He threads his fingers together and gives me an imploring look. It could be an act. Poor little lost boy. But I don’t think so. Zee and Niklaus have a large, labyrinthine house.
I attempt to smooth down my uncontrollable black hair one final time. It neverwillstay in place, no matter the cut, and not for all the wax and styling creams I’ve tried.
“Alright,” I say. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER2
Elliot
Happily, the drinks are still flowing by the time we get to the lounge. I can’t blame Oliver for getting lost; the houseisa maze, with staircases everywhere, corridors leading here and there. But I’ve been here often enough to know my way, and when we approach the lounge, I can hear Niklaus’s voice and Zee’s answering contralto laugh.
“Thank you, sir,” Oliver says quietly, as we come down the main staircase and turn right towards the lounge. “I mean,my lord. I’ll try to do better for you while you’re here.”
I give him a nod. He knows enough to let me enter first, at least, and when Zee catches sight of me, her face lights up. Zee is unmistakably Zee; skyscraper stilettos add half a foot to her height, her black bob is as sharply cut as ever, and her lips are her signature crimson.
“Elliot! You darling!” she cries. “We thought you might have passed out for the night already. Was the journey very dreadful?”
“Rather dreadful, yes.” I accept the gin and tonic that appears on a tray from a much more experienced staff member than Oliver. Zee is adamant about no alcohol before or during play, so I assume tonight will be preliminaries only. That suits me. Oliver has earned only one stroke of the cane so far, and that would be an empty show indeed.
Niklaus comes forward to shake my hand in a warm, vigorous manner. I’m relieved he doesn’t try to pull me in for a hug.
“Elliot. It’swonderfulto see you.”
“And you,” I say. I mean it wholeheartedly. Zee and Niklaus and I are old friends. The two of them did not always live here in Los Angeles, and I felt their loss when they left Europe. Both of them trained me in the arts of Domination and submission, and it’s entirely thanks to Niklaus that I’ve been paid a very silly amount of money to compose a theme song for this “tent-busting-block-pole”…or whatever the term is.
I am grateful to Niklaus, certainly. If only my Muse hadn’t deserted me three years back.
I don’t watch films, or rarely. I much prefer books. It does make for some awkward conversations at times with Niklaus, but we put up with each other’s foibles.
“Thank you for sending Oliver to fetch me. I’m afraid I was still asleep.”
“What do you think of him?” he asks, with such careful carelessness that I know he is very interested in my response.
“Enthusiastic, but in dire need of training before he meets your usual standards of service.” I glance around the room. Oliver is standing by the fireplace, looking lost.
“Ye-es,” Niklaus says, hesitating, and then adds, “He’s an experienced sub, though he’s never had an experience quite like we offer. He’s only here for this first weekend of your stay, though. And, if you can believe it, he turned down the masquerade invitation.” With a laugh, he adds, “He had a better offer.”
“I findthatvery hard to believe.”
Niklaus’s eyes twinkle as he smiles. At work, he is a high-powered Hollywood executive. At home, he is Zee’s well-loved submissive husband, but he also trains the household staff. A switch—one who takes pleasure in both dominating and submitting, though I know he rarely indulges that dominant side of his personality. The Halloween masquerade—and the lead-up to it—is one of those times.
I let my eyes linger on Oliver. Zee and Niklaus must have seen something special in him to allow him into the household. There have been no new additions for the last five years that I can remember. Every year, they gather together a small group of like-minded submissive guests who enjoy providing service to Dominants. Boot-blacking, cleaning, valeting, general assistance—I’ve benefited from all of these services over the years during my visits here.
And although many of the submissive guests who attend at this time of year are also open to negotiating more intimate service provision, I’ve never indulged. I enjoy being served, and I enjoy watching the discipline each Sunday night, but that’s as far as I take part.
Until three years ago, I had my own lover who saw tothoseneeds. And in the time since, I’ve simply thrown myself into my work.
So why is it that I can’t take my eyes off this new addition to the party? Oliver doesn’t quite seem to know where to put his hands while he waits around to be of use. In front? Behind? Hanging straight at his sides? As I watch, he even attempts to lean back against the wall for a moment.
Normally such gracelessness would irritate me, but I find myself smiling—or what passes for smiling, these days. Perhaps it’s his voice that interests me. There was something sweet in it, under the nervous waver.
Now he’s adjusting the mask, settling and resettling it over his face.
“I’ve put his dossier in your nightstand,” Niklaus goes on. “As I said, he’s experienced in most aspects of BDSM, but has had minimal experience with service kink, although he showed some interest.”
I nod as I listen, and find myself wishing very much that I’d had time before meeting Oliver to check over his dossier, to see what he is and is not open to during his time here. There’s something intriguing about him. There’s self-confidence in him, despite the nerves. But why should that interest me?
I do wish I could see his face.
