The Parlour (VDB #1) (6 page)

“I think so,” I respond dully. What am I supposed to say? ‘Yay, bring on the whips and shit’?

“You’ll be fine, lovey. Just go with it and we’ll see where we end up, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” I reply as I blow out a breath and gaze at Lower Manhattan. Will I ever get back out there again and just do my own thing?

“Lovey, you’re still free to go, you know? No one’s holding you here.” Yeah, because I’ve got so much to go to.

“Do you do this all the time, pick up unfortunates and train them? Roxanne said something about selling me? You don’t really sell people, do you?”

“I don’t do anything, lovey,” she says with a smirk, turning her face from mine and looking at a door on the other side of the road. “You should be glad she found you. There’s a lot worse out on these streets than Roxanne. She’s a good one, really.”

“Oh, I am glad. I’m very thankful. It’s just, I could have done some office work instead. I’ve got a brain. I could use it to help her that way rather than becoming a...” What? Whore? Sex slave?

“Sub. Lovey, she’s a good employer. She’ll treat you right and look after you. All you gotta do is bend over every other night. Be good at what you do and you’ll have money, riches, and a very nice life. You won’t be manhandled too much. You always get a choice, and either Jacob or Gage here will be around to look after you.”

“But, I–”

“Lovey, we’re stuck in traffic. Just open the door and get out if you want. I won’t do shit to stop you, and nor will he. We’ll just swing around the corner and pick up another one of you,” she says, continuing to suck her olive, as if I’m replaceable at the drop of a hat. In reality, I suppose I am. I can see the other homeless women littering the streets as we drive along. Tall, short, black, white, Asian. They’re all carrying their bags and suitcases, gripping onto them for dear life as if they’re all they have in the world. Probably because they are. I know that feeling. The only difference between them and me is that I’m sitting in a warm car because I was scooped up. I could be back out there just as quickly.

“Jacob, why did you choose me?” I ask. His face doesn’t move as I gaze at him in the rear view mirror. Nothing comes from his expression as it did when he smiled at me that night. He just continues staring forward, completely nonplussed by my question.

“Pretty eyes,” he replies as the car eventually starts to move forward.

“You do have pretty eyes. They remind me of someone I used to work for. They’re gonna love those eyes. Can you do a sad face?” I’ve never thought that much about my eyes. They’re just a washy green colour. “You ever fucked a woman, or are you hopelessly straight?”

“There was one time in school...”I halt my verbal diarrhoea before I recall all my fantasies to someone I barely know at all.
Jesus.

“Really? We have a kinky one, Jacob. Jacob likes two, don’t you, baby? He’s a big boy. One needs a rest after a while. The chaffing is a bitch.”

“I was going to say I kissed a girl. I was drunk. I’m not sure if that makes me gay or not.”

“It makes you non-boring, and that’s a good fucking start around here. Vanilla shit is not welcome and causes all sorts of problems. Honestly, you should see some of the idiots who come in here giving it all the ‘I’m a Dom’ shit. They wouldn’t even know how to blow up a doll. They just want a crack at fucking pussy. You’re expensive pussy, by the way, three grand an hour. You’ll get half of that as long as the customer’s satisfied. If he’s not, you get nothing. Rox keeps the lot and argues for you.”

“Oh.”
That makes me so much less like a whore
. “I really am a whore.”

“Nah, think of yourself as a high class service, a product. And, lovey, you ain’t nothing yet. You got some proving to do before you see a penny of anything.” The sigh that leaves me at her words only heightens the potential need to grab that handle and get straight out into winter’s arms again. Cold it might be, but at least it comes for free. “What’s up now?”

“I just wish there was something else I could do. Something less to do with sex. It’s not that I don’t like sex. I do. I just... You know... I mean, do you get paid? Or are you just a manager, or–”

“Damn straight I do. I get paid a lot, too. I’ve been doing this a long time, and putting up with their…” She stops and shakes her head. “I mean,
her
bullshit can be fucking exhausting.”

“Yes, but do you get paid to sleep with people?”

“Nope, gave that up a while back. Rox just pays me to run the place for her now, look after the girls, deal with the jerks. I just play for fun now. It’s all my choice. I paid my dues.”

“So you must know a lot then, huh?”

“Yeah, I know it all. And as long as you listen, you’ll know it too. But you gotta learn to love it, or at least pretend you do. These clients can tell a fake a fucking mile off, and then you’ll be out on your very attractive backside before you know it.”

Right. Learn to love it. How does one learn to love screwing people for money?

The road steadily begins to fly past as we pick up speed. Clearly the crash has been dealt with. I watch all the business suits purposely rushing from office to office. I remember that life – the early starts, the clothes, the desire to achieve and get better, move up the corporate ladder and succeed. Not that I ever could, or did. Whatever I needed to have to make that existence work, I clearly didn’t have it. According to Roxanne, I still don’t, and never will have.

The car eventually pulls to a stop outside The Parlour, and I stare at the red building wondering how long I’ll have to be here. How long will it be until I can make some money and get away? I may not be corporate. I may never be able to achieve a ranking in that lifestyle, but I’m damned if I’m going to be a whore for the rest of my life either.

“How many stay?” I ask Vixon as we open the doors and get out.

“What?” she says as she wanders around the car to reach me, then smiles a little at the two men that have arrived to greet her. They’re both incredibly handsome. They’re also both looking at the floor and refusing to make eye contact with her for some bizarre reason.

“How many choose this over leaving, when they’ve made some money, I mean?”

“Oh, right. Most do a couple of years and then move on. Some chose a partner and move in with them, become full time subs. Some can only handle a few weeks at it and they choose to go back on the streets. It’s a fucking lottery, lovey, and it’s all up to you,” she replies as she strides away through the door and the two men stare straight at me. They obviously have no problem looking at me.  I’m clearly on a different level to Vixon entirely.

“Go,” one of them says as I stare at him. Oh, yes. Go. Right.

My feet scuttle after Vixon and I’m immediately hit by the sound of arguing as I cross the marble floor to catch up with her. It’s loud on Roxanne’s part. She’s positively screaming at someone and swearing like a trooper. I watch a sigh leave Vixon’s mouth as she halts us and looks around the space for where the voices are coming from. The other is a smooth baritone, with an accent of some sort that rolls and swirls around his words. In fact, he keeps flicking in and out of different languages, as does she every now and then. It’s European, maybe Icelandic, or Swedish.

“For fuck’s sake,” Vixon whispers to herself as she points us over to the elevator and walks towards it. I follow and crane my neck around her to get a glimpse of anyone that would dare shout at Roxanne in such a way. She may be odd, but she’s given me a chance at a new life, and if I can help, I will.

“Shouldn’t we–”

“Lovey, we definitely should not. That there is one of the only men in the world you do not want to play with. There are a few others, too, but that one is off limits, you get me?”

“I don’t even know who he is. Why would I talk to him? I just thought we should help Roxanne, you know. He sounds pretty aggressive.” She laughs at me and pats the top of my head.

“You’re cute, you know that? Rox’ll be fine. She’s handled him all her life just about. And he’s actually being quite normal at the moment by the sounds of it.”

“Who is he?” I ask, still craning my head to try and get a glimpse of the man.

“His name’s Pascal Van Der Braack, and if he ever comes within ten feet of you, you get down on your knees and put your head on the floor. That way he’ll hopefully honour the fact that you ain’t ready, okay?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, lovey.”

“But I don’t know what he looks like. How will I know if it’s him? And why should I–”

“Oh, you’ll know him, lovey. He’s like a devil coming at you, with green eyes and a smile that evaporates panties. The world parts for him, you know? He’s just one of those Doms that needs no explanation. But here’s the thing, Lilah. You ain’t ready. You remember that when those eyes look at you, no matter how much you might think you want him, no matter how much your pussy screams for him, which it will, you just get down on the floor and then you beg for him not to touch you.”

I’m not even sure what I should say to that.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I respond as I watch her pressing the lift button over and over again, as if she’s desperate to get away from the argument still going on. “Why are they arguing? If he’s as bad as you say he is then we should go and help her, shouldn’t we? What if he hits her or hurts her?”

I don’t know why, but her desperation to leave is only fuelling my need to go and intervene. I might not be the strongest person in the world, but bullying is something I can’t stand. I’ve never had any patience for bullies. That came from two years of having to deal with it myself at college. It was one of the main reasons I left England in the first place, to get away from the constant barrage of texts and emails I received from a certain group of girls. I never did know why they disliked me, or felt the need to call me all the names under the sun when I walked past them. Dad said it was just girls being girls. It wasn’t until I slapped one of them in sheer desperation that they stopped. I just found the courage one day, or maybe the lack of will to go through another day of it, and I stood up for myself.

Funny how things change when you do that.

“Lilah, come,” Vixon says, snapping me out of my mini daydream. I look down to find that I’ve somehow managed to walk over to the doorway separating us from the voices. “Seriously, Lilah, get your skinny backside over here before I make my boys do some fucking work.”

Something suddenly flashes behind the glass door and I stumble back as it’s thrown open in front of me. Vixon’s two men are by my side in a heartbeat and I gasp as they both drag on my arms to pull me away from it.

“You will. I will not discuss this matter with you any longer. You are of no importance in this decision, Lucinda,” the male voice says, as he erupts into the hall space. An eruption is a fair description of what happens when I eventually see his actual body moving past me from the doorway. I’ve never seen sin move before, but I have now. If there was a thought in my brain, it’s gone. If there were any words in my throat, they’ve abandoned me. And I’m pretty certain if it wasn’t for the men holding me up, I’d be on the floor by now. He’s the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen, and I haven’t even seen his face. He’s magnificent, almost other worldly in his appearance, as he strides away from me in a cream suit, tailored to perfection. I want to speak, or think, but I can’t. I just can’t stop myself from watching him move. He suddenly stops and turns his head towards Vixon with a look I hadn’t even realised existed. It’s Godlike as he towers over her, or maybe she was right with her devil description. When I see the corner of his mouth turning upwards from the side, I know I’ve seen what she means, because I can feel my knickers throwing themselves at him. They’re literally tugging at me as if I should cast them aside and immediately part my legs for him. Lord knows what will happen if I get to see his eyes, too. I can’t breathe. What the fuck is that?

“Clarissa,” he says as he steps toward her. I watch as she visibly shrinks away from him, perhaps in fear, or maybe respect might be a better word. He picks up the cane he’s holding and taps her cheek with the end of it. She flinches a little and looks at the floor. “You were disrespectful the last time we met, yes?”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” she replies quietly, somehow managing to make herself look even smaller.

“You are lucky he has me amused. My disappointment with you has been somewhat overcome. Although you should still apologize correctly, I think. Hmm?” She’s immediately on the floor for him, just as she told me, kneeling with her forehead on the cream marble in front of her. I’m no expert in these matters, but I’m pretty sure a Domme shouldn’t be kneeling for anyone. He snorts in disgust and stares down at her. “Where are your new morons? I feel inclined to take them from you for a time. Perhaps they can take your punishment for you, hmm?” he says crisply as he turns his head to search the space. My legs instantly give way as his eyes meet mine. I can see nothing but green, nothing. His hold on me is so intense that I’m not even concentrating on keeping my body up anymore. I’m just gazing into a green kind of hell. I know that, and I don’t want to do a thing about it. In fact, I think my soul just crawled across the floor to him, and I hope to Christ he doesn’t smile at me.

“What have we here?” he says as those legs of his start moving. “Hmm? An array of possibilities waiting for me.”