The Parlour (VDB #1) (38 page)

“I think perhaps it’s time that I left you to it,” I reply, far more sensibly than I feel, and I get up and start to make my way towards the elevator.

“No, stay. Please. Keep me company,” he says quietly, holding his hand out to me. “It’s good to talk, and I need the diversion from my normal response to this type of irritation.”

“Which is?”

“In the bath.”

“Oh. Isn’t Elizabeth more useful when you need to… Umm…”

“She’s breakable.”

“And you don’t want to break her?”

“Not at the moment.”

“But you do him?”

“He likes being broken.”

“Who broke him before you?”

“Hmm. That’s a good question,” he says, banging his glass of Cognac on his head. “His wife did, but it’s the person before that I’m more interested in. If you find out, let me know.”

“Okay.”

It’s the headmaster. I smile to myself at knowing something he doesn’t, and walk back over and sit again. He wants company, though I have no idea how to go about entertaining him. How does one have a relaxed conversation with a sadist while another is lounging in the bath around the corner, naked? I don’t stop myself from looking towards the corridor and wishing he’d just wander out here and bend me over one of these sofas. Or maybe I could watch whatever it is that these two get up to when they’re on their own. Perhaps we should talk about that. He did say the only thing that was right was Pascal. I wonder how they met. They couldn’t be more different, really. Alexander is clearly from London, although the slight raise in dialect proves he’s been circulating in wealthy society for some time.

“Where did you two meet?”

He downs his drink and slowly pours another, tipping the decanter at me. I shake my head and look down at my full glass. Seems he’s on a mission to get intoxicated.

“It was in Venice, in a kitchen,” he says, chuckling a little at the memory. “He had a woman spread open on the table and was holding a sliver teaspoon between his teeth.”

“A teaspoon? What was he going to do with that?”

“I wouldn’t deny you the pleasure of finding out for yourself, but needless to say, we became friends from that day forward.”

“Just friends?”

“Until recently, yes. Are you ready to hear more?”

I push off my heels and pull my legs up to settle back onto the sofa, making myself comfortable and asking for the information he’s offering. He just crosses his legs and gazes again for a while, rubbing his jaw in contemplation before opening his mouth and starting to talk. It’s the voice he uses when he’s in calm mode, smooth and melodic in its cadence. It has a strength about it that makes me rest my head back and just listen because of its authority. I sit up when he begins to talk about information I’m craving – who Pascal was when they met, how he behaved, what Alexander thought of him at first. Maybe one day Pascal will be as forthcoming with his life story. Maybe one day he’ll trust me enough to give me more than he currently does and just let me in. Perhaps that’s what this training is all about really, to teach me how to make that happen.

Before I know it, my glass is empty. He passes the decanter over, so I fill up again and sip gently, savouring the taste and every single word that comes out of his mouth.

He stalked the room with only one purpose, to tarnish the ass of anything that would be obliging enough, whether they liked it or not. Last night’s adventure had been less than fulfilling. An inebriated Alexander delving into morbid self-fascination, and then relieving himself of the deathly dull torment Elizabeth was currently placing him under, was torturous to attend to. She had apparently gone home and flat out refused to allow him to go with her. She had ordered him to stay in New York and ‘sort his shit out’, whatever that meant. He was not sure of the reasoning behind such an argumentative escape. He had simply climbed out of the bath to find an almost intoxicated Lilah and practically paralytic Alexander rolling around on the floor, laughing like a couple of reprobates. Much as he was not amused by the thought that they had not taken his request seriously, he could not help but be enamoured of such closeness between the two of them, at least for the time being. It was good to watch his beloved laughing to the point of crying. He deserved some relaxation after all the self-masochism he had been placing himself under. Dealing with Alexander when Elizabeth was around to confuse his sensibilities was difficult. Now that she was gone, perhaps this tryst could continue with the clarity needed for finality. It was for the best that he not have to cope with her morality guidelines for a while. Lilah would help him heal, and in turn, hopefully find the correct route for them all.

With his own input to correct misguided decisions, obviously.

Now, though, he needed to defile something, anything. Where was Ruebin? Or Emanuelle? Hmm. A new ‘it’ hurried herself past him dressed in little more than a wrapped caging of PVC. The tiny thing checked behind to see if he was following her. He was, although he wasn’t at all sure how that had occurred. Her ass, it seemed, had called to his cock. It was more than distracting. Several turns later and he found himself pressed against her heated frame, bending her over a useful whipping bench. When was the last time he’d whipped something? He stopped his fondling and raised his brow in thought. He couldn’t remember.

“Monsuier, s’il vous plait,” she begged, her heavy New Orleans accent slipping deliciously into French. Olive dark skin glistened at him as he watched the rise and fall of her back muscles. Her black curly hair tumbled around a cat mask as she peered up at him meekly. Another little kitten to play with.

Submitting to everything was intolerable, and watching the two of them laughing together had only heightened his need to pull something to pieces. Alexander had been his first thought at the time. Arrogant, undisciplined fool. It was continually unfathomable to him why he loved the man so. Perhaps if he ripped the skin from this new little plaything, he could remember why, or at least remind himself why he was cavorting with the idea of another new Lucinda.

He began the process of stretching her into the buckles and tightened them until she screamed aloud. The noise soothed his soul a little, eliciting varying images of debauchery. He could use something else to alleviate the need for his own self-discipline, though, something to tame the inevitable given his current mood. He scanned the room and found Emanuelle, who would have been useful if she hadn’t been pinned against the dark oak cross by an imbecile who should have known better than to play with Pascal’s toys. He sighed in frustration and ratcheted the last strap in place. These responsibilities were becoming monotonous.

“Do stay there, my dear,” he said, biting into the little thing’s shoulder and savouring the sound of her cry. Mmm.

“Thomas, you are gay. Leave my pet alone,” he snapped, lightly smacking the back of the boy’s head with his cane. Thomas ducked and turned to glare. It was a good glare, entirely dominant with piercing green eyes, which would be useful at some point in the future. However, now was not the future.

“But I thought I could–”

“Did you? Do not do that in my club. Thinking is a wholly unsuitable discipline for a mind such as yours,” he cut in, releasing Emanuelle from her extremely unserviceable bindings and helping her back down to the floor.

“But you said I should learn?”

“I said you should forage, quietly. This is neither foraging, nor quiet,” he snapped, smoothing the back of the poor girl’s blonde locks and pointing her in the direction of the bar. Maybe she could entertain Jon for a while. For some reason, had turned up for a night of deviancy. Odd really, that he should come here. He would normally have been frequenting The Parlour. He swung his eyes back to his nephew and waited for some explanation for his stupidity.

“Umm, I don’t understand. Emmanuelle said it would be acceptable to try and–”

“She did not. Under no circumstance would she have allowed you to so much as touch her without my consent.” This was undisputable. She knew better. “And what, pray tell, are you wearing?”

The boy looked down at himself and lovingly stroked the fine Italian blue silk jacket that should have been hanging in his own closet.

“It seemed fitting,” he replied with a shrug.
A shrug
. He raised his own eyes to the heavens above and chastised the bastard up there for ever delivering such a moron into his family. Even if he was kink filled, and looked extremely good in his clothing. He grasped the boy’s ear and dragged him towards a quiet corner, which happened to be close to the little thing still locked into the whipping bench. She now appeared to be rubbing her cunt on it. He smacked his cane across her ass to discipline her behaviour, which was a somewhat flawed plan given her moan of appreciation.

“Thomas, how am I supposed to train you if you defy my rules?”

“Oom, I–"

“This is the first rule you disobey. You call me Sir in here. There is no other name than that. Secondly, you dare touch my clothes without my permission? Moronic. Thirdly, you dare touch my pets without my permission? It is intolerable, Thomas. Give me strength.”

“Sorry.” Sorry? Was this supposed to be an apology? For two of the three, it might have been acceptable. For his clothes, it was not.

“Take them off.” The boy began to walk away. “No, Thomas. Here.” He stopped and looked around the packed space nervously, which only furthered Pascal’s need to embarrass him for his absurdity.

“But, what about all these people?”

“What about them? Hmm? The room is filled with near naked bodies. Your scrawny little cock on display should not be of concern to any lucid human being.”

Talking of scrawny cocks, where was Ruebin? He scanned the room again and waited for the small blonde head of hair to come into view. Nothing appeared other than the sea of writhing bodies and fire erupting in the corner. It seemed Jed was having his normal flame throwing competition with the juniper berry twins. Hmm.

He beckoned to Emanuelle, who was now on her knees beneath Jon, and told her to find the little runt. As she walked away, Jon nodded at him and began to walk over. Hmm, it seemed more business was on the agenda. Given that they hadn’t quite finished their conversation the other day, he supposed now was as good a time as any. Although the moaning behind him was divinely distracting. “Now, Thomas. Clothes. And fold them prudently,” he snapped, tapping the boy’s ass with his cane and watching Jon cross the room casually, looking his ever attractive self, distinguished rogue that he was. Shame he wasn’t the least bit interested in men.

He heard rustling behind him, so he advanced a step to meet what could only be described as an older and far wiser version of Alexander White.

“Pascal,” he said quietly by way of greeting. Jon had never been loud nor aggressive in his demeanour. He had never needed to be. Those who knew him knew that one demonstration of non-submission to his clear dominance was enough to receive the swiftest of reprimands, which would be delivered with the finest precision. He was a man Pascal himself admired in some ways. Casually domineering. What he lacked in looks, he made up for in sheer nobility. He also carried a weapon with him most of the time, which he was unashamed of using, frequently. They shook hands as the man leaned past him and noticed the little thing still grinding her cunt into the bench. “What is that?”

“Inconsequential, at present,” Pascal replied, glancing at Thomas who was halfway through removing his trousers, then back at Jon.

“I don’t know. It looks of consequence to me.” Jon slipped his hands into his pockets and walked past him to inspect the little thing. He rolled his eyes and blew out yet another frustrated breath. Would he ever get some time to just be? First errant children, and now having to share his new prizes with Insbrucker? Fucking responsibilities and torturous ideals of respect. All he wanted was some peace of his own. Lilah sprang to mind instantly – an entirely unacceptable response to an overly irritated mind.

Jon’s gaze roamed the skin of the ‘it’ and watched closely as he removed a hand and began to gently run it down her spine. She shivered and shuddered accordingly and then groaned as he tipped her head upwards so he could look at her face.

“Pretty thing,” he said mundanely. Never had the man been interested in something’s face. He was more concerned with their ability to take a belt to extreme levels.

“I know not of her abilities,” he replied swiftly as Ruebin’s body glided to his side. “Ah, take this moron and show him what he should be doing,” he snapped, pointing his cane at a fully unclothed Thomas who was holding his hands across his cock, presumably to shield his embarrassment. The boy had grown somewhat since the last time he saw him naked, which was around ten years ago, he supposed. He was a fine specimen who should not feel the least bit embarrassed by his nakedness.

Ruebin blushed.

“Are you unwell?”

“No, Sir. I am well enough.”

“Are you in need of servicing?”

“If you should wish so, Sir.”

Mmm. He glanced across at Thomas to find him leering like an untrained puppy, and rolled his eyes at the moronic display of interest. Dominant he may have been, but civilised he was not.

“Thomas,” he snapped, clicking his fingers to draw the attention of his nephew, who continued staring while practically drooling at Ruebin. “That is not to be touched. Do you understand?” A scream sounded behind him, so he spun to watch as Jon shoved something inside the ‘it’.

“What was that?” Thomas asked, quick as a flash.

“Handcuffs,” Jon said slowly, backing away and watching the girl writhe about uncomfortably.

“Inside her? What use would they be in there?” the idiot replied. Yet again, he despaired at the family resemblance. The fool needed training before he ruined his own reputation.

“If you put your hand in, you’ll find out,” Jon replied, with a tell-tale smile forming around his sin-filled mouth. Thomas instantly moved forward and dropped his hands, leaving his cock exposed. Snorting in amusement at the boy’s fascination, he turned back to Ruebin instead.

“You find him pleasing?”

“Yes,” Ruebin replied, looking at the floor and continuing with his blushing. A small pang of humility shot through him at the boy’s clear interest.  He supposed if anyone were to help Thomas learn, it would be a good match. “He looks like you, Sir.”

“Mmm.” He did indeed. “He is untrained. Wayward. Difficult, and useless I would assume.”

“Sir?”

“Useless, unfulfilling, not yet a master in the art of ass fucking. Nor tormenting runts like yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Quite,” he said, returning his gaze to the errant groping that was occurring on the little ‘it.” She was not moaning in approval any longer, more groaning in repulsion at the idiotic adolescent fumbling between her thighs. He hadn’t seen Jon laugh quite so much in some time. “Should you wish to engage, I would not forbid it.” Ruebin’s head swung around to his so quickly he could well have decapitated himself in the process.

“You would allow me this freedom?”

“Mmm. However, you will make him come and request it of me. Should I find you have disobeyed me, I will not be held responsible for my actions. I had other plans for you that are now questionable. It seems fate is interrupting my schedule. ”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Take him then. I have business to discuss with Jon,” he said, waving his hand at Thomas, who now appeared to be rutting on the ‘it’s’ ass in some manner that was highly unappealing. Exasperated by the ungodly display of lunacy, he smacked his cane around the moron’s head again. This resulted in a yelp of pain, swiftly followed by a much more discerning scowl directed firmly at himself. He watched the fists clench first, then the frame grow, then the look of clear dominance try to claim some element of respect for itself.

“Better, Thomas. Far more acceptable than the pathetic attempt at fucking you were endeavouring to achieve.” Thomas’ frown descended more thoroughly. It was somewhat like looking in a mirror, although very clearly less of an attractive reflection. “Now, Ruebin will guide your unknowledgeable ass around. Do not question the whys. Simply do as you are told.”

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas huffed out.

Petulant child. Maybe he should have left him with Jon for an hour or so. The man may not be interested in men, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to deliver damage to their skin on occasion.

He watched Thomas walk away and reminded himself of his own misadventures all those years ago.