“Has he not learnt yet how much you enjoy cleaning stuff? Freak.”
“Hey! I like the smell of polish and the way the silver glows once I’m done with it. And he does know, but he’d never admit to being that kind and thoughtful. It’s against his religion.” Rowan prodded his bandaged wrist. “Made this ache, though. It was a long day.”
“And I suppose you’ve been worrying about your interview too?”
Rowan poured himself a second glass from the bottle of Merlot he and Rory had shared while they’d eaten their celebratory Chinese feast. “Ed didn’t help.”
“You need to ignore his teasing. That boy is a brat. Always has been, always will be.”
Shrugging, Rowan brought up another page. He nibbled on his lower lip before adding a pair of wet-look latex shorts to his basket. He deleted them, then added them again. “He made me think about what I might have to do at the interview. This isn’t your average job I’m going for. I don’t think they’ll be asking me where I see myself in ten years’ time.” He added plain blue boxer briefs and a black silk thong to his order then paid before he could change his mind again. He’d decide which ones to wear on the day.
“Carey Hoffman is a reputable businessman.” Rory ran a hand through the wild tangle of her hair.
“You checked him out?” Rowan wasn’t shocked. Rory always looked out for him.
“I did. He’s a very rich man in a committed relationship with a well-known photographer. As well as The Retreat and The Underground, he owns several properties in London. He’s a philanthropist as well as a businessman—mainly supporting charities related to kids. A friend of mine in the Metropolitan Police told me the club is well run and there’s a zero-tolerance policy on drugs. The membership is a who’s who of the gay BDSM scene. Mr. Hoffman has a lot of very influential friends.”
“I’ve only been there once and that was on an open night. I couldn’t afford the membership even if I wanted to—not and save for my own place, anyway.”
“You don’t live close enough to make paying a monthly fee worth it.”
“They recruit for wait staff, bartenders and kitchen crew but that’s not what I’m interested in. I don’t want to live in London either. It’s noisy and there are too many people.” Rowan shuddered.
“You’re just a sweet little country boy at heart, aren’t you?” Rory took another swig of her wine. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“I’m not totally naïve. The Retreat is about as exclusive as it gets. Even the website is secret—potential guests are sent a confidential link. I get to list anything I’m not prepared to do in the contract and there are only a few things that are nonnegotiable.”
“You get the job and I want to see the contract.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Rory…”
“Also nonnegotiable, Rowan.”
Rowan knew a stubborn, immoveable object when he saw it. He sighed. “Fine. If I get the job—and that’s a big if—I will let you see the contract before I sign anything.”
“Good. What’s the point of having a lawyer as an aunt if you don’t take advantage?” Rory grinned. “And I really want to see what’s in it.”
Rowan groaned. He loved Rory to bits, but she had absolutely no concept of privacy or personal space. There was no lock on his bathroom door and he’d lost count of the number of times she had burst in on him. Still, he had to admit she was probably right and it was a good idea to have her check over the legal paperwork if he got the job. He would just have to close his eyes and hum a tune while she was reading the details of what he might be required to do.
“I think I’m going to go to bed,” Rowan said. “It’s been a long day and I’m really tired.”
“Soak a flannel in cold water and keep it on your eye for a while,” Rory advised. “It might help.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Sweet dreams.” Her wicked laugh gave Rowan a clue as to what kind of dreams she was imagining.
He headed up to the attic, relieved to have some time to himself. He wasn’t the most sociable of people, preferring the company of a good book to a crowd. The only exception to that was the occasional night out he treated himself to at his nearest BDSM club. There he found he could tolerate the press of bodies, the heat and the noise. He loved the way the place excited his senses with the smell of men and leather, the atmospheric lighting and the tactile furnishings. It wasn’t anywhere close to the luxurious standards of The Underground, but every now and again it gave him the chance to sample the lifestyle he craved. Not that he was particularly adventurous on his rare outings. He tended to observe, occasionally plucking up the courage to take part in a scene with one of the club Doms. It was why he was so attracted to the job at The Retreat. Working at a club didn’t appeal to him, but the exclusive nature of The Retreat did. He could handle a party every now and again but in his mind The Retreat was an oasis of tranquility. He hoped he would get to see it.
Rowan stripped off for a quick shower. He didn’t risk dancing this time—he had enough bruises already—just lathered and rinsed. He dried himself then retrieved his favorite pair of flannel pajamas from his pillow. The attic got cold at night and he was prepared to sacrifice fashion for warmth. He snuggled beneath the covers, pulling Bilbo close. He had to adjust his position to avoid making his wrist ache any more than it already did but nothing could dampen his excitement.
“How am I expected to sleep, Bilbo?” The bear gave him an enigmatic look. “There’s so much stuff bouncing around in my head. If I count sheep I’ll probably reach a million.” He gave his pillow a good pounding until he was satisfied with its shape. “Of course, if I get this job I might have to sleep on the floor or in a cage. The client might want to chain me to the bed. But don’t worry, I get my own room as part of the contract so I’ll be able to take you with me.” He giggled. “I might have to hide you. I don’t think the average Dom would appreciate a sub who still sleeps with his teddy.” Rowan closed his eyes and imagined his ideal man. He wasn’t ashamed that the whole tall, dark and handsome stereotype pushed his buttons. His fingers found their way around his cock as if they had a mind of their own. He stroked it a few times, bringing it to hardness. If I was submitting to a Dom, he wouldn’t let me come. He’d make me suffer. His pleasure would be paramount. Rowan shivered at the idea. He took his fingers away from his erection, counted to ten then sighed. It was no good—he didn’t have the willpower to resist the needs of his body. A few rough jerks and a hot gush of liquid filled his hand. The orgasm fulfilled a need but wasn’t that satisfying because he had given in. He used the tissues he kept next to his bed to clean up then settled down to sleep in the hope that his dreams would be full of Dominant, masterful men.
* * * *
Three days later Rowan sat in the corner of a quiet train carriage en route to London. In his small backpack he had a change of clothes—a precaution given the likelihood of tripping over into a puddle—and some snacks. Bilbo, his good luck charm, was firmly wedged at the bottom of the bag. Rowan had treated himself to a couple of new thrillers for his Kindle and found that the psychological tension of the plot in the one he was reading relieved his anxiety about his destination. He’d had an early morning phone call from Ed giving him all kinds of useless advice then Rory had dropped him at the station, throwing in her own dose of wise words. As neither of them would be with him at the interview, Rowan filed their comments away in a dusty corner of his mind where they shared cell space with a few of Alvin’s rants and quite a few of Rowan’s mother’s favorite phrases, which included such gems as ‘if the wind changes your face will stay like that’.
Rowan snorted. Worried that someone might have heard him, he glanced around the carriage. Only a few seats were occupied and most of his fellow passengers seemed to have earbuds in or were wired to various electronic devices. He went back to his book but found that he was reading the same page over and over again so he gave up and stared out of the window at the scenery rushing past. It wasn’
t much more than a green blur at the speed the train was going and it made Rowan feel a bit woozy. He wasn’t the best traveler in the world—vehicles tended to make him feel a bit claustrophobic—but he didn’t usually suffer from motion sickness. He closed his eyes and the unpleasant sensation faded. The rattle of the refreshment cart brought him back to alertness. A cup of coffee seemed like a good idea. The girl pushing the cart was grateful for his custom and stopped to chat while she made his drink. She slipped him a chocolate chip cookie and winked as she trundled off down the carriage. Rowan decided it had to be a sign that the day was going to go well.
The coffee was too strong but drinking it and munching his treat killed some time and Rowan was surprised when the train pulled into Euston. He scrambled onto the platform, just managing to avoid wandering into a metal pillar because he wasn’t looking where he was going. He had an hour or so to find his way across London on the Tube. He’d researched the journey in advance and had decided to take the Victoria line to Victoria station then the District or Circle line to Westminster station, which was the closest one to the club. He could have walked the length of Victoria Street but didn’t want to get hot and sweaty before his interview.
The press of people below ground was astonishing considering the rush hour was long past. Rowan had to stand on the Tube but enjoyed people-watching. It was only in London he got to witness the endless variety of humanity. He spoke a bit of schoolboy French but couldn’t identify half the languages being spoken around him. The carriage was a microcosm of the global population, it seemed. Rowan was glad to make it back to the surface, amazed at the world beneath his feet.
He used an app on his phone to navigate the last few streets and found the entrance to The Underground without difficulty. The door was discreet and could have led to an accountancy firm or legal chambers rather than a BDSM club. When Rowan went inside he found himself in a corridor with a desk at the end, manned by a good-looking redhead who stood as Rowan approached.
“Hi, I’m Christian. Welcome to The Underground. Are you here for an interview?”
“Hi…um, yes.” Rowan’s nerves got the best of him and he didn’t know what else to say.
“Could you confirm your name and address for me?”
Rowan did as he was asked and Christian checked against a piece of paper on his desk.
“Thanks, that all checks out. You can relax.” Christian gave him a warm smile. “They aren’t that scary.”
“Um, who?”
“Your interview panel,” Christian explained. “They want you to do well. They don’t bite… Well, not much and not without permission.” He grinned. “As you’re here for an appointment you don’t need to wear a club collar. I’ll ring the bar to let them know you’re on your way and someone will meet you at the lift. Actually, I’ll take you myself. Let me call down and get someone to cover here for a few minutes.”
He made a quick phone call, informing whoever was on the other end that Rowan had arrived, and asking for a stand-in.
“Shouldn’t be long. New places can be confusing. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
A bearded man emerged from the lift then made his way to the desk. He ruffled Christian’s hair.
“Ten minutes, then I have to get back to the playrooms.”
“Thanks, Paul.” Christian slipped from behind the desk.
“I appreciate it. I’ve been here once before, but I don’t really remember my way around,” Rowan said as Christian led the way to the lift.
“No problem. Friday is quite a popular day here, so there are a few members about. The restaurant is a big draw at lunchtime because the food is really good. Perhaps when you’re done, if you don’t have to get straight back, we could grab something to eat together. I’m just covering reception for another half an hour.”
“That sounds great.” The butterflies in Rowan’s stomach had prevented him from eating breakfast or any of the snacks in his bag. He’d just eaten the cookie on the train and that now sat like a rock in the bottom of his stomach. “If you’re sure you don’t have anywhere better to be?”
“Not at all. My Master is working so I’m a free agent. I’ll come and find you.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Hopefully by then my guts will have settled down a bit.”
Christian squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. The lift door slid open and they walked into the noise and warmth of the club.
“Well, here we are. Just be yourself. They’ll love you.”
Rowan had been so absorbed by his conversation with Christian that he hadn’t noticed his location within the club. They had reached the dining room and in the far corner three men sat behind two tables, which had been pushed together. They had paperwork laid out in front of them and there were four glasses of water set out. A single, lonely chair was set facing them. Rowan nibbled his bottom lip. “Here goes then.” His hands were cold and clammy, his gaze darting everywhere. It was still a little early for the lunch service, but there were a few men sitting at the tables with drinks and snacks. Delicious odors emanated from the direction of the kitchen and every now and again a server would appear with a laden tray. Rowan remembered their uniform from his previous visit. The short leather kilts left little to the imagination but none of them seemed self-conscious about their attire.
Rowan realized that Christian had moved away and that he was alone. One of the men at the tables beckoned to him.
“Come on over, Rowan, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He had an open, friendly smile.
Rowan forced his unwilling legs into action and took the few short paces across the room. He managed to bump into two chairs on the way but, to his relief, didn’t knock them over. Reaching the interview table felt like a small victory, as did dropping his bag without spilling the contents all over the floor and revealing Bilbo’s presence. He managed to smile then held out his hand to the man sitting in the center of the row. “Good morning, thank you so much for inviting me to interview. I’m really happy to be here.”
“Please take a seat.” The man whose hand Rowan had shaken spoke. He was tall, immaculately dressed, with dark hair highlighted by silver at the temples. He had kind eyes and laughter lines on his lightly tanned face. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the interview panel. To my right is Harry Croft, my bar manager, and to my left is Alistair Easton, my submissive. I’m Carey Hoffman, owner of The Underground and The Retreat.”
Rowan nodded a greeting, relieved that he wasn’t facing three Doms. Harry was also dark-haired. He was a big man and quite intimidating, despite his smile. Alistair was slender, blond and had boy-next-door good looks. There was barely an inch of space between him and Carey.
“So let me tell you how this is going to work,” Carey said. “We each have a few questions for you and I’d appreciate you answering them as honestly as you can. There won’t be any trick questions—we’re here to find out if you would be a good fit for The Retreat, which is a very special place. I only recruit the very best staff and the standards I expect are high.”
Rowan nodded. “I understand.”
Carey started off with a few easy questions about Rowan’s journey to break the ice. He asked how many times Rowan had been to London and if there was anywhere he particularly liked to visit. Then the questions got a bit more serious.
“Now, perhaps you could tell us why the job advertisement attracted you and why you decided to apply?”
Rowan moistened his lips. His mouth was dry and he had to fight down his nerves. He took a deep breath. “When I saw the advertisement, I got really excited because it seemed like the job had been designed just for me. I love taking care of people, and things, and my current job allows me to do that to a certain extent but… I’m a submissive. I want—no I need to be needed. To be cared for by someone I can care for in return. Does that make sense?” He looked at each of the men in front of him in turn. Harry nodded, Carey scribbled a few notes on the piece of paper in front of him and Alistair smiled, understa
nding in his eyes. “There’s something missing in the job I have at the moment. There’s no intimacy. I can care about the people I serve but they don’t really care about me in return. I just provide a service and I want more than that. Whenever I played with a good Dom in the past, I felt like I mattered. I want to do something that matters.” Rowan wondered if he had gone too far. His tone had got a little strident as he tried to get his view across.
“Thank you for your honesty,” Carey said. “Now, when you read the job description was there anything that worried you about it?”
“Not really,” Rowan said. “I mean, I know I’m not very experienced as a submissive but I’m willing to learn and there’s not much that scares me. I get to sign a contract, and I can rule out certain things if I want to, so that makes me comfortable. Thinking about what I might be asked to do gives me tingles. Oh! I didn’t mean to say that.”
Alistair giggled then cast a sideways glance at Carey. Carey rolled his eyes but gave him an affectionate smile.
“Good to know. Now, I’d like you to undress down to your underwear, Rowan. Nudity, little clothing or revealing costumes might be required by our clients so it’s important that we see how comfortable you are in your skin.”
Rowan stripped quickly, not wishing to appear hesitant. His face was warm and he hoped he wasn’t blushing too badly. He put his clothes in a neatly folded pile then stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He had decided on the plain blue boxer briefs he had bought. They weren’t the sexiest garment ever, but they hugged his body and they were comfortable.
“Thank you. Now remove your underwear.”
Swallowing, Rowan did as he was asked. The temptation to cover his groin was strong, but he resisted, resuming his previous position.
“Thank you. You may dress then sit down.”
Rowan was aware that the restaurant was filling with people but didn’t look around. He kept his focus on the men in front of him and ignored the fact that a bunch of strangers had just seen him naked. His cock perked into life. Oh God, not now! He scrambled into his clothes with undignified haste, praying that his condition hadn’t been noticed. The twinkle in Carey’s eyes told him it had.
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