The Adversary
By Xanthe
A phone call informs me that Charles is on his way over. I’m a little surprised because it’s been less than a week since his last visit, and he’s usually a much more infrequent patron. I’ve often had the feeling that he despises my salon – or maybe himself for needing it. However, despite his disdain, when the mood is upon him he’s always more than happy to take full advantage of the recreational facilities his rank makes available to him here.
He’ll be here in half an hour, so I call the lounge, and have Emilia standing by ready. She’s in her mid-thirties, a beautiful, honey-haired woman, with large breasts, and wide, curving hips. Charles has always had a taste for mature, intelligent ladies he can wine and dine, and later retire with to one of our rooms to make love. I have never known him to be anything other than a gentleman with women – he saves his ill temper and his well-hidden streak of brutality for other men. There are always boys available in my salon of course, but he is rarely interested in them, so I have every expectation that tonight he will dine privately with Emilia in one of our comfortable suites.
Charles looks tired. He’s dressed as impeccably as ever, but his face is gray and his shoulders tense; his work has clearly taken a toll on him. He’s ushered into my salon by the butler, and I silently offer him a glass of brandy, which he takes, and gulps down, in a manner completely at odds with his usual charming demeanor. I say nothing; the Elite come here for rest and relaxation - they don’t want to be annoyed by prattling questions. I have my most recent trainee, Luke, by my side. He’s newly broken, and it’s important not to let them out of my sight for long during this initial period. Luke is far too vulnerable to be allowed time to think or worry right now. He needs reassurance, which I give him by stroking his curly head occasionally, and giving him orders – usually to perform meaningless little tasks, but it gives him some sense of importance and he’s eager to be of use to me, as they always are after breaking.
Charles loosens his tie, sits in the armchair with a weary sigh, and lights up a cigarette.
"I have Emilia waiting for you," I tell him, and he looks up sharply, a dark expression in his eyes.
"I don’t want her." His eyes wander over to Luke, who is kneeling naked at my feet. "He’ll do," he says, in a throaty voice edged with anger. I try not to allow my flicker of annoyance to show on my face.
"Let me call you another," I tell him smoothly, unprepared for this. "Luke isn’t ready yet."
"He’s ready enough for what I require," Charles replies in his usual languid tones, taking a drag on his cigarette.
Luke is 20 years old, with curly dark hair, and large brown eyes. He’s been a pleasure to train – very easily broken - and I have no desire to hand him over at this stage in the process to Charles. The hard work has all been done with Luke, and I’ve been concentrating on showing him affection after all the pain. A night with Charles will considerably set back the trust we’ve built between us, and that's annoying. The process of training new recruits is very finely tuned, and I don’t like it interrupted before completion.
"He’s only just been broken," I tell Charles, refilling his glass of brandy. "He hasn’t been fully trained. Another boy would suit you better."
"I like the look of this one."
Charles likes to play pointless little domination games. I think he needs them – or rather he needs to know that he commands respect for his status within the Syndicate, and this is one way he can get the affirmation he requires. I consider the matter. Luke, poor love, is kneeling by my side, those brown eyes eager, and devoted. He’s just learned to trust me, to eat from my fingers – it’ll be a shame to throw him to the wolves at this point in his training. I glance back at Charles, weighing the matter up. He is, of course, entitled to take whichever of our trainees he wants. It’s my job, after all, to provide recreational material for the entire Syndicate – with the hectic pace of their lives they often have little time for romances of their own, and finding a mate can be time consuming. It’s only right that they should have access to their sexual partners of choice whenever they require them. Charles is an important man as well – it wouldn’t do to anger him, however irritating or personally inconvenient his choice is to me. I smile, and offer him a cigarette from a small, silver case.
"Of course. If you want Luke then by all means, take him. Just remember he’s a little unschooled. I wouldn’t want his performance to reflect unsatisfactorily upon me. I do pride myself on providing the most willing and able trainees for your use, Charles."
He grunts, and then gives a little chuckle. "Professional pride, Laurence?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course," I reply with a little smile. "I’ve been doing my job for a very long time after all – I wouldn’t want my skills called into question."
"Oh, your skills have always been first rate – that’s why we pay you so well," he laughs.
"Thank you." I incline my head modestly but his words do irk me somewhat. As if I do this job purely for the money. I like to think that my pride in a job well done reveals me to be more of a connoisseur than a mere mercenary, which is how Charles clearly classifies me. "Would you like supper first, or the boy?"
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