The Administration Series (169 page)

She shook her head. "The evening is free. Shel's idea. A thank you to our loyal customers. We put a percentage of profits aside, every month, and use them for the party."

Sound customer relations, if expensive. He wondered if she and Shel were simply very generous, or if the Shop was more profitable than he'd imagined. "Is everyone invited?"

"Oh, no, not at all. Shel sends out the invitations." However, she didn't expand on the selection criteria.

"I didn't actually think that you had this many customers," he said.

"You tend to come in at our quiet times. Saturday afternoons are always slack. We're busiest in the evenings. Actually, Shel thinks we have too many customers at the moment, but at the same time our policy is not to turn people away for that reason only, so we're stuck."

"Stop advertising?"

"We never started. We're not even commercially listed. It's all word of mouth." She smiled wryly. "Too many satisfied customers."

He wondered if Toreth had been spreading the word. "Do you have many from I&I?"

"No . . . in fact, Toreth's the only para-investigator — or interrogator — amongst our customers. We've turned away several; you might almost call it a rejection criteria. There were some unfortunate incidents in the early days. As a group they're not good with rules, and we have a number of those. More than Shel would like."

"So what made you take Toreth?" he asked, curious.

She narrowed her eyes.

"If that falls under customer confidentiality, I'm sorry."

"No. In this case, I can probably stretch a point. He came here looking for a gift for someone else — for you. That was unusual enough for Shel to investigate more carefully. Of course, that applies to all our customers."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We carry out a full credit and background check after the first visit. It's policy. You see, with our particular retail philosophy — that's Shel's description, by the way — we have to be certain that our new customers are . . . suitable. We match the people to the Shop, you might say."

"What about me? You didn't even know my name."

"Toreth vouched for you, so we have no personal details about you at all."

"Vouched for me?" That was news to him. "Because I'm his —" He stopped, uncomfortable with any of the words he might have put there.

"No, not at all. Relationship and role are irrelevant." She sipped her tea. "And I try not to make assumptions on either score, although sometimes I still do."

"And sometimes it's obvious." Then he remembered the couple he'd seen on his very first visit here. He'd made assumptions and in the end been left with no idea at all. "At least, I imagine that it is with us."

"Well, I made a guess and I admit I would've been surprised if I'd been wrong. But I'm regularly wrong and regularly surprised, so I try to remain open-minded and treat people equally."

"You never spoke to me."

She smiled. "Ah, but
you
never spoke to
me
."

His first thought was that he must have done, but thinking back, he couldn't produce a single instance. "No, I suppose I didn't. A very fair point."

"Customers' self-imposed boundaries are far more important to us than any we might be forced to apply."

"Shel again?"

She nodded. "Shel would prefer to lift all the limits on what can be done in the Shop. So far I'm managing to hold the line against the idea."

Shel — no pronoun given, with apparently deliberate care. Ask or not? In the end he decided against it. "How does vouching for someone work?"

"We would never disclose the identity of any customer, at least not voluntarily, but people may require more protection than that to feel comfortable here." She took the trailing end of her scarf in one hand, twining the end through her fingers. "Shel wanted to dispense with the background checks altogether, to avoid excluding those people who perhaps needed the Shop most in the first place. The compromise is that a customer who has disclosed their name may vouch for a small number of others who have not, accepting full responsibility for everything they do on the premises."

Toreth hadn't said anything about it. Of course, he wouldn't have.

She smiled again, a little self-deprecating. "More than you wanted to know, I expect."

"No, it's very interesting. I'd never considered the practicalities of the business before. SimTech has . . . well, some related problems, if not quite the same. Choosing volunteers for trials — especially the sex-based trials. Ensuring there's no possibility of junior staff being abused by those in positions of power."

"Yes, of course. I must admit, I did think of that at the lecture. In fact, I tried to ask a question on those lines."

"I'm sorry I didn't have time to answer."

She shrugged. "As I said, I was right at the back."

They drank in silence for a while, and Warrick helped himself to a handful of biscuits. From all around the Shop came the sounds of people enjoying themselves in the widest variety of ways possible. For most people, limitless pleasures meant only excess, but it seemed very like the Shop that there would be a bar, drugs — and also tea.

Eventually Fran said, "If you don't mind me asking, do you still have the cabinet?"

"Yes," he said and inhaled a mouthful of crumbs. When he'd finished coughing, Warrick waved away Fran's concern and asked, "Why wouldn't we?"

"Oh, we've had it returned several times." She settled back in the chair. "In fact, it's probably spent more time in the Shop than out. You've had it a long time now, relatively speaking. People seem to find they don't like it after all, or that they like it too much."

"Mm. I think I can see that." He thought of the first months, how stupid he'd been about the whole thing, and despite that, he still couldn't resist the shiver of excitement that ran through him at the thought of it. A twinge of phantom pain in his wrist rattled the cup in the saucer.

She was still playing with the scarf. Silver threads which he hadn't noticed earlier caught the light, flickering hypnotically. Thinking of the beautiful, impractical dream in the entrance room, Warrick said, "We should buy something else. A contribution to the party budget for next year."

Fran nodded, releasing the scarf as her manner changed subtly to saleswoman advising a client. "I would suggest the rack," she said.

He stared at her, astonished, and she smiled. "Someone offered a price for it last week. I turned them down."

"Not enough?" What if they came back?

"On the low side — it might have been acceptable from a different customer, but they wanted it for display, not for use. Besides, I'm saving it for someone."

"Who?" he asked, before he remembered the privacy policy.

"You."

Temporarily speechless, he covered the surprise with a sip of cooling coffee, but he didn't imagine for a moment that she hadn't noticed.

"Why?" he said eventually.

"I saw you looking at it the first time you came here. I thought then that you wanted it. We're willing to wait, for valued customers — Shel insists, in fact. It takes some people a long time to make up their minds."

"I don't want it."

"The customer is always right, of course."

That seemed to be the end of it, as far as Fran was concerned. He'd rather hoped she would argue, so he could resist for a while and then admit it. Now he was afraid that his blunt statement might make her sell it to the next interested customer.

"That is . . . I don't know whether I'd like it or not."

The change in position went unremarked. "If you'd like to try it, you're more than welcome. I could arrange to have it moved to one of the side rooms if you'd like some privacy."

Unfairly tempting. "It's not very practical."

"Large pieces of genuine antique torture equipment seldom are."

That gave him pause. "I hadn't considered it in those terms," he said eventually.

She nodded. "The idea makes a lot of people uncomfortable. It's different to many of the things we have here — it was designed to kill, to maim, and it has done. It's hurt a great many people and been responsible for a great deal of misery. But, to my mind at least, that doesn't mean it can't now bring pleasure to someone."

Some metaphors, he reflected, have the subtlety of a punch in the mouth.

"I don't like to limit things, or people," Fran continued. "I'm not as fanatical on the subject as Shel, but it is our fundamental philosophy here. Have you heard the saying, 'An it harm none, do as you will'?"

"No."

"Aleister Crowley, I think. We have some of his books in the middle room. As a general philosophy it's terribly impractical, in my opinion anyway, but I think that for sex it works very well."

"But Shel wants to live like that?"

She shook her head. "Shel
does
live like that, and it's — " She looked away, past him. "It's not a safe way to live, in this world. There are too many laws that violate that one law. I worry that . . . "

She sat up, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a leather-clad staff member waving discreetly. "I'm sorry — disaster somewhere, I expect. Thanks for fixing the infernal machine."

"My pleasure."

She set the cup down and paused. "Shall we keep it?"

She didn't mean the coffee maker. He considered, seriously, swirling the dregs in his cup. In all honesty, he didn't want to own the rack, but neither did he want it sold. He'd wanted it, somehow, to be
possible
. Now he had to make a decision, and that was something of a relief.

"No," he said finally. "I won't say I'm not tempted. But . . . Toreth wouldn't like it. It's too . . . too impersonal. He — " He needs to know that he's the reason why it's so good. That I need him. "He likes to be the main attraction."

Fran nodded. "Then I'll take it off the list."

He hadn't meant to say so much — partly because he hadn't pinned down the source of his reluctance before. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about it to Toreth."

She smiled. "Of course not."

Overall, Toreth thought, the evening had more than lived up to his expectations, despite the fact that there had been none of the careful stalking of prey that he usually enjoyed before a fuck. This kind of easy availability would bore him eventually but, as he'd said to Warrick, for one night it was different and fun. He'd started off keeping track of how many times he'd broken their either-neither agreement, but he lost count somewhere around the fourth partner. Or had it been the fifth drink? Thank God for the golden glow, anyway.

Eventually, Toreth chanced across Warrick again, still looking every inch the immaculate, well-tailored corporate. He stood with a group of people watching a couple doing, in Toreth's view, some rather eye-watering things with large hooks and lengths of chain. Warrick wore a distant expression — one that Toreth had seen before.

He worked his way silently around to Warrick and slipped his arms round his waist. Warrick didn't even look round, merely leaning back against him and folding his arms over Toreth's.

"Hello again, slave," he murmured.

He knew it was me, Toreth thought, getting an unexpected kick from the idea.

"Thinking of adding it to the sim?" Toreth asked.

"Indeed. Coding in my head as we speak."

"I guessed." He stood for a while, watching the performance, wondering idly how it could possibly be anything other than unpleasantly painful, and what level waiver he'd need to do it at work. However, most of his attention was occupied by Warrick, by the soft scratch of fabric against his skin. Good, but less clothing would be far better. The feeling coalesced into a plan: take Warrick home, fuck him, and then pass out until Monday morning. Sounded good.

"We could try it in the real world sometime, if you'd like to," Toreth said eventually.

"Mm . . . no, I don't think so. Too much tissue damage. And think of my poor carpets."

"Plastic sheets?" Toreth suggested, secretly relieved.

Warrick laughed, warm and lazy. "
Not
very romantic."

He sounded drunk — not too drunk, but enough to make Toreth wonder whether he might be persuaded into a fuck here. He slid his hand into Warrick's jacket pocket, fished out the strip, and took another one of the diminishing stock. He offered the strip to Warrick, who surprised him again by taking a tablet.

"Been having fun?" Warrick asked after the tablets were back in place.

"Yeah, lots. You?" He paused as Warrick freed himself, turned round, and kissed Toreth just as if they weren't in the middle of a crowd. It went on for a long while, Warrick's hands roaming freely over him, and when Toreth touched him in return the fact that Warrick was fully dressed was maddening and incredibly arousing. Toreth ground against him and Warrick hummed appreciatively into his mouth.

Okay, Toreth thought, as Warrick traced the thong down between his buttocks. Definite revision of the plan. Fuck him here,
then
take him home. Would Warrick be willing to play along?

"In a very virtuous way," Warrick said when he finally broke the kiss.

For a moment, Toreth thought it was an answer to his unspoken thought. He shook his head to clear it. "Huh?"

"I've been having fun, in a very virtuous way." Warrick began walking, away from the couple and towards an invitingly empty alcove. "Mending coffee machines for our host."

"And I've been saving myself for you," Toreth said with his best heartbreaking innocence.

Warrick smiled slowly, not looking round. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Haven't touched anyone all night. Just looking. I've been so good, it hurts."

"Does it really?"

Now Warrick looked at him and licked his lips, one eyebrow raised. Toreth nodded, surprised and delighted by the offer. Before he could lean against the wall, Warrick took his arm and turned him round. Toreth heard the chain, and helpfully placed his wrists together behind his back.

Cuffs secured, Warrick pushed him gently forwards. "Back there a bit. Where it's darker."

Nerves humming with anticipation, Toreth stood where he was bid. Pressed against the painted brick work, the links of the chain made a line across his buttocks, and there was something else there too, in the small of his back — it felt like a hasp in the wall. Never mind. This probably wouldn't take long enough for things to get uncomfortable.