i stand and brush out the creases in my jeans, hoping damp palms aren’t betrayed. He waves me ahead toward the dreaded stairs. They’re the worst kind, open slats spiraling into open air. He senses my hesitation.
“Change your mind? Tell me now while I’m feeling generous. Otherwise, up you go.”
If he’s a switch as i suspect, at least he’s sounding like a reasonably firm dom. That’s good. i don’t do well in the hands of wannabes, testing them until they overcompensate.
So, up i go. Shaky and slow i progress, hanging onto the handrail with a death grip.
i actually feel better at the top, staring at the narrow causeway with slightly unfocused eyes. His big hand at my back steadies my gait. i’m startled when the harsh voice, so different from Neil’s, carries over my shoulder.
“This way.”
From downstairs the cubicle appeared dark. Now i see the construction is all smoky mirrors. He opens the door and two-way surfaces make the furniture appear to float in mid air. My heart drops three stories to be kicked about by the gyrating dancers below.
A very dim desk lamp barely lights the inside, gaudy flashes from without upholding the secret of this observation room. i see the bartender ascending, haughtily weaving past patrons. She carries a tray bearing delicate crystal stemware and an ominously labeled bottle.
Absinthiana will allow the one pouring to artfully decant the strong, green liquor over sugar cutes. Sweetness will balance out the bitter wormwood nicely. i know because i used to regularly imbibe in the chic beverage before Master revoked alcohol from my privileges. He called my recovery the twelve volt program.
After nearly nineteen months as a teetotaler, more than a sip will get me drunker than a skunk. i calculate how to avoid a bad scene, either here now or later at home. i’ve had no valuable epiphany before a soft knock announces the opening of the glass door.
“That was fast,” Don praises his employee. “Put it on the edge of the desk, please, Rhonnie. You can go. I’ll pour.”
He turns to me, indicating i should sit. Okay. Feeling relieved, i’d expected to serve him and doubt my ability to manage. i woozily take the closest seat.
“Mouse? Is everything all right? You don’t look well.”
What do i say? He shocks me by stepping close and kneeling before me. That’s my place.
“All right. I confess. I guessed who you were the moment I saw you waffling about whether or not to come inside. You’re that jerk Neil Bryce’s toy. Aren’t you?”
“What?”
How dare he? My heart palpitates. What do i say to that?
“That’s okay. Don’t feel you need to say anything. You met me fleetingly before your disappearance. I had just moved here in hopes of owning my own business. What I wanted more than this joint was you. Then you fell off the face of the earth.”
“i’ve been busy,” i hedge.
“As a domestic slave? A shut-in? Rumors abound, Mouse. I’ve been dying for a way to get to you. Now you show up tonight at my door like a wet dream come true? I must have built up some good karma.”
Demanding fingers twine my hair, a delicious pain. Due to ingrained subservience i don’t try to pull away from his lips.
His tongue fills my mouth, forcing me to open wide. i hadn’t planned on an oral attack. Being roughed up and fucked? Yes. But this?
i hadn’t counted on a kiss.
Out of surprise and a lack of instruction i don’t really respond, just accepting more than anything. i quickly learn that my laidback tendency displeases him.
He jerks my head sideways and tears spring to my eyes. Yes. This is why i’m risking everything.
“Rules. If I kiss you, you will kiss me back. Any recent surgeries I should know about?”
“No.”
“Medications?”
“No. It’s just…”
“What? I presume we can’t have any marks for your master to find. That’s no problem. I’m very good at covering my tracks, Mouse.”
He scrapes a nail across my nipple through ivory suede. i had a whole outfit custom made long before Neil made me quit my lucrative job. He told me to throw the garments out. i didn’t, though i couldn’t wear the blue leather pants here.
What would surprise him and quite possibly forfeit my honor of serving in his home is the fact I’ve got a safe house with my old pal Zsa Zsa. She’s my best friend. Supporting a friend through gender reassignment apparently earns extreme loyalty
Her encouragement is the one thing that got me this far tonight. The unused doghouse in her backyard hides my plastic bin of old clothes, a favor i don’t take lightly.
Don slaps me. i blink, less startled than content.
“I asked you what was the matter. Answer me.”
Omitting my fear of heights, i declare, “i am not permitted intoxicants.”
“By Neil,” he states as opposed to asking.
“Yes.”
“Neil isn’t here. Is he?”
“Ummm, no,” I hedge.
He stands and orders me to do the same. i’ve chosen my safe word for when we get to that point where “no” simply isn’t adequate. Predictably, appropriately, he asks for it now.
“Freefall.”
Unpredictably, he grabs my shoulders and turns me. My left arm twisted behind my back serves as a handle. i find my face pressed against the glass and empty space yawns before my horrified eyes.
“Yes. I remember you. You suffer from vertigo.”
Bile rising bitter in the back of my throat, i thankfully swallow without retching. He spins me around. The surface feels cool through the thin material at my back. It’s a mild improvement. He whacks me across the other cheek, vastly promoting my calm.
“Don’t ever hide something that important. I really don’t want you throwing up on me. What do you say we go to the cellar?”
i’ve been there before. i’m both excited and relieved. Half the basement stores wine, each area containing a particular variety by an eye popping array of vintners. The rest of its uses are similarly segregated.
In other words, you will find a large room for Chardonnays from around the world. Across the hall exists a needle play parlor to take those so inclined out of this world.
After such a long absence i never dreamed of an immediate invitation. Not even from Roy.
Don leads me around the throng writhing to some techno beat. i get a rush from the feeling of privilege. How many of these partiers know what splendid tortures await in secret, sacred darkness?
An expensively suited bouncer stands guard, ostensibly over the bottles. His onerous task really prevents tourists from stumbling into a clandestine den of iniquity. The deeper we descend my rapid pulse rushes blood into a roaring river.
“Mouse?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your pleasure?”
“i should be asking you that.”
“Maybe. I’m asking you.”
“i don’t know,” i pant haltingly.
“Your coming here tonight obviously risks a lot. The verge of panic screams out at me through those big doe eyes. So you’re seeking something special. What is it?”
“Pain. Domination. i’m afraid it’s no more specific than that,” i timidly admit.
If he’s disappointed, it doesn’t show. i ask what he wants to be called.
“Sir will do. I never went for the heavier handed pretention of being called master. My actions should be adequate proof of that status.”
No lie rings in his modest statement. Don’s not bluffing. i’m going to love this man.
~to be continued with final chapter~
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