The Administration Series (107 page)

"End of the steps . . . now. Corridor. Curtain ahead. No!"

The sharp voice snapped his eyes shut as he started to open them. Despite his resolve, here he was, stuck fast in the role, with every moment of acquiescence giving Toreth permission to do more. Still, he could always change his mind later.

How many times had he thought that in the past? And of course, he always could. It was just that he never did.

The curtain brushed across his face and the light through his eyelids dimmed, then brightened in the space of a few steps. He heard a low, surprised whistle from Toreth. They had entered a larger space, their footsteps echoing on what felt like a stone floor. The dry, warm air carried a musky, complicated scent of age and leather, with hints of a multitude of other things — dust, oil, metal, paper. Sex — definitely sex.

Where the hell were they?

Hands on his shoulders turned him. He wondered what Fran thought about it. Probably nothing. She must see it all the time.

"Okay, you can open them now," Toreth said.

In the car and on the way downstairs he'd imagined . . . well, he'd tried not to imagine anything. When he hadn't been able to avoid it, he'd steered himself towards thinking about glass cabinets and white walls. Packaging and price labels. Everything a little distant, a little untouchable. Clinical. He'd be able to walk round and pick something out without feeling . . . just without feeling. Without humiliating himself in public under Toreth's appreciative gaze.

The cellar which housed the shop was nothing at all like that.

It was made up of small, interconnected rooms, linked by low brick arches. This part of the building must be considerably older than the rest above, or it had been very skilfully designed to look it.

The lighting was low, but where they stood the lights above had brightened, forming a pool of relative clarity in the gloom. Fran moved round, leaving him with a clear view into the shop, and the light moved with her. Sensors, he thought, trying not to look at the contents of the room — better to break his mind in gently to what was all around them. Sensors to pick up movement, to illuminate the immediate merchandise and keep everything else as shape and suggestion.

When they started to browse, the light would seem to follow them around, if the controls were smooth enough. It was a nice effect, and he'd have to remember it for the sim.

He let his attention slip gradually onto what the lighting showed. Had Toreth already seen it when he'd said, 'all the fuck toys you can imagine'? Presumably not, if he'd contacted the place for the first time the week before. Still, he'd certainly met, or exceeded, his promise. The room was full, and so were the rooms on either side, for as far as he could see.

New and obviously second-hand items were jumbled together, displayed on tables and shelves. Not a price label in sight. Tall, wooden cabinets, with dozens of drawers in different sizes, stood against the dark painted walls. Where there were gaps between the cabinets, the walls were covered in things hanging from hooks. Or hooks hanging from things.

He stared at a complicated frame nearby, something hung with neatly coiled whips, knowing he recognised the shape, until his mind produced the answer. A rack. A real, functioning rack. Heavy, polished wood, and a faint gleam of oil on the metalwork. The straps were worn, dark around the edges with old sweat, obviously well used. Who had owned it? Who had, finally, brought it to this place?

From one of the further rooms beyond he caught a gleam of light and a moving figure. They weren't alone down here. In the next room to the left he could make out more large pieces of equipment, although it wasn't possible to discern function from here, only vague form. Through the arch ahead, the walls were painted white and lined with tall bookcases filled with paper books. Off to the right were racks of clothes — costumes in a myriad of materials. Beyond those rooms were more, filled with shadows. The layout drew the eye onward to new areas, hinting at discoveries to be made.

Treasure trove. Aladdin's cave. A king's ransom in leather and steel.

No packaging and no glass cabinets. He could touch anything and everything, and that was what the woman who'd followed them downstairs was saying, when he managed to focus on her words.

"And if you need any help, or if you want anything specific, just ask. Take your time. When you find something, let me know and we can talk about prices then. Don't forget — everything's negotiable."

All the words made sense, but he couldn't hold on to the meaning. God, he was losing it already, with the darkness and the strange, exciting smell.

It didn't matter — Toreth would remember it all. Now he was talking to Fran, but watching Warrick. The light from above sharpened the planes of his face, drew attention to the hard lines around his mouth and eyes.

Cruel. It made him look cruel, and predatory. Dangerous. Compelling.

He noticed a change in the room and realised that the conversation was over. Good job he hadn't been required to say anything. Fran looked between them, smiled, and disappeared back up the stairs.

Toreth walked a little way off, and the light divided, amoeba-like, to follow him.

"Well." He gestured around the room. "Go on, then."

Where to go first? Warrick hesitated in the face of the bounty. "It's like Aladdin's cave."

"Huh?"

He caught Toreth's frown, but he didn't feel capable of an explanation. "It doesn't matter. How about this way?"

As Fran had recommended, Warrick took his time. There was so much to see, it overwhelmed him at first. How the staff would ever find a specific item, he couldn't imagine.

It was, oddly, no different to shopping for anything else, except that virtually everything he touched, everything he picked up, was a turn-on. After an indeterminate length of time, he found he had reached a plateau of arousal. Surprisingly, it wasn't uncomfortable, just something that was there. Like in the sim, he could work round it, almost ignoring the feelings as he opened drawers, examining the chains, masks, gags and dildos (these latter two items plastic wrapped and in drawers labelled with neat hand-written notices politely reminding Customers to Speak to the Staff if they Wished to Test them).

After a while he began to see that the rooms were themed, items collected together, however haphazardly. There were plenty of things he liked, but nothing that really called out to him. He spent time sorting through racks of elaborate, intricate costumes of leather and studs, appreciating the beautiful craftsmanship more than anything else.

At first, Toreth shadowed him, making suggestions, fastening things and distracting him with bruising kisses. By the time he looped back to the book-lined room, though, Toreth had wandered off on his own somewhere. Not surprising, given his usual attention span and the toys all around. In the first bookcase Warrick looked at, the books mostly appeared old, and he was surprised that even these were freely available for examination. Taking a volume down from the shelf, he was about to open it when he realised he wasn't alone.

In a dark corner, out of the ambit of the attentive lights, a black-clad man leaned with his arms braced against the wall. For a moment Warrick wondered if he was ill, until he caught sight of the woman crouching in front of him. Also dressed in black, and shadowed by his body, she was almost invisible. However, she was also quite clearly, and not in the least subtly, fellating him. Her head moved rhythmically, long dark-blonde hair swinging in the gloom.

As he watched, the man threw his head back and sucked air in through his teeth, letting it out on a long shuddering breath. Warrick stood, book in hand, until the man turned and caught sight of him. He smiled, quite unselfconscious, refastening his trousers. Then he reached down and lifted the woman to her feet by the leash around her neck.

"Would you like to borrow her for ten minutes?" he asked. "She's very good."

The woman showed no reaction to the offer, positive or negative. It must have been the surreal atmosphere of the cellar, combined with a couple of hours' shopping, but Warrick seriously considered it. Then he imagined Toreth walking through the archway and seeing the scene he had just witnessed, but with himself starring. It would be a shame to get blood all over the books.

"No, thanks."

The man merely nodded, and it was only then that Warrick noticed he also wore a leash. The woman took hold of it and wrapped the thin leather around her hand, still without saying a word, and they departed towards the stairs.

How the hell, he wondered, had Toreth
found
this place?

Leaving the library by a different archway, he eventually found his way to a smaller room, towards what might be considered the back, if the stairs were the front. There, in a corner, he saw something.

It looked like a wardrobe, broad and tall, but not deep. What attracted him was the colour of the wood. It exactly matched the wood of his bed and the rest of the bedroom furniture. In fact, it might almost have been from the same set, except that he'd had the furniture made for the room when he'd moved into the flat, and this was much older.

He studied it from a little way away. Unlike most items in the shop, its purpose wasn't obvious. Just a cupboard? For no particular reason he felt certain not, but even if it was it would make a nice addition to the bedroom. Not that he'd ask Toreth to buy it. After he'd found this incredible place and arranged the visit it would be ungrateful to ask him for an armoire.

There was a lock, but no key in it, and no obvious handles. A few moments' examination found the catches, and the double doors folded back smoothly in sections to lie flat against the sides.

The interior was also wooden, but tapping it showed it to be a shell covering what, from the weight of the thing, must be a metal frame.

Four chains with padded metal manacles were bolted into the top and bottom. Stepping inside, he reached up and took hold of them. Too long at the moment, but they looked designed to be adjustable. At the right length, they would hold him with his feet barely touching the floor. Stretched. Helpless. Open.

He closed his eyes, spread his legs a little, imagining the cabinet in his bedroom. Imagining the manacles, hidden and secret, and ready for him. Almost too much to think about. Almost. He leaned forwards, putting a little of his weight onto the chains, wary of tilting the frame, and rested his forehead on the smooth wood. It smelled of fresh wax and polish.

Perfect. It was perfect. It felt somehow familiar, as if it had been waiting for him, his already.

Toreth spoke from behind him. "For your flat."

He let go of the chains. "Yes." He moved aside to let Toreth examine the cabinet. "It matches the bedroom suite."

"Does it?" Toreth ran his hands over the wood, testing the seams and the fit with unexpected professionalism. Bracing his hand on the frame he took one of the chains and pulled, eventually putting most of his weight on it. Then he let go and stepped back.

"It's very nice," Toreth said.

Warrick shook his head. "It will be far too expensive. I'll — "

"I can afford it."

"You don't even know — "

"I said, I can afford it. If you want it. Do you?"

"Yes." An honest answer, because that was the rule. "Yes, I want it."

"Then try the manacles."

They proved to be far too small, although Warrick had to bite his lip to hold back a moan at the tight press of cold steel.

"I'll get her to change them."

Warrick nodded. "They don't look like they're original to it anyway."

"Does it matter?"

"Well, it would be a shame to spoil it, if it
was
all original."

Toreth laughed. "I just want to fuck you in it — I don't care whether it's original or not." He stepped back, looking it over. "There's only one problem with it."

"What?"

"We can't wrap it and take it home. But that doesn't matter — I like a little anticipation."

"I don't."

Toreth could move so quickly, so skilfully, when he wanted to. Before Warrick could react he was pinned face first against the wood inside the frame, his hands spread above him and pressing against the chains.

"It doesn't matter what
you
want," Toreth breathed into his ear. "All that matters is what
I
want. Say it."

"It doesn't matter what I want."

Toreth's hands pressed down over his, driving the links into his palms. "Say it."

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. "It doesn't . . . it doesn't matter what I want. It only matters what you want."

"Close enough." The pressure on his hands lifted briefly, then Toreth caught one arm by the wrist and twisted it up behind him. His other hand slid slowly down Warrick's arm, down his side, round his hip . . .

No. Not in public. Not in public. Somehow he couldn't manage the words.

Toreth's hand moulded gently round his cock, not moving at first, just holding him, then pressing him back slightly against him. Warrick fought to keep still.

"You really
do
want it, don't you?" Toreth whispered. "I should make you ask me for it on your knees. I should make you beg me for it, while I fuck you in front of it. But how long would it take before you came? Twenty seconds? Ten?" His hands tightened and Warrick's breath caught on a whimper. "Five? Probably not even long enough for me to get my cock inside you."

Desperately, he tried not to listen. He wouldn't let Toreth do it. He was going to stop this soon. Very soon. He
wouldn't
let him —

Then Toreth released him and stepped back, leaving him leaning against the wood, shaking.

"I'll go find her," Toreth said, in a matter-of-fact voice. "Wait here."

There wasn't much chance of him going anywhere else, at least not until he got himself back under control. He sat where he couldn't see the cabinet, on the edge of a table with heavy staples set at the corners, and concentrated very hard on being somewhere else.