Saving Sunni (21 page)

“I don’t know that much about running a store,” I said slowly. “I’ll certainly do what I can, but…”

“I know you will, dear. It won’t be for very long. I expect everyone to pitch in and help sunni out.” She glared around at the group as if suspecting them of deserting me the first chance they got. She smiled back at me. “You’ll learn everything in no time, I’m sure. Please give everyone your phone number and make sure you have theirs. The main thing is to have coverage every day and do the bank deposit and receiving. The rest can be taken care of later. You might want to hire another part-timer. I’d like the boys to work some more hours so that they can be there for—protection—if it’s necessary.” She smiled at the boys who squirmed a little and nodded slightly.

I pondered the idea of hiring someone to work in the store when Geri gently said my name. I jumped.

“Maybe you should take the list of numbers, dear, and give them yours,” she prompted, handing it to me, and I whirled around to find my purse. Geri dug in hers as well and ceremoniously handed me what I assumed was the store key. I wrote my number on the back of a receipt and handed it around for them to all program into their phones.

“I have complete faith in you,” she told me, pulling me down for another hug. “But I also have a cell phone, so feel free to call with any questions you have.”

We all wandered out soon after that. It was very obvious and a little alarming how weak Geri was. She didn’t even object when the boys announced they were leaving. Surprisingly, they each gave her a quick peck on the forehead before slinking silently out of the room. Debi, Tina, and I, seeing Geri’s eyes droop even while she was chattering away, did the same as soon as we could.

I recounted the conversation to Sir and sage over dinner that night. Sir looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything. sage was excited.

“Well, that’ll help if—” She broke off, wide-eyed. We knew he might be forced to resign, but we hated to bring it up.

We both looked at Sir in horror, but he just smiled dismally.

“Yes, if,” he agreed, standing up and taking his plate to the sink. He walked past us into the living room, and sage jumped to her feet to run after him. I decided to give her a few minutes to apologize, or whatever she was going to do, so I cleared off the table and did the dishes, starting a pot of coffee. I heard their voices talking softly in the other room, but I didn’t feel like joining in that conversation. It was too depressing to discuss whether Sir would lose his job and have to go back to Austria. I thought of myself, having just found a job I liked and getting a promotion, being forced to decide between staying here or going to Europe with Sir. I didn’t particularly want to leave Denver. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat back down at the dining room table, thinking. I toyed with asking Sir if he wanted to work at the store, but I simply couldn’t picture him waiting on rebellious teenagers.

Something else occurred to me: Sir could stay here if he married one of us. I stared into my coffee and considered it. It was a possibility. I wanted him to be able to stay in the country, sure, but would I be willing to do that? I pictured myself waving from the front door of a split-level ranch with a white picket fence, wearing a fifties-style dress and high heels, hair done up in a chignon. It was an odd thing to picture, but was what I associated with marriage for some reason.

The idea of Sir and sage getting married was even stranger. It seemed inevitable that everything would change then, as if that would force all of us to go back to respectable, vanilla, monogamous relationships. What a depressing thought. Was our poly lifestyle so fragile that it could be dissolved by one religious fanatic with a grudge?

This was getting to be too much. I put my head on my hands and stared at the table. Sir was probably going to be deported, which would be the end of our family. Or he would marry sage, and everything would change anyway. Geri was in the hospital, expecting me to take over her store—something I had no idea how to do—and all I had were a motley collection of irresponsible, unconcerned college kids to help me. Mary was being harassed at the club. Randy was outing all of our friends and scaring Sir and sage. I was also expected to organize a puppy event—another thing I didn’t have a clue about. I had to figure out how to help Geri without making Sir upset that I was going out by myself when we didn’t know what Randy was doing. I had to try to get Randy to stop harassing us and everyone we knew when I didn’t even know how to contact him. Sir would kill me if I snuck Randy’s phone number off my phone and called him.

And people assumed that being a slave meant that someone else handled all of your problems. I smiled a little in spite of myself.

Chapter 21

We pulled into The Keyhole Club’s parking lot at six on Saturday night. Mr. Cobb waited outside for us with a younger, nervous-looking man that he introduced as Jim Harvey, a local blogger who specialized in Denver entertainment and night life. Jim looked like he might have just come from a day of skateboarding; his hair was spiky, and he had a young, boyish face with a friendly, slightly self-conscious smile. But when he greeted us, his voice had a deep resonance that you didn’t hear every day. I had instant visions of him as an older, distinguished television personality. “I’m Jim Harvey with tonight’s breaking news”—something like that.

An old junker car pulled up, screeching its way into the parking lot, and Mary got out, impressively dressed all in leather. She had probably wanted to be here before the reporters so they wouldn’t see her beater, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She held out her hand and introduced herself as haughtily as if she’d arrived in a private jet. When she turned to regally lead the men into the club, they stumbled over each other in their haste to get in line. Any man who had even the slightest submissive tendencies would want to kneel at her feet and lick her boots. She must have been over six feet tall in her heels, but she strutted gracefully in them. sage enviously watched her. The leather skirt was slit up both sides to the tops of Mary’s hips, affording ample but fleeting glimpses of her gorgeous legs as she walked. Her corset barely covered her nipples, pushing her breasts up in a mesmerizing display, and her jet black hair floated silkily over the tops in a way that would have the men drooling, submissive or not.

sage and I were dressed very modestly compared to Mary. After the introductions I don’t think the reporters even glanced our way the rest of the time. They followed Mary around like two adoring puppy dogs, taking pictures of the equipment that they would be using for the Taste. Sir would be their official host, taking them around and explaining what each area was for and introducing them to the people who were doing the demonstrations.

As people arrived, Mary asked Jim to put his camera out in his car, explaining that it was a strict rule not to take pictures in the club. He glanced at us, realizing exactly what the repercussions of something like that horrible news story could be. He and Cobb both made an effort to look inconspicuous, but I saw a lot of people eyeing Cobb, either recognizing or trying to place him. Jim, who was not nearly as famous, was actively mingling, asking questions and chatting happily. He looked like he really enjoyed meeting people and trying new things; his choice of business was probably a good one for the moment. It would give him lots of contacts for developing his career.

Once the event was well underway, Sir gathered Jim and the older reporter and led them into the dungeon. It was set up in stations with tables or crosses for the different kinds of experiences being offered, and people were already lining up for their turns.

“Which of these things do you want me to try?” Jim asked, gesturing at the tables and wincing a little at the snap of a flogger landing on someone’s back.

“All of it, of course.” Cobb opened the small notebook he’d been carrying and poised a pen above it, grinning at the younger man. They stared at each other for a second or two until Sir intervened.

“You will probably want to try most of it,” he told Jim seriously, “but if there is something you feel strongly that you don’t want to do, we will certainly understand. Either of my girls will be happy to take your place at any of the stations.”

I wasn’t sure if he said that to shame Jim into trying everything, but the younger man flashed us a look that proclaimed very clearly his reluctance to have a girl stand in for him, especially for something unpleasant.

Cobb chuckled and led the way to the nearest station. It was hot wax, and we waited as Delilah helped a young woman off the table. As the girl walked off, still topless, Jim’s head swiveled in surprise to watch her. Cobb punched his shoulder to remind him that it was his turn on the table, and he turned back to Delilah with a small gulp.

“Is this going to hurt?” he asked, with the air of someone who knows that it’s a stupid question but needs to ask anyway.

“That depends,” Delilah said.

“On what?”

“Take off your shirt, lie down and I’ll show you,” she said, smiling at him flirtatiously. As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, she picked up the candles one by one and checked the levels of liquid in each, setting them down in the order she would use them.

Jim climbed onto the table, eyeing her apprehensively but not commenting. Delilah picked up a candle, studied it for a second, then poured a small amount on her arm so Jim could see.

“It depends on the type of candle and how far it is from your skin when I pour it,” she told him, exchanging the candle and holding it a couple feet above him. She allowed a small amount to spill over the edge and drop onto his chest, making him jump. The wax rapidly cooled a second later, and he seemed a bit embarrassed by his reaction.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Delilah asked, picking up another candle.

“No, I guess not,” he answered, relaxing a little.

She held the new candle about twelve inches from him and poured a little more. This time his jump was accompanied by a sharp yelp.

“And that is hotter. So you see that I can make it as comfortable, or as uncomfortable, as I like,” Delilah told him, bringing it back up to the higher level and dumping the rest.

This time he controlled his reaction, but Cobb stepped forward. “What exactly is the purpose of this kind of play?”

Delilah considered him. “It’s for sensation,” she said. “Some people like the pain from the hot wax, and some people like the idea that it could be extremely painful, although it may not actually be. It’s a fairly intense experience either way. Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” Cobb stepped back hastily as Jim laughed.

“Are you going to rip the hair off now?” Jim asked Delilah, a little giddy with relief that it hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected.

“I certainly can if you want,” she said, pretending to inspect the rest of his skin. “There’s enough of it to make some nice patterns here.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said quickly, starting to get up, but she put out a hand to restrain him.

“We do need to get this off before you leave,” she said seriously, reaching behind her to pull a large knife off the table.

Jim’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of the knife, and I thought he might make a run for it. But Delilah showed him on her own arm that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

“It’s just to scrape the wax,” she said, demonstrating. “Unless you’re into knife play, in which case I’d be happy to—”

“No, no,” he said hastily, lying back down and assuming an air of indifference. But it was obvious that he was watching her closely.

She expertly peeled off the colored chunks, taking some hair with it, judging by his expressions. She set the knife down and slipped a large, ornate metal claw on one finger, brandishing it for his benefit. “Of course, there are lots of other kinds of sharp, pointy things, too,” she said slyly, running it lightly down his arm. He watched with wide eyes until she stopped, laughing, and let him up.

“That claw thing looked awfully dangerous.” Cobb handed him his shirt. “Was it painful?”

“Not really,” Jim answered thoughtfully, folding the shirt over his arm. “It felt kind of interesting.”

Sir led them to the next station, where Charlie was doing needle demonstrations. Jim looked around in alarm, as if he thought this might be a mistake but didn’t want to refuse.

“How do you feel about needles?” Charlie asked him as he arranged his implements.

“How does anyone feel?” Jim countered, frowning. “Not crazy about them.”

Charlie giggled, patting Jim on the shoulder. “Oh, come on,” he said playfully. “Lots of people are crazy about needles. You will be too when I’m done with you!”

sage and I watched Charlie insert three needles through the skin of Jim’s arm. It was something we were very interested in trying, but hadn’t gotten around to yet. Jim’s face went from apprehensive to surprised, then gradually relaxed as the endorphins kicked in. He even joked around with Charlie, which made me like him more. At least he wasn’t homophobic.

From there we went to the flogging station, where Sir Matthew showed him the variety of floggers he was demonstrating. Jim was a bit reluctant again, but handed his shirt back to Cobb and went to stand as directed against the St. Andrew’s cross. Matthew used first a soft deer hide flogger on him for four or five strokes, then switched to a heavier leather flogger.

“This will be more of a thuddy sensation,” he told Jim before hitting him lightly a few times. “The softer ones help warm you up so that when we move on to the bigger ones it’s not such a shock. If we were doing a real scene, I would increase the weight and the intensity very gradually, so that you could adjust to each step. That way, when we got to the bigger floggers, you would be ready for it and it would have the effect we’re looking for, rather than just hurting you.”