“That’s not going to happen,” she mutters, “I won’t be your sex toy.”
“Well.” He affects that subtle shrug again. “Who is to say I want your other … talents? Yes, you’ve done some good work for me in the past, and if I need that, I’ll contact you, pay you real money, but I did not ask you here. You came here wanting something from me.”
“Macar, listen.” She actually scoots a tad closer, and though there is a desk between them, she is sure he picks up on it. Therese is quite sincere in her bid and also quite sincere in setting the boundaries she is unwilling to cross to get it. “This is also good work, okay? I want help in stopping child prostitution. This could be good for you, too.”
“And how is that?” he retorts, his demeanor becoming a shade more serious, “You want me to stir up organized criminals and the police?”
“I’m not going after corrupt cops here.”
“Come on, Therese, don’t be so naïve. If this sort of thing is brought to light, it makes the police look bad, because they were either in on it or too dumb to know it was happening and put a stop to it.”
“Okay, okay, but what if I told you I have a contact in the department, and we can feed everything to them, and they’ll make the hard moves, the real bust.”
“Hmmm …” It seems he is about to say more, but he stops, and she sees that look she wants to see, the one that means his veneer of trying to score has been punctured, and now the real curiosity and drive has been hooked.
She knows there is a reason he is successful at what he does, that he is willing to take on risky, even questionably legal work. Beneath it all, there is some good to the man. He ruminates for a brief moment, then his dark eyes snap back to her.
“Are you telling me this?”
She nods.
“Alright, hmmm. You … hmmm. If I do this, and you choose your currency to pay me, then I will need a lot of work from you. Not just your help on this but many other things.”
“How much?”
“I’ll let you know.” He shifts back to that grin.
“No, unh-uh.” She shakes her head slowly, eyes drilled into his. “I won’t become your indentured servant, either, then you’ll just end up trying to coerce me into some early buy-out with sex.”
“Therese,” he says, his voice drawing on the word, “Would it be so bad? Why are you so against it? I’m not bad at it, mmm?”
“It’s nothing personal, Macar,” she somewhat lies, but she hopes there is enough truth and sincerity to sell it, “I’m just not interested, especially not like that. It’s too much like prostitution.”
He narrows his eyes, flesh crinkling, as though he thinks she may indeed be lying, or he just can’t believe what he hears.
“Against your moral code? Is that it?”
“I do have one, Macar, and so do you.”
“Eh,” and the hands part again, “I guess you’re right.”
A moment passes, both sizing each other up, neither willing to budge at this point, and he finally speaks.
“What do you propose, then?”
“You’ve paid me before, so we’ve negotiated a rate. I’ll work for you to pay back whatever your bill would be for the work you do for me.”
“Ah, well, yes, I guess that makes sense.”
“All documented and legitimate,” she pushes.
He unfurls a full-on smirk at this.
“You are serious.” He looks upon her steadily, and she nods. “Alright, then, full rates, nothing held back. You will get a tab as if you are a rich client, and then you will pay me back … in full.”
“Okay.”
“Good,” he says after a moment, “I’ll have something drawn up, then.”
She blinks.
“You said all documented and legit, didn’t you?”
She nods.
“Then it will be, and if you don’t pay me back, I’ll just go through the legal system.”
“It’s not going to come to that, Macar,” she quips.
She knows he has hit her in a weak spot, for she has had trouble in the past, and though things have been alright for a while, she wouldn’t want the system to feel like they need to pay undue attention to her. He knows some of that, too, so he is telling her what might lie in store if she tries to take advantage of him. She has no intent to do that, but she won’t be taken advantage of, either.
“Good,” he speaks, tasting the word, “Now, tell me your plan. What is it you want to do?”
*****
The venue is a large warehouse, cleaned up sufficiently, decorated, and furnished for the event. Darkness and light both serve to accentuate and hide, giving suggestive hints to the imagination. The place occupies many cubic meters, the ceilings in most areas quite high, though the main room boasts the most open space, along with a large dance floor, the surface sparsely interrupted by small, raised areas for the more adventurous or exhibitionist. All in all, there are three main ‘rooms’, connected by throughways and some short passages, along with two other smaller chambers. One of the smaller rooms is a VIP area, one which garners access through purchase or being granted such privilege. They have the benefit of such use, though thus far they have only passed through it to see what it holds, spending little time there as the evening has developed.
They have gone through some drinks, he slowing his pace due to her own general savoring of spirits, but he has spent most of the evening drinking in the site of her. She wears a black latex dress, one that is very short, cut low across her bosom, the bra beneath doing more to give tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. Her arms are bare, as are her legs, going down into the black, quite tall, spike heels, the platform shoe entirely covering her toes and heel, a single strap about the ankle to add to the fit and appearance. She also wears a thin collar, black leather, simple, elegant and well made, customized for her, the inside of it baring a soft, comfortable lining, the O-ring dangling in front not overly large, the silver metal polished and gleaming, resting like an invitation over the crook of her collarbone.
They stand very close to each other, and he slowly glides a curled index finger down along her arm, completing the touch by turning his hand and gripping it about her slender wrist. She smiles at him, bashfully, but not overly so, the expression also coquettish. Even after all this time, she is not entirely comfortable in this skin, but then, they do not get out to events like this very often. She wants this, but there is still an anxiousness to it. She does it for them both, but were it not for his behest, it would not happen at all.
He wears all black, bespoke button-down shirt over tailored pants. The cufflinks in his shirt are of black onyx, the oval-shaped jewels a shimmering invitation to mirrored depths surrounded by intricately-patterned white gold. He does not wear tie or jacket, though he does carry a length of very delicate chain, the links quite small, though the integrity of the metal is above reproach. For now, the item hides away in his pocket, awaiting use.
He leans in, kissing her neck, just above the collar, her vibrant red hair out in all its glory, given extra flair with wave and curl, and he gently nudges it aside with his attentions, lips pressing slowly, savoring over that delicate flesh. He moves up beside the nape, then toward her ear, before pulling back, gazing upon her. She returns it, the smile still on her elegant lips, painted a rich, dark red for this evening’s outing. Her pale flesh is flushed somewhat, and he relishes the sight of it on her, relishes their proximity. She moves a bit, adjusting herself, causing a light, creaking noise of the material of her very tight dress.
There are many here at the Ball. The various modes of dress range from those in very fine suit and tie and quite elegant cocktail gowns to those in more daring, brightly colored outfits that show an exuberant flair even in this environ. Some even harken to something more futuristic or fey. The purpose of the gathering is a celebration of the fetish and BDSM subcultures, and thus does the myriad of clothing choices and displays reflect that sumptuous and exotic buffet.
�
�Are you ready, Pet?” Skothiam asks.
Lilja’s expression changes by miniscule degrees, but he notices it. She experiences fear at the thought. He knows she has courage, though, in many ways that go well beyond anything anyone else at this ball ever has to face, but this does test her. He is gracious that she seeks so within herself for them both. She nods, and the manner of the subtle expression is a sizzling lure to him.
“If you want,” she says.
“I do,” he states with even measure, returning her gaze, letting the moment linger, and he notices the taut poise of her anticipation.
He then brings forth the chain, one end a clasp, the other a finely-crafted, leather strap, and he attaches it to the O-ring at her collar, then slipping the fingers of his right hand through the hooped material, holding the end of the leash with a casual assurance. He does not pull the metal, does nothing to overtly humiliate her, just holds the connection which now exists in physical manifestation between them.
He continues watching her, noticing an increase to the rise and fall of her chest, a deepening of the lovely flush to her skin. He waits, letting her experience this. She looks about, but her eyes always return to him. He notices as she averts them, looking down, still reeling under the experience of being leashed in public in this manner, then she blinks them back up to him.
The assortment of winking lights and sultrier, ambient illuminations catch in those eyes. He could drown in them, such are their depths, openness, and the nigh crystalline variations in the colors. It all appears subtle, but one need only study them to see how remarkable they are, how they may so transparently show her soul.
“If it becomes too much, you need only say the word, and I will unlatch the leash,” he says, his tone one of care, not taunting.
She nods. “I know.”
“Good. It’s important that you know.”
A shuddering breath passes through her, a sensation of strength and pleasure that comes from the realization of what transpires between them, what they grant one another, and what they help each other understand of themselves.
“Skot,” she all but whispers, “you make me feel sexy.”
He grins at this, the curve of his pleasant expression rising a few degrees, and she returns it with yet another shy smile, as though somewhat embarrassed at what she has felt and revealed to him. He brings his face closer, whispering in her ear.
“I find you highly desirable.”
She feels another warming wave cascade through her, remaining almost perfectly still as he has come so close from an already near position. Her eyes flick over to him as he pulls back, her lips held in a straight line, her aspect one of openness and trust along with a barely concealed excitement. What will he now do with her?
Take a walk, it seems, and he begins to slowly move away. The distance increases, the chain quickly losing its slack. There is anxious thought that she may not move, but finally she does, going somewhat rapidly to catch up. He keeps his pace slow, a meandering, casually exploratory gait. She is shorter than he, and the foot wear, though elegant and enticing in aesthetic, is not something she is used to, but she manages very well.
They cut across the main floor, and for a short moment of illogical panic, she thinks he might be leading her to dance. She enjoys dancing, has had some formal training in it, but not under these circumstances. She just as quickly thinks that he might just hold her close as they move, and she finds this a nice idea, but his continued heading shows he does not intend to stop here.
They pass by a couple of tables set back away from the main area. These are being used as a small market of sorts, wares displayed in as elegant a way as possible under such temporary arrangements. She sees that he glances briefly that way, but they still do not pause. They turn left and enter a large hallway, one that is not as well lit, painted black. The end of it may be spied none too far away, an opening heading into the adjoining chamber. Two doors hold place on the right side.
Once a few paces inside, he stops, turning to face her. She looks up at him, eyes curious but still open, patient, trusting. He gently guides her the short distance to the wall, placing her back to it, but he does not press her up against that surface. He keeps the contact, one hand on her upper arm, the other still holding the end of the leash, and he leans in, turning his head to place a deep kiss upon her lips.
She pulls in a breath, almost as though drawing him closer with it, even as it displays her sense of rising excitement. Their mouths meet, the yielding flesh pressing together, warm breath exchanged, and she feels his tongue seeking into her mouth with a direct insistence. She responds, though more passively, subservient, offering herself in a way she thinks he desires. She feels as his hand grips slowly tighter about her arm, and she experiences a heightening of arousal within herself, a warming.
He eventually pulls back, still holding that languid pace, and their eyes lock. His expression is one of calm, though very pointed arousal, confident. She returns it, holding the gaze, though that hot creep of blushing rises up along her neck, jaw, and to her ears. She pulls another breath in through her nose, blinking. He finds her expression so honest and charming. Then he turns, resuming their traverse of the hallway, and she follows.
“Skot?”
He pauses, glancing at her, eyebrows perking slightly. He sees her eyes move right to those doors then back to him.
“May I use the restroom? I’ll be back soon. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” He unhooks the latch, and she gives another of her beautiful, little smiles and heads inside.
He knows that though there are two doors, either visibly indicated for a gender, the adherence and enforcement to such at events like this is fairly relaxed. He would be fine escorting her into the ladies’ room, even daring enough to go with her into the stall, but he knows she is not comfortable with that, so he awaits her here.
As though to prove his point, two males walk out after some minutes have passed. They share smirks, and he is left to wonder what they may be talking about, what they may have been up to in the ladies’ water closet. They are both rather young, one quite bulky with short hair, and the other is slighter of build and height, wearing his hair long. They give him no notice, moving on to other areas of the building.
He begins to feel worry as he waits. He knows he is being anxious, and there are others obviously inside. He also knows that Lilja is well capable of taking care of herself, but each passing minute leads him to debate with himself if he ought to go in and check on her.
When she finally emerges, he experiences a very noticeable relaxation and relief, a stark awareness of how tense he had become. He smiles at her, and she walks up to him, stopping before him, chin raised, dutifully waiting to be hooked, but he notices something seems tense in her. He pauses as he raises his hand to affix the latch.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she says after snapping her eyes back to his, but he knows, and the cast of his eyes presents the further inquiry. “There were two guys in there kind of bothering someone. They were giving her crap.”
“What?” His own worry spikes again, but this time for a different reason. “I’m surprised that happened here.”
She screws up her lips, shaking her head slightly, and she continues, “It wasn’t physical, but it was obvious. She was trying to ignore it, but I could tell it bothered her. I was pondering intervening, but they left.”
“Two guys,” he says, “One taller, bigger, had short, dark hair? The other had long, blondish hair in a ponytail?”
“Yeah. You saw them?”
“Yes, and … well,” he starts, pausing, and she gives him a look of concern. “They didn’t seem ‘right’, like two guys joking with each other as they leave a crime scene, though that’s horribly judgmental of me to say, but I got a little anxious about you.”
“Aww.” She moves in closer, slipping her arms about his waist, and he returns the embrace as she snugs in, then tilts her face up, and they exchange a qu
ick kiss. “I’m sorry to make you worry.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well,” she adds, a devilish grin taking her lush lips, “If they had been screwing with me, they would have regretted it.”
“Lily,” he playfully chides.
“What?” she jokes back, “I wouldn’t have hurt them too bad, just some pain to their prides.”
“Right.” Skot smirks.
He then moves away the barest bit, bringing up the clasp in hand, showing it to her, and she acquiesces, moving her hair out of the way as sign of this, though it is hardly a real obstruction. He reattaches the leash, and her demeanor changes, as though she has shifted back into that submissive role they both desire. He smiles, then turns, leading her through the hallway and into the next room.
There is another bar off in the corner, the small area surrounding by a dense crowd of people, leaving the remainder of the room relatively spacious. It may give one to think that the tiny locale around the serving area is its own microcosm, a very different and pressing experience compared to that which is only a few meters away. There is also an area obviously intended for dancing, though at present the people upon it are giving a somewhat artistically choreographed display of some basic BDSM activities. Some of the scantily-clad bodies are bound, some of those receiving the attention of spanking or other devices. Lights gleam off the tight, shiny coverings of latex, giving hints of the vibrancy that the general lack of illumination enshrouds, almost as though the people wear candy shells.
There are various seating offerings along much of the wall, some couches, and even some booths, and he spies one that is vacant, somewhat close to the bar but not of such a proximity as to perhaps warrant avoidance due to the smattering of people. He walks her into the partially enclosed section, sitting in the middle of the bench. She remains standing, looking down at him, and he is pleased with her behavior. He glances down, and she sits on the floor at his feet, nuzzling in close to him. He begins to pet gently over her luxurious hair, also touching of her neck and shoulder.
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