Part Two: Silent Night
"You must be very special." a woman wearing nothing but a smile snuggled up against Brad as he sat rather uncomfortably on a soft blue padded bench in the indoor garden. After removing his mask for him, she continued, "Cindy said you just came from Mr. P's room." Brad nodded, blushing as a well muscled man brought him a fruity drink with a flower sticking out of the top. "I guess so." "We're supposed to give you anything you want." The woman purred, rubbing her nude body up against him as she ran her hands over his leather encased cock. "Anything you desire." Brad looked out the large bay windows into the California night. He knew there was a hotel on the same expanse of land and wondered if he would be staying there for the night. Before he could ask, his question was answered. "Here's the key to your suite." the man was back again and dangling a key on a leather strap for him. "Room 12." "Thanks." Brad took the key and sipped slowly on his drink as the woman further insinuated she wanted to fuck him. He wondered if the VIP room was standard for someone that was lucky enough to spend time with a head master. * * * * * Greg had quickly changed from his leather pants and vest to a pair of looser charcoal pants, opting to stay with the shirt. He knew very well that sending a public slave to the VIP lounge and setting him up with a room was highly unusual, but something about the slave had struck him as familiar. He had known half way through the session he would break his own rules to find out who his masked slave had been. It was something he just had to know. Almost as if he was being commanded to follow up on the slave. He also knew that he wanted to see the trembling man once more, and possibly invite him into his own elite clique of regulars. He could train him well and bring him into the world without a mask. After pointedly ignoring his messages, Greg took the short walk to the VIP lounge to find his slave, hopefully unmasked. * * * * * Brad let his body relax as the woman knelt between his legs and engulfed his cock. As she swallowed him whole, he tried for the life of him to remember why he gave up women so many years ago. It seemed the only place he even thought of them as sexual beings was in the Palace. It was hard not to see the nearly and fully naked men and women as anything other than sexual. He let one hand tug on the woman's soft blonde hair as she hungrily worked on him, After the session with the Mr. P, he knew he couldn't last long, he never did, but when he came across her heaving breasts, he couldn't help but feel a little inadequate. The woman licked her lips, then rubbed the fluid on her fingers and into her mouth. "Sweet as honey." * * * * * Greg heard the low moan before he could put a face to it, but as he took a dark corner booth, he knew the other man was who he was looking for. "Mr. P!" His head throbbed slightly when he heard the familiar voice of his assistant, Tam. "Mr. P...I was hoping to catch you before you went home..." "What is it, Tam?" Greg was unenthused as his usual drink was set on the table. "I'm not really in the mood today." "Did you clear for a public slave to get a VIP suite?" Tam's voice was low as she slid into the booth. "Yes, I did." Greg kept his reply simple and looked Tam in the eye until she nervously got up and left him to his spying. He knew that she would go to anyone that would listen and tell them he'd cracked. So be it. Maybe he had cracked, he knew it wouldn't be the first time. Drawn to the commotion, he saw a naked female eagerly toweling off as she took a table near him. "Have you seen a slave in here recently?" Greg smiled seductively, knowing that alone could get the information out of most anyone. "The one you sent?" the woman smirked, "I can see why you like him." "Really, so now I like him?" Greg tried to push away her comment. "He's delicious, Mr. P." She gathered the last bit of Brad's drying cum on her fingers and pushed them to Greg's lips. "And with such a pretty face, too. Looks familiar, though." Greg inhaled the scent and let his tongue dart out to taste her fingers. "Familiar, you say?" "Mmm." she smiled, drawing back her hand. "Maybe from some television show or something, not like anyone famous...but I know I've seen him before." Greg was even more curious with the new information and wanted to see the man for himself, "Did you hear if he was leaving soon?" "He came and went, Mr. P." the blonde mocked a pout, "Pity too, didn't leave a number or anything." "Shit." Greg gulped the warm drink. "You didn't happen to catch his room number, did you?" "Oooh, you've got it serious." she giggled. "No, I just want to follow up. Maybe ask him to join the list with my other regulars." Greg nervously fiddled with the flower in his drink. "So you say." the woman set aside her towel and slid into Greg's booth. "I might have heard something, but we aren't supposed to give out information like that...but I'm sure you know the rules." She smiled softly, making it understood what her meaning was. "What do you want? Name it. You know I can get it or not." Greg finished off his drink and leaned heavily on the table, ready to negotiate terms to get what he wanted. "I want to see him on his knees, being worked over with a strap, then fuck him senseless. A joint session with both of you." she licked her lips again. "By the way, my name is Trish." Greg lowered his eyes, "I hate to be the one to break it to you, Trish, but I don't think he'll be coming back soon. That's why I wanted to follow up...he didn't even take an hour to break." "He'll be back." Trish ran a hand through her hair, "He was so hot when I got to him...he'll probably be back tomorrow requesting you." she tried not to laugh, letting out only half a giggle, "I think you turned him on in ways he's not ready for." "That's stupid." Greg shook his head, tapping a cigarette out of his pack and slowly lighting it. "He was a novice. I should have known better." "Then why would you want him on your list?" Trish raised an eyebrow, knowing she had him against the wall. Greg stumbled for a strong answer and ended up with a rather weak one, "He's trainable, and I want a challenge." "You want him, and you know it." Greg shrugged, "Even if I did, it's none of your business. And I can't promise you anything." "You'll get him, Mr. P. You get what you want, every time. You know I can give you the room number, so just tell me I can have a private session with you both." Greg caved. "Master or slave?" "Slave." "Okay, but I'm not promising anything solid." "That's all I asked for. Now, how about another drink?" * * * * * Brad left through the top level bar, changing into his street clothes as he left. He couldn't help but wonder how many people had known what happened to him in Mr. P's chamber. Did the woman behind the bar know what he had been in for? He couldn't help the thoughts that ate at his belly as he checked into his room and stared at the huge double bed and Jacuzzi. Why did he freak out so easily? Why did Mr. P not only send him to the VIP lounge, but hook him up with such a nice room? And Who the hell is this Mr. P guy, anyway? There was something about the master's voice, the way he almost seemed to be mocking at every moment until he became 'Daddy'. Something about the way his chin formed under the eye mask. It was all just too damn eerie to be coincidence. Mr. P had seemed so familiar, yet reminded him nothing of any other master he'd been with. The one time he'd dared to see the smile Mr. P gave willingly, it had frightened him...and only partly because of the context. After three little bottles of gin while sitting comfortably in his personal Jacuzzi, the questions went away. He thought briefly about driving home and realized he was probably too drunk to even find his car. And just maybe, things would make more sense in the morning. * * * * * Greg sighed as he stood before the locked door to room 12. Thankfully it hadn't taken much coaxing to get Trish to give up the number. And even if their little ménage did take place, which seemed like too far in the future to think about for more than a fleeting moment, it wouldn't be half-bad. He had half-hoped on his way up that the door would be unlocked, and the slave would be waiting for him inside. Of course, that wasn't the way things went in the real world. Prepared for the let-down, he removed a small notepad and pen from his coat pocket and jotted down a simple note. --Dear B, Brittany, I can't explain why, but I must see you again. It is of the utmost importance. If you wish for the same, please come Devil's Palace Friday night, as late as you wish, and ask for me at the bar. They will be expecting you. Your Master and Daddy, Mr. P For a moment, Greg contemplated signing his name and leaving his voice mail number, but that was too much. It would be almost obsessive, and he just wanted to arrange another meeting. "I'm not interested in him as more than a slave." He reminded himself as he slid the note under the door. "Just a slave, nothing more. No faces, no names." He almost sounded convincing. * * * * * Brad awoke, feeling strangely comfortable in the strange tangle of sheets as he tried to recall the previous night. Luckily, only a slight headache remained from his drinking. After a brief fumble for the phone, he requested room service bring a cup of coffee and some aspirin. He could feel a slight bruising on his back and ass and cursed his thin skin. He always bruised. Luckily, he carried it well and had gotten used to the look of a truly well formed bruise. Each one was a temporary reminder of what had happened. A slight knock startled him out of his waking daze and he shook away his previous thoughts. He half-hoped it would be the mysterious master at the door, come to wish him a good morning and explain a few things. It was only room service. He didn't see the small slip of once folded paper until he'd washed down the two pills with some Columbian roast. He could feel his pulse rising a little as he took up the note and opened it. Of course, it had been from the shadowy master. He couldn't help but smile as he read the name, then whispered it aloud, "Brittany." In retrospect, it seemed rather silly how much the role playing had phased him. The tiny panties, the dress...the spanking. He'd always been good at taking on characters, but part of him wondered how he took the suggestion so quickly. Once the thoughts had tracked back to the note, he finished. Now more curious than before. The boss wanted to see him again, even went and set up an appointment. As he went to shower before he left to go home, he briefly flirted with the thought of not coming Friday, just not showing up at all. Of course, he knew he had to go...if nothing else to assure himself that Mr. P was no more than a passing fancy for a certain master/slave identity and Mr. P just liked the easy response to role playing. He hoped. * * * * * Greg groaned as he rolled over and pulled the blankets tighter around him. He hadn't slept hardly at all, instead had spent more than a couple long hours pacing the floor of his San Francisco condo muttering to himself. The first conclusion that he'd come to was that he'd fallen for the nameless and faceless slave. The second was that falling for a slave was definitely against the rules. He felt guilty for the lengths he'd been willing to go to all in the name of curiosity. Had he actually seen the slave and put a face to the beautiful, writhing body...well, he didn't want to think about that. After slowly sitting up and giving his balls a healthy scratch, he tried to look through bleary eyes for his glasses. He'd put them somewhere other than the usual place in his late night pacing. Giving up on his glasses, he found his cigarettes and lit one of the remaining two. "Fuck man, get it together." He spoke to himself in a hushed tone, standing on sleepy legs and stumbling to the kitchen for his morning coffee. Two cups of coffee later, he finally left the kitchen table and located his specs under the TV Guide in the living room. Flipping to whatever kind of news was on at eleven thirty, he checked his messages. One message. Dan, of course, reminding him that the cast had a meeting that afternoon to work up a shooting schedule for the next few months. He hadn't forgotten.