A/N: Okay - so I've planned a second book, to explore some of the other relationships that are alluded to in Gray and Owen's story. I'm actually super excited about the content of this one, but, because I don't want to give too much away, I'm basically just dropping the first chapter here, which might seem jolly boring, because it's just beginning to establish the voices of the six (yes, 6!) first person perspectives, so not a huge amount happens, even if, hopefully, there's enough 'whaaaat?!' to make you want to keep reading ;-) 

Chapter One: December

Landon

I sit back in my chair, Russo by my knees, stroking me through my pants while I casually entwine my fingers through his long, soft hair. The show on the stage is distracting enough; Frankie has been edging Ellis up there with sensation play for almost an hour, and Ellis' golden skin is glistening under the lights, frustration coloring his whimpers of desire. I check my watch; Gray and Liam will be on their way to the airport and I allow myself to hope they have a safe flight to London. I'm not a fan of flying, myself, but then I'm not from the same jet-setting lifestyle as Frankie and Gray, with their trust funds, or even the others, with their varying career choices and the successes those have brought. I'm just a pediatric oncologist, though I love my job, despite all the pressure it brings. I suspect Frankie charges me a reduced annual membership fee here at the club, never increasing it from the notional amount when he first opened, which I'm thankful for because I doubt I'd be able to afford more, even if I don't know what the full fee is, but the fact that I'm surrounded by millionaire, and even billionaire, Doms gives me some clue.

I've known Frankie and Gray almost the same amount of time, because I met Gray on our first day of college as we were both pre-med, and Frankie about two hours later, due to those two always being joined at the hip back then. We used to get called the three musketeers – I know, witty, right? – because we were fairly inseparable and, I don't know, something about swordplay...

We stayed close through medical school, even though it was intense because we both were fast tracked through our specializations, and Frankie had joined the Marines halfway through college. I wasn't even surprised the day they both sat me down to very seriously tell me they were into BDSM and were Dominants. A lot of things fell into place when they said that. They admitted they'd told me because Frankie had decided to leave the forces and develop his own club and they wanted me to join them too and be a member, so I'd have to learn all this domination stuff. I was a bit hurt that Gray had waited over three years to tell me that he'd started doing all that kink when he went to London for a year during his Bachelor's degree, especially as we'd had threesomes since then with 'boyfriends' of his – who I then realized must have been submissives. But I got over it quickly, and it turned out I could find myself pretty into the whole bondage and domination thing, though I'm definitely not a sadist.

Russo is cute, his straight long hair adding to the overall femininity of his features, and right now those pouting lips are busily working away at my cock, as Frankie comes into the VIP area. He looks worried, and I stop Russo, pulling him up to sit next to me on the couch, as I turn to Frankie, sipping amber liquid in a crystal class.

"Ellis okay?" I question, because he seems to have left him alone quickly after their public scene.

"Fast asleep. I barely got through his aftercare. He hasn't been sleeping well. At least the scene relaxed him."

"Unsettled after the move?" Ellis has just moved in with Frankie, and I wonder if the pressure of cohabiting might be getting to him.

"Maybe. But I think it's more than that. He's been having pretty bad nightmares for a few nights, but he won't tell me what they're about."

"Even when you remind him...?" The importance of communication, yeah. Easier said than done.

"Well, he tells me he doesn't remember them. But he's hiding something."

"You know what you need to do," I suggest.

"Yeah, but he's just gone on vacation. I don't want to mess it up."

"You know Ellis' wellbeing is far more important to him than that."

Frankie reluctantly agrees he'll speak to Gray, who's a psychiatrist and, while I doubt he'll actually abandon his trip to deal with Ellis' nightmares, I'm certain he'll be able to get Ellis an appointment with whoever the best in the field of 'nightmares' is – he's that kind of guy.

I turn back to Russo when Frankie's gone to check on Ellis, as Gray will be in the air right now. He keeps his eyes down and I lift his chin.

"Look at me, Russo. Did you speak to Master Thomas?" I ask, because he was meant to be speaking to the man about a contract when his three month one with me is up in a couple weeks.

"I did, Sir. He said he'd be more than happy to sign me on for three months."

"Good. But don't forget he'll be a lot stricter than I am."

"I won't Sir," Russo chuckles, looking up at me through long lashes, his brown eyes gleaming wickedly. "Actually, Sir, I'm quite looking forward to having someone a bit strict controlling me."

"Is that so?" I question, faking over-blown insult from his words. "If that's the case young man, get that tight little ass to the playroom so I can punish you." He just giggles again as he rises, because he knows the most he'll be getting is a few swats with a flogger, which he'll enjoy anyway.

To be honest, I haven't got the imagination for coming up with punishments, not when I work with subs for a maximum of three months at a time. They always do their best to behave – I do have the imagination for the fun stuff and if they don't at least try to perform, seeing me as an easy touch, I simply terminate their contract. I have a tough job with long hours, and I don't have the energy to waste time with someone seeking attention by being a brat. It's worked for me, but I know Frankie thinks it's strange, even if Gray is mainly on my side. I'm already debating whether to go straight into another three-monther or to stick with one-nighters for a while. They're a lot less ambiguous in terms of expectations, and the idea that you have one night to have as much pleasure as possible is tempting, though having someone regularly available with a longer contract also has its benefits.

Nikolai

It's freezing. I wrap my arms around myself tighter, but even the thick padded coat I'm wearing isn't doing enough. Jebat! Why did I do this in December? I tuck my face down into the woolen scarf, pulling my legs up into my coat, trying to contain my body heat. Dziakuj Bohu it isn't snowing, though it feels like it's cold enough. It isn't like I'm not used to being cold – winters in Minsk certainly aren't sunshine and roses, but when I left home without telling anyone, to undertake this mission, I was simply too impassioned to have any sense about it.

I have a little cash, but I'm not going to use a card. I have one for emergencies, but it hasn't got to that stage yet, as I know they'll track me far too easily. I consider my options. I know Central Park is one – there are many places to sneak into that are hidden away from biting winds, though I'm certainly not the only person with nowhere to go, and I don't want to draw any attention to myself. Homeless people can get extremely belligerent when they see you entering into their territory, and even after such a short time I can see why that would be the case; when a person has so very little, the idea that someone may come and take it away leaves you breathless.

I haven't eaten yet today. Sleeping on an empty stomach is nearly impossible; several nights I have awoken from the gnawing of my insides even when I have managed to secure a place to hide away, so I've learned to save eating for much later in the day. I will have to go to one of the small shops they call bodegas to get something to eat. You pay more, but I cannot go to a larger store as I may be chased away. It hasn't happened yet, to me, but I've seen it happen to those like me. I had told myself I would bathe – there's always something accessible like public restrooms – but the freezing water and even more freezing temperatures make me know an attempt at cleanliness really isn't worth the effort, although at least I make sure to clean my mouth every day, and I am not so far gone that I smell of urine!

I find a bodega, dirty but crammed with goods for sale. With my bag over my shoulder and securely tucked under my arm, I enter the brightly-lit little store, smiling weakly at the tense dark-skinned man behind the counter. I need something filling, that doesn't require cooking, or a refrigerator. There are many snacks on offer: high sugar and little nutritional value, but this is no use to me. I settle for a large bag of unsalted peanuts – this protein will be good, some bananas, and a small carton of milk to have now.

I pay for my items and tuck the peanuts and bananas into my bag, opening the milk to take a big sip.

"Hey, hermano, buy us something from here?" The dark-skinned boy has an unthreatening grin on his face as he stops me as I walk past a liquor store.

"No," I respond simply, but then, he's surrounded by seven other small boys – probably only just into their teens and suddenly, small boys that barely reach my shoulder don't seem so unthreatening.

"No?!" he mocks, looking to his friends. "This culo says no?" I glance between them, feeling the implied threat as they form an uneven circle around me. I try to keep my face calm – it isn't as though I don't know about threats – draining the milk carton and tossing it precisely into a can for trash, as there's no way I'm wasting nutrients now. Particularly as I might need them shortly.

The boys start to get closer, the circle tightening. The leader moves slightly forward, playing with something in his pocket. I would suspect a knife, or at least that he wants me to think it's a knife.

"You won't do it. So you'll give us your money instead," he growls in an unnervingly deep voice, gesturing for me to hand him my bag.

"No," I repeat, calmly. "It is mine, you are not having it."

"Whoa, boys, hear this? We have a Rusky. He's probably got vodka in there." What? Do they teach these children nothing? I debate informing him that the Cold War was completed some years ago, there really isn't an excuse for such baseless stereotypes based on the wrong nationality. How would he feel if I suggested him to be Canadian?

Instead, I bend my knees slightly, imperceptibly. I'm going to have to remove the head of the hydra and make sure it can't grow back. I twist, sending a powerful roundhouse kick to the side of the leader's knee, hear the shrill scream when I connect and, in their moment of shock and confusion, I run, hard, clutching my bag to my side.

Dae

My time has come. I quickly but carefully balance the plates, nimbly stepping into the restaurant, avoiding all the idiots who are apparently blind to someone carrying delicate porcelain laden with hot food. I only hiss when some broad-shouldered douche backs towards me without looking, biting my tongue to prevent the backlash, because I know my own backlash would be far worse if I were to get fired. I make it to the table, finally, without incident, lowering my eyes as I lower the plates to the correct places. It was hard to demonstrate my skills when I was taking the orders, one of the fools apparently needing to ask the precise ingredients of every dish, until the big one muttered at him to stop being such a princess and just pick something. I say the big one, but they're all big compared to me. He's the biggest though, sitting straight-backed with his head held high. He makes me shiver, and not in a good way. That kind of confidence is frightening, I think, but I don't have a choice. Or I did, maybe in the past. I know it's my own actions that have brought me here now.

"Will that be everything, Sir?" I purposefully address the big one, thinking he'll like that. Well, I suspect they'd all like that, but he's the one I'm trying to impress. I can't tell if I get a nice little narrowing of the eyes in appreciation because I'm very carefully keeping my eyes on the ground.

"Yes, thank you. What's your name?" his voice is a low growl, but I don't think it means anything. He looks like an animal, of course he growls.

"Dae, Sir." I wait, expecting a dismissal, maybe a test.

"Thank you, Dae, you're dismissed." I leave. I think that was it, and I hope I passed.

The evening was a wash after all. I managed to keep it up the whole time, nearly missing them calling for their check because I was so eager to show that I never look in anyone's eyes, but luckily Lacey just thought I was feeling stressed so nudged me to get me moving. I got a three-hundred-dollar tip, so I presume they liked something about my service, but the big guy didn't say anything else directly to me. I don't know if I did something wrong: my training has been perfunctory at best, but I'm going to keep quiet about my failure. He'll be back, I'll get another chance. He owns the place after all.

Dexter

"Dex, can I see you in my office?" François asks, and I pat tonight's sub, Alain, telling him to stay where he is.

When we're inside the warm comfortable space I take a seat, and François passes me a whiskey and water.

"Serious?" I ask, nodding at the drink.

"Hopefully not, but it may take a while," he admits. "I'm having some problems, with the company, and I need your advice." I know which company he's referring to immediately. François would certainly try to resolve things on his own first, and problems with the club would have been alluded to sooner even if he was sorting them. This must be his family's property development company, which François and his siblings have been taking from strength to strength. But rapid expansion can certainly raise red flags, and the fact that my own business is personal protection means I can already take a guess.

"Have you been threatened?" I ask.

"You could say that. The Russians have been trying to muscle in on the corporate side of the business, wanting a piece of the pie. And they're getting increasingly frustrated that we aren't letting them in." Organized crime is a problem I have to deal with regularly: they're always looking for easy ways to launder money and property development is a big way for them to do it, the fiddling of accounts relatively easy if all sides are on the same page. But François runs the business entirely ethically, to the point where there's areas they lose money, such as their social housing initiative; but they more than make up for it in other areas, and are a big name to be reckoned with.

"So you need to get rid of them?"

"In some way, yes. And I'm thinking on that. But in the short term I just need everyone to be safe. Can you help?"

"Of course. I suggest you have a personal protection team for each of your family members." François has an older sister, married with two children, and a younger brother with a fiancée and baby, as well as his parents, all of whom are involved in the business in some way or another. "And I can put an investigative team on tracing the precise source of the threat, if you're not already sure."

"No, not yet. It's all been very cloak and dagger so far. Nothing specific. What about Lucien?" That's his twin brother, who's a doctor working for Medecins Sans Frontieres, currently based in northern Africa somewhere.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, he's rather nomadic at the moment."

"I suspect he's safe. He's not connected to the business, but I can get a contact over there to check up on him. You'll need someone, probably a team, because you keep strange hours."

"I'd rather not have anyone on me. I like to keep my personal life personal."

"Think of Ellis. And I can give you Connor."

I met Connor when I joined the police at eighteen, completing my Bachelor's and my Master's in Criminology by night, before I joined the F.B.I. and he joined the Marines where, by one of those strange quirks, he was in the same intake at the Naval Academy as François. Connor is how I met François, who I discovered I shared various predilections with, and they were side-by-side, until François left to create the club, and certainly developed that bond that seems common to the armed forces. As expected, François' face lights up at the notion Connor can be his Personal Protection Officer and I'm glad it seems to help him relax into the idea.

"Okay, Connor. But only him. I may keep weird hours, but so does he, and he already knows about the club so that's one less thing to worry about. And I'll expect him to be looking after Ellis. I can take care of myself." That's probably the best I'm going to get, so I nod in agreement, and make the necessary calls to my offices, which are open perpetually, as the need for protection rarely follows regular office hours.

"Your family members will have their team in place by the morning, and Connor will be at your house at seven a.m." François rolls his eyes, but it means nothing to me as I know he'll have been up for a couple of hours by then, regardless of the late night I'm sure he'll have tonight.

I head back into the lounge, noting with disappointment that Alain is not where I left him. I spot him on the dancefloor with his friends and approach.

"I presume you wish to be released, Alain?" He spins around, his eyes on my shining leather shoes.

"N-no, Sir! I'm sorry, you were just gone for a long time."

"I know. And I gave you what I thought was an extremely straightforward instruction. Was it not?"

"Yes, Sir," he pouts, still looking down, "but I got bored. You can punish me?"

"No, Alain. Punishment was not why I requested your company this evening. You are released."

I walk away, back to the VIP area, frustrated. I have no qualms in punishing subs if it's required to improve their understanding, but I don't do it simply because they're rude. Those kind of subs I just stay away from, so I won't be asking Alain for an evening any time soon, regardless of his pretty blue eyes and soft blond hair. But I'm annoyed. I had been looking forward to our interaction, so I scan my eyes around the room, seeking out someone who I know won't let me down. My eyes alight on the perfect option, though he's currently in conversation with another Dom, Simeon. I keep my fingers crossed that Owen will reject Simeon, who dips his toe in Sadism, which I know is not a kink of Owen's, having taken some small part in his training process. He does, with a polite smile and a dip of his head, and Simeon walks away apparently unoffended, which I'm unsurprised by, as Owen certainly has a way with him.

"Owen," I approach as he dances with some friends, wearing little other than a pair of tiny dance shorts that seem positively sprayed on, showing off his slim frame, and the obligatory army-style boots.

"Master Dexter, Sir, it's good to see you." I see his small smile, though he keeps his eyes down.

"You're looking extremely well. Are you planning on scening tonight, Owen?"

"With you, Sir? Yes, I'd like that."

"Good. Would you like to continue dancing for a while, or will you come and watch the show with me?"

"I'll come with you, Sir." Owen follows me into the private showroom where Xander is about to perform.

Xander's into medical fetishism, which can be a bit daunting for those who haven't explored it, but I know Owen is well-trained enough not to need reminding that if it's too much he only has to ask to leave. He sits elegantly to attention by my legs as the show begins, resting his hand on my calf.

The sub, a thirty-year-old named Travis, is already bound to an examination table, his arms cuffed above his head and his ankles cuffed in the widely spread stirrups. Xander enters the stage, wearing a white doctor's coat and a face mask, pausing to stroke Travis' hair and whisper something to him. I lean forward to catch Owen's attention.

"What are your limits on this?"

"Some hard limits, Sir, but the show didn't come with warnings did it?" It did not, and if edgeplay were involved it would have, so I confirm. "So mainly soft limits for the kind of things I'm sure he'll be doing today, Sir." That's good, nothing that should upset him then, which I appreciate, as a good show, which Xander will certainly provide, can be a great benefit to an even better scene afterward.

Xander begins by feeling over Travis's body, alternating between light and hard touches and pinching sensitive areas, building tension until Travis is clearly having to prevent himself from bucking to demand more, his slim cock dripping on his flat stomach. When he's ready, Xander snaps on a medical glove before scooping cold lubricant and smearing it over the boy's twitching hole. I almost chuckle at that almost perfect rendition of the perfunctory nature of real medical exams, wondering if he caught that skill directly from Landon and Gray, who I know have given him training in some of the techniques. When he pushes two fingers in deep, Travis can't help the movement of his hips, and Xander squeezes the base of his cock, none too gently, to remind him to be still. Xander spends some time massaging the prostate, apparent by the clenching and unclenching of Travis' hands above his head and the mewling from his throat.

Eventually, Xander withdraws his fingers, and I note that Owen's chest is rising and falling rapidly, his hand unconsciously stroking my leg as he bites his lip, clearly aroused by his fellow sub's own arousal. I see his eyes go very wide as Xander pulls a speculum from the console table; a smooth three-pronged metal one, and I watch his reaction with interest, certainly horny, but adorably nervous too, and he squeezes my calf muscle in time with Xander sliding the instrument inside Travis and twisting it to its maximum. When Xander has the boy wide open he takes a long, flexible instrument and slides it in, twirling it around to tickle Travis' stretched walls. It's slim but very long, and you can see the point where it reaches the first bend, because Travis gasps and yelps at the strange feeling. Xander keeps tickling him inside until he's begging for more sensation: go wide or go home.

Xander carefully withdraws the probe and the speculum, leaving the boy with a delicious gape, ready to be filled, which he does swiftly, flicking the coat to one side so the audience can see him slamming into that well-prepared hole. Owen is squeezing my calf again and he turns to glance at me briefly, before dropping his eyes when he sees me looking.

"You ready to play, Owen?"

"Yes, Sir," he murmurs, letting me lead him by the hand to my playroom, his desire very clear to see in those tiny shorts.

When we get there, he strips and stands in waiting, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes on the floor.

"May I cuff you, Owen?" I ask from behind him, stroking down his slim torso until I reach his hardness, which I pass over with featherlight touches.

"Mmhmm, yes please, Sir," he moans delightfully while I ponder exactly what to do with this extraordinarily pretty boy. I decide I want access to his beautiful full lips, so I guide him to the horse, cuffing him to the legs by his wrists and ankles.

"Let me know your safewords, Owen," I say, and he tells me. Luckily, because I've worked with him before, I know a great many of his preferences, so I decide to go relatively gently this evening. I only want to have some fun, not push any limits, for either of us.

I pull down my horsehair flogger, which will give a very nice sting, which I know Owen enjoys. I work his shoulders and his lovely plump ass until the skin there is flushed deep pink and I can see his precum pooling under him as he moans in pleasure. I haven't quite finished with him yet, continuing to flog as I slide my cock into his hot mouth. He accommodates me with ease, accepting me into the tightness of his throat as he moans around me. I won't last long with the little flicks of his tongue as he sucks me down, so I move behind him, stroking his flushed skin as I slide my lubed and sheathed cock inside his incredibly tight space as he whimpers out the combined pain and pleasure. I go slow for a while, still flogging, to allow him to get used to me, speeding up when I can feel him responding, clenching rhythmically around me, clenches that get tighter and tighter as he builds up a need to orgasm, until I whisper for him to let go, and he does just a few moments later, almost perfectly in time with my own release. A perfect ending to an imperfect evening.

Ellis

Sir hasn't been to the VIP area yet, which is frustrating me. He told me to go dance but keep an eye out for him because he had some membership work to deal with. I can't sulk because François hates that and I'll only get punished. I still sulk, don't get me wrong, but I try my hardest to never do it when Sir is around, though the number of times he catches me out I wonder if he has a mini-drone following me around or something. I can't complain too much, because I don't hate him using the paddle on me, but it's annoying that apparently he has no such moratorium on sulking, as he's really not a smiling kind of guy.

I'm missing Gray. He's been gone a week now and somehow I hadn't realized how much I rely on him to keep Master François under control. Control, though, that isn't the right word, because even Master Gray or Master Landon don't control Sir, even though they're his closest friends. But they keep him happy in a bigger way than I understood, they must, because I know Sir hasn't seen Master Landon since last week, and of course Gray is away, so that's the only explanation I can think of for why Sir has been so grumpy this week – like a bear with a three-day-bender hangover.

I do wonder if it's because I moved in with him. He didn't exactly live alone before, what with the butler and the housekeeper (rich people, am I right?), but they have some fancy shack at the end of the garden, so it's pretty obvious Master François needs his own space. Maybe I'm invading it, though when I tentatively suggested he might want some time on his own he looked genuinely shocked and dragged me onto his lap, before fucking me senseless, so I don't even know.

But right now, I don't even care if what I'm doing will get me a punishment. I can cope with a spanking, because I suspect it won't be anything more intense, as, except for that physical confirmation I'm not in the way, earlier this week, we haven't even had sex since last Saturday's scene, so Sir must be gasping for it by now and isn't going to put me out of action with a rough punishment. Before I moved in we were at it every single time we saw each other, multiple times. The man has a crazy high sex drive, which suits me because, since I met him, so do I. Maybe, after he's punished me for disturbing his work, I can get him revved up with a little tongue action. Mmmm, he really does have the biggest, juiciest cock – I can feel my mouth watering just thinking of it.

I've managed to successfully distract myself from the contretemps I'm committing as I stand in front of his office door. I walked past several bouncers on the way, but because of who I am no one stopped me. Hey, I don't need other people to save me from myself, I'm a big boy. I don't even knock, maybe hoping that how hot I look in this new leather harness will be enough to distract him about me just turning up, but my immediate thought as the door swings open is that I really, really wish I'd knocked, and it's nothing at all to do with my, now certain, punishment.

There's a table in the middle of François' office – not the small coffee table by the comfortable leather chairs, but a table that has obviously been very intentionally brought in precisely for the purpose it's currently being used, which is so some cute young twink can be stretched across it on his back, strapped by ankles and wrists, while François, my Master, flogs his smooth skin to a glowing state of red as his slides his big hand up and down the boy's painful-looking erection. Those hands that are supposed to be mine; that stroke my flesh until I'm moaning and writhing, that play with my body, and that cup my chin tenderly, and massage aching muscles as soft kisses are dropped. I want to growl, but it comes out as a whimper and I turn; to run, to escape to just get as far away as I can from this fucked up situation – the more fucked up because, really, I can't even be angry, or upset, or jealous.

I only pause at my Master's commanding tone.

"Don't you dare go anywhere other than straight to our room, Ellis." He sounds mad, but I'm not even bothered. I'm madder, even if it isn't his fault. But fine. The playroom it is.

François

I wasn't expecting Ellis' beautiful face to be appearing in my doorway while I was edging Perry, who's in the final stages of training as a submissive, just focusing on learning to control his release. I don't lock my office door in case of genuine emergency, but my staff know not to disturb me when I'm working, and the fucking great red light above the door is another excellent cue. I managed to call after Ellis as he ran, but I can only hope he obeys my instruction, as I certainly can't abandon Perry right now.

"I'm very sorry, Perry," I say as I release his arms and legs, helping him upright.

"That's okay, Sir. I'm just sorry I couldn't make the earlier appointment."

"And that was only because I cancelled the original appointment, I can assure you, you don't need to apologize. Remember your confidence."

"Yes, Sir," he sighs, but he's getting away with that one. Maybe not on another day, but the fact is, I cancelled his original appointment because I was worried about Ellis. His lack of sleep, and his nightmares when he does manage to doze off. Often, he isn't even remembering that he woke up screaming in the night and, frankly, I'm beginning to feel as drained as he looks. So I spent that day with him, trying to be comforting, and normal, even if I think he might be getting annoyed at how clingy I'm being, as he tried to get me to go and do something on my own, but I refused.

"I'm sorry this means you won't be getting certified next week as you hoped, Perry, but practice edging yourself. Remember, every day at least one, to the varied times as denoted on the worksheet before you allow yourself to orgasm. Record your successes so I can review them when I see you next."

"Yes, Sir, it's difficult, but I'm getting better."

"You are, Perry, you're getting very good. I promise, by the time I'm done you'll be able to control it for an hour. It'll be the three minute quickies that are more difficult, but you'll get them too, given the right stimulation, and that will be up to your Dom. Make another appointment at the front desk on your way out, for any time next week."

Perry thanks me and leaves and I wash up, running cool water over my face. Trying to tamp down my fury. It's a simple instruction. Wait in the lounge, dance with your friends; nothing complicated about that. Even if I hadn't specified that, he knows not to come to my office to get me. The only time Ellis comes to my office is when I bring him, and that's usually because I like to fuck him in here – the inappropriate and highly arousing mixture of business and pleasure. Damn, with how good he looked in that outfit, I'd probably be doing that now, punishment notwithstanding, if he hadn't interrupted training. But his face. Shock, which I guess is understandable, but then anger, and, the worst, sadness. I have a feeling anger was winning out when he stormed off, though I can hope he's calmed down a little, waiting for me.

He isn't in the playroom. I'm expecting him naked and in forgiveness, but no. It's empty. I growl in fury. Another simple instruction, ignored. I stride into the lounge and spot him immediately, dancing sensuously with some of the other subs; sensuously but slightly unsteadily. What the fuck? How is he even drunk? I've only been thirty minutes, and he isn't allowed to drink in the club, so I know the bar staff haven't been serving him. I have no issue with him having the odd wine with dinner, or a beer or two at a barbecue, but he knows alcohol is forbidden here as we always scene and I want him in full control and able to consent. But then I glance over to the bar, see Jax, my head barman, whispering angrily in the ear of a young man who is new, and who looks appropriately terrified, and see where some of the problem arose. Then I see Ellis spin away from his friends, surreptitiously swooping a half finished drink off a table and downing it in one, replacing the empty glass before the Dom it belongs to has even noticed it's gone. So that explains the rest. Too much stuff for me to deal with.

I approach Jax.

"Explain."

"I'm sorry, Sir. Pacey here is new tonight, and while he knows Ellis isn't to be served, he didn't actually know he was Ellis, because he wasn't with you, and he's somehow got his hands on a red band so he didn't card him. He ordered a Long Island and drank it very quickly, so Pacey asked for my advice, which is when I realized." The red bands are worn by subs who want to, or have been given permission to, drink, to both allow them to be served and let Doms know they're unavailable for scenes. I have some in my playroom, though I'd all but forgotten about them, as I used to give them to subs I'd scened with if they wanted to go back out to the club after we'd finished. Not that it would happen often, as I pride myself in leaving them so weak kneed they can barely move. But that will teach me to hire from outside my existing sub membership, as anyone else would have know who Ellis was.

"It's not his fault then, Jax. There will be no need to punish him." The boy almost seems to deflate in relief, the tears that had been dropping drying up. "Though he knows now, and I don't expect it to happen again."

"No, Sir, I promise it won't Sir, I'm sorry," the boy, Pacey, yelps, and I sigh and turn back to the dancefloor.

Ellis is still dancing and, even drunk, he moves gracefully, sinuously moving his hips and twisting his arms. My pants get tight and I swear to myself. No matter how delicious my boy is I won't be able to take him tonight, not the way I want to, though I suppose a drunken vanilla fumble might have its points. But first, I have to resolve the cause of this problem.

I walk behind Ellis, gripping my hand on his neck, pressing the lock of his collar into his skin, just a little reminder. He almost sinks into my touch for a moment before he seems to remember, and stiffens, ceasing his undulating movements.

"Playroom, now," I growl in his ear, and he scurries to follow.

"What possessed you, Ellis?" I growl, not defining what I mean, as there's a few things the question could apply to.

"I know you can't punish me if I'm drunk," he whispers. Okay that's the answer to one of them.

"Why did you come to my office?" I'm wondering why he even did something to get himself punished in the first place, he's normally so good.

"I wanted you with me. I knew I'd get a little punishment for being naughty, but I wanted you." His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him. "I didn't expect to find you cheating."

"What the fuck?" I explode. "I wasn't cheating, Ellis, how can you suggest that? I was working."

"Why did you tell me you were doing paperwork?"

"I said I was sorting a membership out. Perry is training and I won't certify him until he's completed his training. Today was meant to be his last session, but now he'll have to come back next week, as I obviously couldn't finish the session."

"Training? You were bringing him to orgasm!"

"Yes. I was grading him on orgasm control. It wouldn't work if we just sat and looked at each other. It's hardly theory work."

"Is that what you do when you're training?"

"Sometimes. What did you think?"

"I thought it was positions and behavior and stuff. Maybe the odd whipping."

"Well, it's that too..."

"Oh, okay," Ellis still doesn't seem satisfied, but we won't get anywhere while he's drunk. Maybe I should have explained it better, but it's not like I've been training many subs lately, not since I met Ellis. I mainly ask my friends to help with that side of things. I wonder if I've been letting things slide.

Perhaps it's time for this though, a little alcohol might dull Ellis' reaction.

"Ellis, about your nightmares- "

"It's not a big deal, Sir. I can deal with it."

"You can't Ellis. You don't even remember most of them, but your nightmares are making you scream every night." He looks shocked, and scared. "I spoke to Gray. You have an appointment with one of his colleagues on Monday and you will talk with a professional even if you won't talk with me."

"Yes, Sir." His acquiescence is dull, emotionless, but it's a yes, which I suppose is all I could have hoped for.