by Sean Michael
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Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2007 by Sean Michael
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Prologue
The Velvet Glove was the galaxy's premier BDSM club and had only the best of everything. They had tops and bottoms, whip-wielders and nipple clampers. Piercers, tattoo artists, students of every erotic art form imaginable. They had a badass top to oversee it all and a sweet fluttery bird to soothe feathers and keep everything running smoothly. There were masseuses and therapists and a medical doctor who took care of injuries.
And then there was him.
Dr. Bertoli Lutrell.
He had a medical degree, true enough, and he was a legitimate doctor, but he'd left the practice of medicine behind and instead was now one of the best tops at the Velvet Glove. He knew his own brand of topping was very intense, less whip-y and beat-y and more internally physical. Enemas, sounds, electrical shocks. These were the tools of his scenes. He would top for a very particular kind of sub. And he was good at it. Quite good at it, in fact. He really doubted there was anyone better.
Lutrell was a tall man, with short, short, almost white hair, and a short beard to match. He was thin—some would say gaunt—and his eyes were a piercing light blue, intense. When Lutrell looked at you, you believed he saw you.
He was also terribly happy to be doing what he did where he chose to do it. Life, for Lutrell, was a celebration, with pleasure and pain and intensity, need and fulfillment as party gifts.
Today he was going to see Kestrel, his list of needs written out. He giggled as he walked along the pristine corridor, going over the list. Perhaps he should order another gross of enema tubing. Yes, yes, one could never have too much.
Kestrel fluttered about, hands filled with three commpads. Still, when Lutrell appeared, he received a warm, friendly smile, Kestrel waving him in to sit, the amazing, multi-colored hair fascinating Lutrell. “Good day, dear! So nice to see you smiling."
Lutrell chuckled softly. He loved his work. Very, very much. Smiling was something he had no trouble doing. “Good day to you, Kestrel. You look busy. Do you have time for me today? I don't need a lot of it."
"Always.” Little liar. Kestrel's time was more precious than gold. “How can I help you?"
"I have my list of requirements to be ordered.” He handed the pad over with a little giggle. “I like to be well-stocked. Just in case, you know?” Yes, just in case someone special happened along. Really, although most of the men he saw were curious as to the pleasures he could bring, very few saw him more than a time or two.
"Of course, dear. I'll have everything you need sent immediately. I did wish to speak with you, while you're here. There's a man ... A rather...” Kestrel's lips pursed. “I'm really not sure how to put it, honestly. But Mal asked for you to free a forty-eight hour period and come see him."
"Oh?” Lutrell moved to the edge of his seat, butterflies fluttering inside. “A man with the kind of needs only I can fulfill?"
"That is what Mal believes, yes. He was matched with a sub and it went ... disastrously."
"Well, two subs together would be a disaster.” Lutrell tilted his head, brain working furiously. A reluctant sub. Possibly a sub who didn't even know he was a sub. How very intriguing. “A forty-eight hour period, yes? I do believe I can accommodate Mal immediately."
Kestrel offered him a very real smile. “You are a joy, Lutrell. Always. Shall I tell Mal you're on your way to him, or shall I have them meet you in your quarters?"
"Oh, I'll go see Mal.” He gave a little giggle. “I'm intrigued now, you see, and don't want to have to wait."
He stood and gave Kestrel a quick, awkward hug. He was not the type for physical affection; he'd once heard a man describe hugging him as being held in the embrace of a skeleton. “I may have a few items to add to my list after meeting this mystery man, Kestrel. I'll let you know."
Kestrel didn't seem the least disgusted by him, kissing his cheek and smiling. “Please do. I'll make up your order tonight."
"Thank you, thank you.” He nodded and chuckled and left Kestrel's little office, making his way the short distance to Mal's. The two offices were close, good for both business and for the friendship the two men had. It was one of the things Lutrell liked best about the Glove—the genuine affection the staff and members seemed to hold for one another.
For the most part, anyway. There were certain disciplines that were most definitely not natural bed partners.
Lutrell knocked on the door. One did not simply barge into Mal's office.
"Enter.” Mal sounded—not furious, but frustrated. Incredibly frustrated.
Lutrell wondered if that was his sub who was giving Mal such grief, or one of the many other trouble makers that made the Velvet Glove their home. It had him giggling again, thinking about how many subs had that mischievous streak in them.
He was still giggling slightly as opened the door.
Ice blue eyes stared at him. “Is something funny?"
He pressed his lips together to stop more giggles. Oh, dear, Mal was in a mood. “Just something I was thinking.” He tilted his head in Mal's direction in a nod of greeting. “Good morning. Kestrel said you would like to see me."
"Yes. Yes, we have a client that I believe you are well suited for, given his background and his habits.” Mal typed a moment, then handed him a datapad.
Dent Farre. Lutrell skimmed through the information, finding that Dent was a large man, former owner of Cyberlines and Farre Industries. Currently retired at the age of thirty-four. He'd come and visited over one hundred times, never spending the night, never having sex. Each sub paired with him had the same, steady complaint—a constant anger and frustration that never eased.
He raised an eyebrow. “It took you this long to figure out the man wasn't a top?” He was surprised. Mal was usually very perceptive, could peg a man in one session, two, maybe three if the man was reticent. Of course, obviously Dent was in denial himself or he wouldn't have been asking for submissives.
"He's a personal friend of the big boss and wasn't a full member until last cycle.” Ah, so not really Mal's problem and a powerful man at that. Interesting. “Once he gained membership and unlimited access, he floated into my radar."
That made far more sense. “And once he did, you recognized the problem right away, of course. May I ask why you believe he would be more interested in my talents as opposed to some other Dom's?"
"I don't. I don't think he's interested at all.” Mal's words were firm, sure. “I think he'll fight you and threaten and bluster. I know you won't care. I know he has an incredible pain tolerance, so there won't be relief for him there. And I have inside information that shows he has certain inclinations toward your specialties. Visits to private clinics, purchases for use at home."
"Oh, a challenge!” Lutrell only barely managed to keep from giggling happily, from clapping his hands together eagerly. “I do enjoy a good challenge, Mal. Thank you. Kestrel mentioned something about clearing my calendar for forty eight hours and as it happens, I have the next two days open."
"Excellent. Dent has the main suite in the 43rd floor. Do you want him there or in your quarters? He's with the boss right now."
Lutrell tilted his head. “Will the boss be ... interfering in how I deal with Dent?�
�� It would not make things easier for Dent if he could run to Hercules anytime he was unhappy with being treated as a sub, which Lutrell suspected would be often.
"Hercules is the one who brought your name up first. He won't be involved. If Dent stays, what happens between you will be handled as would any other club pairing."
"Excellent.” If he was going to be undercut by the man, he needed to know it from the start. “I will have him at my quarters, then.” Dent needed to be thrown off balance, forced to look into himself and discover what was hidden there. That wasn't going to happen where the man was comfortable. Besides, it would give Dent a safe place to hide out in. “What will he have been told about me, about what to expect between us?"
Mal's lips twisted, the look amused. “That you have been hand-selected for him."
"And that's it? The man is coming to me believing that I am a sub for him?” Oh, he would soon put a stop to that notion.
"You wanted a challenge, something beyond the pale. You have it."
Lutrell laughed. “Be careful what you wish for, yes?” He nodded, laughter giving way to soft giggles. “Thank you, Mal. I will do my best to give Dent what he needs."
"You will be very successful, in time.” Mal winked. “I expect a full report, please. Hercules will be interested."
Lutrell giggled happily. “Indeed. We have forty eight hours, yes? You will have my report and recommendations at the end of that time. You will have him delivered to my quarters?"
Mal nodded. “Good luck. I suspect you'll have your hands full. He's ... used to taking what he wants."
"Aren't they all, Mal?” Lutrell cackled and headed out, going back to his quarters, mind full of plans and ideas. He giggled some more, and rubbed his hands together.
He was a very lucky man.
Chapter One
"You do realize it is altogether too early for an appointment, Mal?” Dent had been having a perfectly adequate breakfast with Hercules, chatting about business and investments. Really, Hercules was quite brilliant with money already, but with only a little help, the man could be untouchable.
"Yes, but boss’ orders.” Mal moved quickly, datacomm going off thirty times on the short walk from the lift to a door, where they stopped. Hercules did hire the most efficient staff.
"Who is it I'm meeting?” He wasn't really in the mood to play with any little blinky fools today. Last night's catastrophe had let him dissatisfied and growly, muscles tight and aching. The lad had been willing enough, but the constant toadying aggravated him.
The door opened the moment Mal knocked, forestalling any answer. The man who stood in the open doorway was tall and skinny, with short, short white hair and twinkling light blue eyes. “You must be Dent. I have been expecting you! Come in. Come in.” The man sounded as if he were about to break out into laughter.
Oh, excellent. A lunatic. Just what he needed. “Good morning. I am Dent, yes, and you are?"
Mal nodded to the looney, smiled. “I'll have to leave you here, Dent. If you need anything, let me know."
"We'll be just fine, Mal, thank you.” The lunatic did laugh, the sound soft, and then the man turned to him. “Come in, come in. I am Dr. Lutrell. We'll work out what you should call me in the next two days.” Lutrell stood back. “Don't just stand there, come in! Come in!"
"A doctor? This seems an odd profession for a physician.” He stepped in, actually having to look up at the man. Odd, for him.
"There are many who think it is an odd profession, full stop. Though I no longer practice medicine, I must admit to a fondness for the title.” Lutrell closed the door and put his hand on the palm lock. “Come and sit, we will get to know each other, put a few ground rules into place."
One of his eyebrows raised. Pushy little lunatic. Still, Hercules asked him to give the man at least an hour and his word was gold.
Lutrell laughed softly and sat on a large sofa with big cushions. The low table in front of it was a dark cherry, smooth and shining. There was a tray on it, two glasses along with a pitcher of what looked like juice, and a plate of sliced fruit.
"Sit! Eat! Be comfortable.” The man giggled again. “It may be your last chance to do either for awhile."
"Pardon me?” The giggling was quite unnerving. Surely Hercules wouldn't offer him someone truly mad?
"Dent. Surely you understand simple requests? Sit down. Partake of the juice and fruit I have on offer.” Lutrell frowned suddenly. “You aren't simple, are you? Mal didn't mention..."
"I assure you I am fully in control of my mental faculties.” His lips pursed and he took a single slow breath. “Please, tell me about yourself.” He poured himself a bit of juice, trying to force himself to relax.
Lutrell also poured out some juice, holding the glass in a large hand that was surprisingly delicate. Well, probably not surprisingly, as the man was apparently a doctor. A piece of fruit was speared, a dark green citrus, and Lutrell shivered and laughed as he ate it.
"Oh, I do like the sour ones! First, I believe we should get one important formality out of the way. What is your safeword, my dear?"
His safeword? Wasn't it supposed to work the other way? How very odd. What would he use ... He remembered his nurse's voice suddenly, pottering around his room in the night, saving him from the dark. “I haven't been asked that before. I suppose it would be nightlight."
"Oh, how wonderful!” Lutrell beamed at him and ate another piece of fruit. “So you want to know about me? I am a doctor of medicine, but I do not practice anymore. I must say I prefer what I do here. I have a narrow specialty, but I believe it's very fulfilling.” Lutrell suddenly started giggling madly. “Fulfilling! Oh, that was a good one."
"I ... Did you not enjoy medicine?” He checked his chrono. He would have to beg out early. The man was quite mad.
The laughing faded. “Oh, I enjoyed medicine well enough, but not as much as I enjoy what I do here. What I did in the past did not satisfy me. But tell me about yourself. Mal has spoken of much dissatisfaction, and yet you keep returning. Some part of you knows that you will find what you need here."
"I am recently retired—actually, I imagine I'll start something new soon. Retirement doesn't suit me. And I have been a friend of Herc's for many years. I have spent some time with Mal's boys. They are a talented bunch.” He reached out, poured a touch more juice. “So what is your specialty? Herc didn't have time to explain your preferences before his morning meeting."
"My specialty is directly related to my career. Enemas, electric shock, sounds. It is very similar to what many others do, but with that medical flair. A purer form of filling body cavities, really, if you ask me.” Lutrell smiled, hand dropping casually to his lap, doing nothing to hide the erection that was pushing at Lutrell's white scrub pants.
He blinked and put the glass down, his heart pounding suddenly. “I believe there's been a mistake."
"Oh, no, I think you are exactly where you should be. And I think that deep down, you know it, too.” Lutrell chuckled. “But why talk about it? Come. Come, to my playroom and I will show you. Then you will know. You will understand what your body needs."
He shook his head, blood rushing in his ears. “I'm not who you're looking for.” Not at all. Not. God, what had Hercules found out about him?
"Do you always make such snap decisions?” Lutrell chuckled and stood. “Come along to the playroom. We'll see if I am what you are looking for."
He stood, intending to head for the door, to march straight to Herc's quarters and insist that there had been a mistake. A terrible mistake.
Lutrell turned down the hall, seeming to assume that he was following, that he was right behind the lanky form. The man stopped at a door and looked back at him, a twinkle in his eye. “You aren't scared, are you?"
"Excuse me? I'm not sure what kind of game Mal and you are playing, but I'm not in the mood.” His stomach felt tight as a board.
"Game?” Lutrell giggled. “Please. This is my life, Dent. I may have fun, but that doesn
't mean I'm treating it like a game. Oh, no. And we may call what we do scenes, games, playing, but we all know how serious we are about it, don't we? I certainly do. I know Mal does. Now, if you're scared, let me know and if you're not, get over here.” There was a thread of steel in those last words.
He growled under his breath, puffing up, hands curled into fists. He grabbed his comm, shook his head. “I need to speak to Herc."
"No.” The word was simple, that steel becoming even more apparent. “Hercules asked me specifically to see you. You will not insult me, or him, by questioning his choice."
He met that steel with a pure fire of his own. “And if this is a mistake? Another pointless waste of my time? You seem to think I'm just a spineless toady, but I assure you, I am not."
"When did I say I thought you spineless? You are hesitant, and therefore I need to know if you're scared. Many are, because they don't understand. I would explain, ease your fears somewhat. And I do not confuse fear with spinelessness.” Lutrell shook his head and came over. “Dent. Come. Lie on my table. Let us see where I can take you."
He blinked, completely confused. “This isn't what is supposed to happen. There has been a mistake."
Lutrell laughed softly. “My dear. How long have you been coming here? What usually happens has not been working for you. I know what you need. The mistakes are over.” Lutrell's hand slid around his arm, the touch deceptively gentle and he was led toward the room Lutrell wanted him to enter.
He should have pulled away and pushed the skinny lunatic down. He would have, had his head not been filled with a dozen arguments, each one trying to be louder than the others.
He was led into a simple room, the walls painted a very lovely blue, the only furniture an operating table. “You will lie there,” Lutrell told him, twinkle back in the lunatic's eyes.
"No.” He stared at the table with equal parts confusion, worry and fascination. “That looks ... no."
"It is more comfortable than it appears, but not so comfortable you'll fall asleep or forget where you are.” Lutrell led him right over to the table. “Up you get."
