed it back up with his long-fingered hands. He’d obviously had the hairstyle for a while: the entire process took less than ten seconds.
He savored his coffee for a few minutes, not speaking, eyes focused on something internal. Pearl didn’t break the silence, concentrating instead on making as little noise as possible while sipping on her soda. Other than the crackling fire, there wasn’t a sound in the room. He must have switched off his computer too because even that hum had been canceled from the environment.
After another fierce pop from the hidden fire, Caden set down his coffee cup.
“Not an avid conversationalist, are we?” he said.
Pearl took another quick sip of soda before replying. “Nope.”
Caden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and tangling his fingers together. This hiked up his shirtsleeves, revealing the faded tattoos on his right hand and arm. Surprisingly, the left arm didn’t appear to have anything inked on it.
His thick, dark brows transformed the blue of his eyes to the shade of an ocean pool. He needed a shave. Perhaps he thought shaving once a week was more efficient than shaving every day.
“It’s a pity that I have to miss your first scene tomorrow, even if you won’t be participating.”
Pearl’s cheeks grew warm. She tried to look away, but Caden commanded absolute attention, his eyes trapping hers.
“Unlike Seth, I don’t believe in all that bullshit about aftercare and subspace and whatever the fuck else he goes on about on a daily basis. But I do believe in consent. It’s the cornerstone of what we do at the Fox Pit. Our recruits are all willing, consensual women.” His fingers spread apart slightly. “Even though it doesn’t always look that way.”
He sat back on the couch, hands sliding into his lap. Was he waiting for a response? What the hell was she supposed to say to that?
“Uh… okay. Good to know, I guess.”
Caden nodded slightly. “Which is why I need you to know that you can come to me if you ever feel like anyone is violating your trust or overstepping your consensual boundaries.”
Pearl shifted on the sofa, her fingers tightening over the soda can.
“Okay,” she said.
“You understand what I’m saying?” Caden frowned slightly.
A wriggle of anger flared up inside Pearl. God, this guy was condescending as all fuck. She had an intense urge to slap him.
The soda can went crump in her hand, and she hurriedly relaxed her grip.
“It’s like at the club,” she said. “If a customer gets too personal, I call the bouncer, right? You’re the bouncer.”
Caden snorted softly. “A charming comparison. Yes, I suppose I am.” He washed a hand down his chest. “I certainly don’t look it, but that is definitely what I am.”
He stood, moving smoothly and silently, and beckoned toward Pearl as he turned to the bedroom.
“I was, of course, referring to our guests, Miss Buchanan.” He smiled coldly at her. “The owners of the Fox Pit, myself included, can technically do what we want with you.”
Pearl opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a soft laugh.
“It’s in your contract. Which I sincerely hope you had a lawyer look over before signing.”
She rose stiffly, brushing down her dress with more violence than it required. Caden watched her through his spectacles with those blue eyes of his and frowned when she didn’t move. He tipped his wrist, tapping once at the glass disk of his watch.
“Make haste.”
Pearl forced herself forward with legs of rusting metal. Caden led her into the bedroom, where a fire growled in the vast marble fireplace. Opposite, a king-size bed with a velvety, copper duvet and pillowcases waited.
It looked as unused as the sofas.
Pearl’s stomach turned into a ball of cold lead. So this was it. She felt light-headed, her skin prickling with anticipation.
Caden led her to the foot of the bed. There, a footstool upholstered in velvet — the same shade as the duvet cover — waited. He sat on it, and she frowned at him.
“Am I correct in assuming that you gave lap dances at The Doll House?”
Pearl’s heart trembled in her chest. She managed a nod, but that panicky feeling had brought its friends, cold skin and numb lips, to the party.
As if in explanation, Caden gave his long-fingered hand a dismissive flick.
“I was a club manager before I owned my first club. Anyway—” he gave his head a small shake and slowly took off his glasses “—I would often indulge in them, lap dances that is, when recruiting new staff. I felt it was an integral part of the position. And it was important to me that I made sure my managers hired good staff. You see… a good lap dance is telling of a girl’s experience, enthusiasm, and creativity.”
As if the monolog had exhausted him, Caden let out a sigh and sat back against the footboard of the enormous bed. His legs were wide apart, taking up most of the footstool, and he’d hooked his ankles together under him.
