Emma Holly (18 page)

"I don't know." Charity put her finger to her chin. "You look kind of hot."

"See!" Sylvia crowed. "In case you weren't aware, Mr. I-Want-to-Live-in-a-Pulp-Novel, some people have fetishes for this sort of clothes."

"And if they didn't," Charity put in, "they might develop one after getting a load of you two."

"Yeesh," Maurice said. "Women always stick together."

Sylvia turned her back on him. "Come on if you're coming.
I'm
not going to keep Mr. Grantham waiting."

"I know you're not," Maurice retorted. "You think he'll fall in love with you if you jump whenever he says boo. It's just too bad you don't jump as well when he's not watching."

Sylvia's answer to this was to smack his head.

"Exactly what am I in for?" Charity asked, trying not to sound uncertain.

Sylvia's face softened. "Nothing to frighten you. Mr. Grantham has a theory as to what will push your buttons best."

Unsure what to make of this, Charity followed with no more questions. She thought they were in the part of the complex that held B.G.'s room, because the halls were the same blank stone, free of the voyeur-friendly windows that distinguished the rest of the house. Thankfully, her escorts had stopped squabbling. After a short turn to the left, Sylvia flung open a thick steel door. She gestured toward something on the ceiling.

"The idea," she said, "is for you to feel secure."

The room she'd brought Charity to was a black, windowless cube with soundproofed walls and a marble floor. A huge flat TV took up one wall. What caught Charity's gaze most, however, was the object Sylvia was pointing out.

"Secure," Charity repeated, eyeing the contraption her caretakers were now lowering from the black ceiling. It was a complicated arrangement of leather straps and buckles, attached to hooks on the ceiling by silver chains. The thing looked like an S&M spider web. The leather, in particular, seemed well used.

"Very secure," Sylvia assured her. "We hook you up so your body weight is perfectly distributed. Even though you can't get free, you'll be comfortable. But maybe you don't trust the second string to do it right?"

It was a comment Charity herself might have made: self-deprecating humor used as a cover for bitterness. "I trust you," she said aloud. "I'm just wondering how I'll react. I've never done bondage this elaborate before."

"Tied to the bedpost with the boyfriend's shirt?"

Charity chose to take Sylvia's archness as a friendly joke. For all she knew, that's how Sylvia meant it.

"Once or twice," she said. "With his tie."

"Whew," said Maurice, his imagination clearly running away with him. "Is it getting hot in here, or is it me?"

His humor cheered Charity. "Why don't you strap me in?" she teased. "And we'll see if the temperature goes up or down."

"I will turn up the air," Sylvia announced loudly, as if she didn't want Maurice to have even a moment of Charity's attention. "When Mr. Grantham starts his show, I'm sure everyone will need cooling down."

"There's going to be a show?"

Maurice had no chance to do more than open his mouth.

"Let her enjoy the surprise," Sylvia scolded.

She returned from the controls to help her grumbling partner buckle Charity into the restraints. One by one, padded leather loops were slipped around her joints, down to her finger bones. As the bonds began to bear her weight, the sensual languor she'd felt when she'd been stretched across the limo returned. This time, it was stronger. Charity might have stepped into this harness of her own free will, but now it held her prisoner. As she recognized this, her nipples hardened enough to hurt.

Quick to recover from his annoyance, Maurice grinned. "You good, babe?"

"She's excellent," Sylvia clipped out.

Without warning, she pressed the button for the winch that wound the central chain. Charity gasped as her feet were swung off the marble tile. The distance was at most a foot, but the psychological effect was great. She was helpless now, at the mercy of her caretakers. A stab of almost painful pleasure surged between her legs. It was hard to remember this was supposed to be a punishment when it felt so good.

"Careful," Maurice said. "The harness isn't supposed to leave marks."

"I'm fine," Charity assured him, her voice unavoidably husky, her body swaying slightly in the web.

"Well, you look fine," he murmured, his gaze sliding over her trussed-up curves.

Sylvia clucked like a mother hen. "Of course she's fine." Despite her caring tone, she adjusted the buckle behind Charity's waist with a bit more force than required. "Who wouldn't be after spending the night receiving multiple orgasms from Mr. Berne?"

"It wasn't all night," Charity said.

"No, no," Sylvia agreed. "Not all night. Mr. Berne gave you only enough pleasure to help you recover from your shock. Terrible things, those quantum phenomena—though I have to wonder why
other
people aren't privileged to witness them."

"You're welcome to the privilege if you want it. I could have done without."

"Forgive me," Sylvia said, waving her hand in front of her eyes. "I didn't meant to suggest differently. I'm sure that, given a choice, you would have shared the experience."

Her gaze was now warm enough to disconcert Charity, beaming at her as if the two shared a secret.

"Uh, yeah," said Charity. "Why should I be the only one who gets freaked?"

Uncomfortable with Sylvia's sudden buddy-buddy vibe, she turned her head to Maurice. He looked mystified by Sylvia's complaint, which made Charity wonder how the masseuse had learned what had happened at B.G.'s dinner. Even if B.G. did have cameras in his private rooms, surely he didn't give Sylvia access.

The puzzle would have to wait. A flick of static marked the activation of the closed-circuit screen, followed by the soft mechanical whir of a camera. Charity did not doubt its lens was trained on her.

Apparently, this "show" was going to be two-way.

She liked that thought as much as she liked the leather's clasp. This might be a punishment, but Charity's sexual enthusiasm had always been her best weapon.

line guessed what was coming as soon as B.G. led him into the gray viewing room. It was a plusher version of the black room. It had furniture, for one thing—a chaise, a table, a small chess player's clock that many a guest had found cause to curse—all painted or upholstered monochrome gray. The shapes of the furnishings were exaggeratedly simple, like an artist's installation for a museum:
Study in Ash
by Pierre Moderne.

When they entered, the screen that displayed the room beyond was already on. Eric halted before it, his breath rushing unavoidably from his lungs. Big as life, the screen showed a real-time feed of Charity suspended, wide-eyed and naked, from a web of leather and chains. The restraints splayed her limbs and lifted her breasts while pulling her slightly off vertical. Tilted forward, she looked as if she were swimming up through the air. Her nipples were sharp and red, the inner curves of her thighs gleaming pale in the clear bright light. The curls of her pubic thatch clung together in wet little spikes.

Eric's toes curled on the silk-wool rug, knowing just by looking that she hung at the perfect level for a man of his height to slide in. His knees wouldn't even have had to bend.

Undoubtedly aware of this, B.G.'s hands settled on Eric's shoulders from behind. "She seems to be adjusting to that harness. No fight, but definite signs of increased arousal. I imagine you're sorry you didn't take your pleasure with her last night. If you had, you wouldn't be wanting her so much now."

"If I had, you might be punishing me even more. You might have excluded me from seeing this."

"I'm glad to hear you'd regret the loss." B.G.'s hold slid from Eric's shoulders and down his arms, ending to cuff his wrists just like Chanty's were cuffed. His mouth pressed near Eric's ear. "Are you sure, though, that any of this is really punishment?"

"B.G.," Eric pleaded without a hope in the world for mercy. True to form, B.G.'s caress shifted to his back, his fingertips playing along the channels of Eric's spine. They had stripped before coming here, an intimacy Eric always liked, even if it left him exposed. Taking advantage of their undress, B.G. settled his erect shaft between Eric's buttocks, filling their division with pulsing heat. Positioned then as he pleased, he wrapped Eric in his arms.

Despite Eric's frustration, despite his sense of disloyalty, the embrace was as welcome as if he hadn't been touched for years. He hoped whatever B.G. was about to do wouldn't backfire.

B.G.'s lips came close enough for his breath to tickle Eric's hair. "I'm turning on the camera for our side,"

he warned, causing Eric's nape to shiver with delight. "Charity's going to see what happens when you're pushed too hard to hold back. She's going to realize how far she ought to be pushing you."

He stepped away as Eric fought a moan, hitting the switch that brought their room out of private mode.

Then he drew a pair of leather shackles from a small gray box on the gray table.

It would have been easier on Eric if he hadn't watched B.G. move. His friend was at his most seductive when he was unclothed. Nothing else did justice to the elegant harmony of his limbs. Against the backdrop of gray, the colors of his skin were vivid. His cock, rising from his cleanshaven abdomen, throbbed hard and high. He was as stiff as Eric had ever seen him, certainly stiffer than he usually was this early in a game.

Eric grinned—wolfishly, he supposed, because his old friend faltered and frowned.

"What?" he demanded as Eric offered his wrists.

"I was thinking I'm not the only one who finds Charity's presence inspiring."

B.G.'s frown deepened. "Climb onto that chaise," he said, deliberately ignoring the comment. "I'm going to strap you to its legs."

The chaise was an L-shaped angle with a low back and no arms. Eric could rest his upper body on the end without the camera's view of him being blocked.

"You'd better oil me," he said, obediently stretching into position on his knees. His arms were long enough to flatten his hands on the floor. "I'm not sure you'll be able to squeeze that monster in without a ton of lube."

B.G. swatted his haunch with the leather cuffs. "You know I'm immune to flattery. Now behave, or this will go harder."

"I love harder," Eric said, some devil making him tease. "In fact, one day I'm going to tie you down so you can see how good harder is."

B.G. actually gasped. In all his and Eric's erotic adventures, he'd never given up formal control. Eric might have been on top now and then, but never with a true whip hand. To Eric's pleasure, B.G. didn't recover immediately. His lingering shock showed in his jerkiness as he stepped around to where Eric's arms draped the head of the chaise. Three tries were required to secure his first wrist.

His superior's discomposure made Eric laugh. B.G. had to kneel and kiss him before he'd stop. As always, the magic of his mouth reminded Eric who was boss. His hands strained automatically at the bonds, wanting to touch B.G., wanting to pull him close.

"Sh," B.G. said, laying calming fingers over his wrists. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Kiss me again," Eric demanded, gripping the wood instead.

"She'll be watching," B.G. warned.

"She wants to see," Eric came back.

B.G. hesitated only a moment before kissing him long and slow. Eric didn't think it was his imagination that his old friend put a bit more into it than before. Eric was breathless when he pulled away, and B.G.'s cheeks were pink. "Turn your face to the camera," he said as if to deny Charity might also be watching him. "I want our guest to see everything."

The camera was installed directly above the screen. To look at it was to look at Charity. Her lips moved, but the audio was turned off.
Sorry
, she might have said. Eric smiled and shook his head. No apology was needed. He was, very nearly, exactly where he wished to be.

B.G.
watched his oldest friend lock glances with their newest guest and thought it ironic to be resorting to these false windows when a foot of solid wall was all that stood between the rooms.

Not really solid, of course. Matter was predominantly space, volumes upon volumes of it, far beyond most laymen's imagining. Comparatively speaking, if the nucleus of an atom were the size of a tennis ball, the height of the Empire State Building would be needed for its orbits, of which there might only be a few.

That was space you could drive more than trucks through. Considering how empty "solid" matter was, human beings might as well be ghosts—or at any rate ghosts to him. B.G.'s understanding of the world was enough at odds with the general public's that he sometimes felt bereft of a tether to connect him to them. Eric made him feel real, and—oddly—so did Charity. She was lush and tousled in her web, flushed and fuckable. She mouthed something to Eric at which Eric smiled reassuringly.

Considering the warmth that shone from his old friend's eyes, B.G. wouldn't be surprised if he were half in love with her already.

His stomach clenched and a prickle of heat swept his face. Hormones, no doubt, and possibly a surge of stress. If it was stress, B.G. ignored it. Eric was supposed to fall in love this time, supposed to find the partner with whom he could finally live in a stable, committed relationship. Lately, Eric had been exhibiting the signs of a man unsatisfied with his state. There were recently married friends he didn't feel like seeing, long wistful minutes spent staring out of windows, sighs when he thought no one could hear.