The Prince Trains a Slave, Part 11

The impending opening of the two clubs, work on the Emporium, and the coming auction kept me too busy to personally check on the progress of Manchester’s recuperation following his surgery. Every time I turned around there was another purchase order needing my signature, personnel files for the hired staff of the dance club needing my final approval, housing arrangements for the slaves that were arriving daily for the auction, and much more. I wondered just how much of a nightmare getting the clubs ready to open and pull off the auction would be if I didn’t have such an efficient staff backing me up.

Irma handled most of the interviews for hiring the employees in the dance club. I quickly discovered that aside from her expertise in keeping my office running smoothly, Irma had a fairly good intuition when it came to deciding whom to hire. Every few days, she would deliver a large manila folder to my desk of the new staff hires. All I had to do was scribble my okay on each application. Without her, I’d be bogged down just in the process of interviewing the scores of eager applicants who showed up each day.

Irma’s cousin Ingo was truly coming into his own. Since coming to London, his nervous clumsiness had almost totally disappeared. As his confidence returned, he demonstrated an organizational skill that rivaled Irma’s. Besides getting the private dining room and main kitchen set up, Ingo had each of the snack bars located throughout the Dungeon ready for full operations for when the club members began arriving. Entering the office the day after Barry’s nullification, I found Ingo waiting for me.

“If I might have a couple minutes,” Ingo said a hint of his old nervousness creeping into his voice. “That is, if it’s not too inconvenient.”

“Of course it’s convenient to see you,” I said, clapping my hand on his shoulder. “Come on into the office. If I know Irma, she’s already got a full pot of coffee brewed in there.” I guided Ingo into my private office and offered him a seat in a wing chair before fixing both of us a mug of coffee. Instead of taking the chair behind my desk, I took a seat in the other wing chair opposite him. “So, what’s up?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the uniform for the dining room staff,” Ingo said. “Back in Basel we wore almost nothing.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well … I uh, I’ve been thinking that given the atmosphere and décor we have here something … um, less revealing might be more appropriate,” Ingo said, lowering his head.

“Look at me,” I snapped. Ingo’s head jerked up, his ice blue eyes wide. “You came here with a reasonable request – that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I want you to understand that.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now, just relax and tell me what you have in mind.”

“Well, the main dining room is done in Edwardian décor,” Ingo began.

“And it looks amazing,” I said. “You’ve outdone yourself in there – I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ingo actually smiled as he began to relax. “The thing is – half naked waiters distract from the relaxed atmosphere that’s been created there.” Ingo licked his lips. “If you ah … um … if you have the time, I could … I could demonstrate what I mean.”

“Is now good for you?”

“Well, yes … yes it is,” Ingo replied.

“So, what are we waiting for?” I asked, rising from my seat.

Entering the main dining room in the private club was like stepping back in time one hundred years. I had taken a chance and given Ingo full reign to design a dining room that was relaxing, opulent, and tasteful. He had chosen the Edwardian theme and had managed to faithfully recreate the kind of paneled dining room that could have been found in the most exclusive clubs or hotels of the period. I looked around the dining room appreciatively – the paneling was dark rich mahogany, the carpet royal burgundy with gold designs and thick enough to make walking across the room absolutely soundless. Along two walls, curtained alcoves offered guests the opportunity to have a bit more privacy if they desired.

Ingo disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later leading five waiters dressed in the uniform I remembered from the Castle – white jock straps and Chippendale style batwing collars with black bow ties. Physically, each of the five waiters was visually appealing. Ingo had carefully chosen good-looking slaves with well-defined builds. The uniforms suited their physiques.

“I’m sure that you’ll agree that they are handsome,” Ingo said.

“You won’t get an argument from me on that point,” I agreed.

“Now, take a look at these waiters,” Ingo said as he hurried to the kitchen doors and called another group of five waiters into the dining room. Unlike the first group, the second group was dressed in Edwardian style clothing. I moved around the room studying the second group. They were dressed in pleated black slacks with a black satin stripe up the outside seam of the legs. The starched white waiter’s waist length jackets and starched white batwing collar shirts complimented each waiter’s build. I looked from one group to the other, studying them carefully.

It wasn’t difficult to see what Ingo meant – both groups of waiters were beautiful to look at, that was certain. But, the scantily clad waiters stuck out from their surroundings glaringly. Their uniforms demanded the attention of the diners who would fill the room. On the other hand, the second group blended into the surroundings, available to watch of one wanted – but without demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“There’s also a version of the uniform that comes with a kilt if you’d like to see that,” Ingo said, nervously licking his lips.

I nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

Ingo ordered three of the second group of waiters to change into the kilted uniform and then offered me a seat at the table nearest me, while ordering one of the waiters to bring coffee immediately. The coffee arrived with a plate of fruit pastries before the three waiters returned. I insisted that Ingo take a seat at the table with me and join me in the snack. The waiters remaining in the room did their best not to look startled, but it was evident that Ingo’s reputation rose several levels when they saw me treat him as an equal. The kitchen doors opened and the three waiters returned.

Except for the addition of the kilts, the uniform was basically the same. Ingo had chosen dark tartans for the kilted waiters. I sipped my coffee and tried one of the cherry pastries as I studied the different groups of waiters. Everyone in the room watched me intently, as if trying to determine what I was thinking. I finished the pastry and dabbed at my mouth with a napkin.

“I see what you mean,” I said, draining the last of the coffee from my cup. I looked over each group once more before deliberately setting the cup down on its saucer. “I think you’re right Ingo – the first group is certainly visually appealing and even stimulating. But, that’s the problem – they are too stimulating.”

Ingo heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir,” Ingo said. “Of the other two choices, which do you prefer, sir?”

“Well, that’s the problem,” I said. “I like them both – they work with the room décor, they’re handsome and certainly appealing to look at. More importantly, their uniforms leave something to the imagination – kind of like a present wrapped in pretty paper. The package itself is appealing, but you can’t help wondering what is hidden under the wrapping.” I stood up. “Keep the uniforms with the trousers and the kilts. You made a good call, Ingo.”

Ingo tried his best not to blush and failed miserably in the effort, while standing straighter after hearing the compliment. He bobbed his head as he smiled broadly. “Thank you, sir.”

Before I could say anything else, the cell phone in my breast pocket chirped. At almost the same time, the pager in my vest pocket began buzzing and vibrating. Answering the phone, I pulled the pager from my pocket and saw that the message read 999 – the British emergency number – followed by the clinic’s internal club extension.

“Mr. Masters, there’s been an incident on the detention level,” Irma said on the phone. “It must be serious, they said something about needing medical assistance.”

“Okay, that explains the emergency page from the clinic,” I replied. “You call them and tell them I’m headed there right away.” I snapped the phone closed and excused myself before hurrying from the room.

Entering the clinic, I found Pashir and Sam islands of calm among pandemonium. About a dozen of the bodyguards were shouting – half of them grouped around a gurney to one side of the room and the other half surrounding Pashir and Sam. Steven was at the head of that table talking to someone in reassuring tones. Whoever he was talking to was screaming in pain and fear. There was blood on Steven face and his shirt was saturated. Seeing me, he reluctantly pulled himself from the table and hurried over to me.

“One of the guards has been injured by one of the auction slaves that arrived today,” he said.

“How bad?”

Steven pulled a grim face. “I’m not sure – it looks really bad, but the doctor has been saying that it’s not as bad as it looks.”

The noise in the room was giving me a headache – I didn’t know how Pashir could work with the din all around him. I strode into the middle of the room.

“EVERYONE – SHUT UP NOW!” I bellowed turning from one group to the next. “The next person aside from the doctor who makes a sound will receive twenty lashes with the cane.”

Every guard fell instantly silent as they turned to face me.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” Pashir chuckled from behind me. “Bloody effective – now I can get on with my work.”

I went over to the second gurney and found a half-conscious slave strapped down, blood was smeared over his face and chest. “How badly is he hurt?” I demanded.

“I had him brought here as a precaution,” Steven said. “Most of the blood belongs to Gunter – he’s the guard who was injured. But this one,” had to be hit with a stun gun about five times, and then he collapsed.”

“Are you hurt?” I asked, indicating the blood on his shirt.

“No, that all belongs to Gunter,” Steven replied looking pale and sick.

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked. Steven swallowed and nodded his head. “Okay – get the guards down to the canteen on the next level. I’ll have Ingo get the coffee urns going and some food for them. Leave two reliable guards to standby here and then I’ll be along and we’ll sort out just what happened.”

“It’s my fault,” Steven said.

“Maybe it is,” I said. “But, I haven’t seen the tapes and I’m not going to assign any blame until I see them and hear what everyone has to say. Now, get moving.”

As Steven herded the guards out, I called Ingo and gave him instructions to get things ready in the canteen for the guards. Once that task was finished, I went over to the table where Pashir and Sam was working and got my first good look at Gunter. His lower lip was nearly torn away, leaving his bottom teeth exposed. He had another tear in his neck below his left ear.

“What happened?”

Pashir didn’t even look up from his work. “The slave over there bit him,” he said simply. “The injuries are serious, but not life threatening. He’s going to need plastic surgery.”

“Have you called Sir Bernard?”

“First thing I did,” Pashir told me. “He was in surgery. He’ll be here as soon as he gets the message.”

“Okay – I need to use your office for a few minutes.”

“Not a problem,” Pashir grunted. “I’m going to be busy here.”

In Pashir’s office I contacted the control room and instructed them to have all camera angles of the incident ready for me to view as soon as I arrived at the control room. Leaving Pashir’s office, I stopped by the gurney once more to see how things were going. The sedatives had finally taken hold and Gunter was finally quiet. The doctor again assured me that the guard wasn’t in a life-threatening situation. Nodding, I thanked him for the brief use of his office and went straight to the main control room.

Everyone jumped up when I entered the main control room. The head technician showed me to a bank of monitors and punched a button. They immediately came to life showing the incident from seven different angles. I watched the tapes at normal speed several times before having each one slowed down and studied each individually. Despite what Steven said, I couldn’t see where he had done anything at all wrong. He had ample guards in the corridor as they brought the new auction slaves in holding cells. Without warning the slave turned grabbed Gunter and savagely bit his face. Steven and the other guards reacted instantly, trying to pull the slave from the guard. The tapes clearly showed that Steven had used his stun gun not five times, but seven – just one jolt should have taken the prisoner down, but it didn’t.

“I want the records on this slave,” I told the control room manager, pointing to the attacking slave. “I want to know where he came from, his level of training, everything you can get on him.”

“Yes sir.”

“You have fifteen minutes, so get cracking,” I said. The manager gulped and promised that he’d do his best. I told him to deliver everything to me in the canteen and left before he could think up an excuse for delaying. I could think of about a dozen reasons for why he wouldn’t be able to fulfill my demands, but I didn’t plan to let him know about any of them. If he couldn’t come through with the information I wanted, I didn’t have any plans to punish him – and, he didn’t need to know that, either.

I entered the canteen waving for everyone to keep their seats and told them what Pashir had told me – that Gunter’s injuries weren’t life threatening and that Sir Bernard would be treating him as soon as he arrived. Even without the collective sigh of relief that went up, I could tell that a lot of the tension had left the room.

“Now, as to the other thing that must be in everyone’s minds – who’s to blame for this unfortunate incident,” I said. The level of tension immediately rose in the room again and several of the guards went pale. Steven started to rise, but I ordered him to sit down and keep quiet. “I’ve reviewed the security tapes several times already.” I pointedly looked at each of the guards and Steven in turn. “None of you bears any blame at all for what happened. And, believe me, I’m not saying that just to be nice or to make anyone in this room feel better. There’s nothing I’d like more than to severely punish someone for what happened. But, I repeat, none of you did anything wrong.”

“But we must have,” a redheaded guard said. “Otherwise Gunter wouldn’t be in hospital.”

“I understand that you feel guilty because a friend has been hurt,” I said. “But each of you followed protocol. There was no way to predict what that slave did.” I walked over to Steven and stood over him. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Steven was still pale and sick looking as he looked up at me and nodded. “I just can’t help thinking…”

“That’s a normal reaction,” I said gently. “By the way, you hit that slave with the stun gun seven times. Anyone else would have gone down on the first jolt – it took seven to subdue him. You and everyone else in here did exactly what they should have done.”

The control room manager skidded into the canteen, his face flushed a deep purple, and gasping for breath. He feebly waved a file above his head in my direction. “I – I g-got what y-you wanted,” he gasped.

Taking the folder from him, I told him to have a seat and catch his breath. As he gratefully sank into a chair, I whispered to Steven that he should get the manager something to drink. As Steven brought the panting manager a mug of tea, I opened the folder and read the material that he had managed to gather in such a short time. I was impressed; the red-faced manager had done an excellent job.

According to the file, the slave in question was an American named Harold Beemis, aged 22, who had most recently been a resident of Turkey – briefly in the club there, but more importantly before that as an inmate for the last year. Beemis had a pretty impressive criminal record both in the States and in Turkey – and not just petty stuff either. He had been arrested, tried, and sentenced to life for his part in a heroin smuggling operation. With no family – or at least none interested in claiming him, someone in the Turkish prison system had decided that it was better to sell Beemis to the club rather than care for him for the rest of his life. That had been just a little over a month ago.

Flipping another page, I discovered that the manager had even included the invoice that had accompanied Beemis from Istanbul. There weren’t any special handling instructions or warnings that Beemis had not yet been trained. But, there was the notation from Turkey that the slave to be auctioned was “cooperative and docile.”

“Who’s in charge of the operation in Istanbul?” I snapped at the harried manager.

He looked at me pop-eyed; his mouth working soundlessly as he tried to recall the information I wanted. “Um, ah … Schlemmer … Hans Schlemmer, a German actually runs things there,” the flustered manager stammered. “Technically, Suliman Bey is in charge of the operation, but it’s Schlemmer who actually runs things day to day.”

“Thanks,” I gave the manager a reassuring smile. “You did a great job under a demanding deadline. You can count on being remembered.” For the first time, the harried manager actually smiled as the tension in his body flowed out of him. I turned to the others and relayed the information that I had just received, once again stressing that nothing that had happened was the result of anything they had done.

I let the manager relax and enjoy his tea before escorting him back to the control center. As we walked back, I told him that I wanted him to arrange for a live videoconference with Alexi as soon as possible. As he entered the control center, I told him to buzz me in the conference room once the connection had been made.

While I waited for the manager to make the connections, I called up to Irma and asked her to transfer all my calls to the conference room. That done, I sat at a computer, accessed my computer files and went to work finalizing the events for the Grand Openings of the clubs. I had worked for nearly an hour when a soft chime announced an incoming videoconference, at almost the same time the intercom near my elbow crackled to life and the control room manager announced that Alexi was available. I turned to face the video camera for my end and waited for Alexi’s image to appear.

I waited for the four beeps to signal that the transmissions from both ends were scrambled and then immediately informed Alexi about what had happened. His face clouded over when he heard of the serious nature of Gunter’s injuries. He grew nearly as angry as I was when I described the trick that either Schlemmer or Bey had played on us in London.

“What’s worse,” I added, “is that we could have auctioned this slave off to an unsuspecting client if he hadn’t attacked Gunter.”

“I can’t believe Bey would deliberately do something like that,” Alexi said. “He and my uncle have been friends for years.”

“From what I’ve been told, this Schlemmer virtually runs the Istanbul operation,” I said. “I want him to pay for what’s happened.”

“Naturally,” Alexi said, nodding in agreement. “Istanbul will pay for the expenses incurred in caring for the injured guard, and pay him an indemnity.”

“That’s not enough,” I said firmly.

“What more do you want?”

“I want his balls,” I said coldly. “I want a steel collar around his neck.”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Alexi asked.

“It isn’t half of what he deserves,” I said angrily. “He made a bad deal with the Turkish prison and instead of spending the time to train him or break him, he falsifies the paperwork and sends him here for the auction. Imagine the reputation to the organization in general and this club in particular if this slave had seriously injured or even killed a client. It’s only a fortuitous accident that Beemis didn’t bite Gunter lower down on the throat and rip out his jugular or carotid artery.”

Alexi leaned back in his chair, looking stunned. The ramifications of Beemis’ assault suddenly taking on greater significance in his mind. Slowly he began nodding his head. “I see what you mean,” he said. “It is more serious as you say.” Alexi ran his hand through his hair and stayed silent for several long minutes. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. “Keep this incident under wraps if you can…”

“That’s not a problem on this end,” I assured him.

“Good … let me do some quiet investigations from this end and I’ll get back to you,” Alexi promised. “If it is as you suspect – and I do think that you’re right – then, we’ll both get together and make arrangements for when to take action.” Alexi leaned forward. “What are you going to do with this Beemis?”

“I haven’t fully decided yet,” I said. “But, it’s likely to be something decisive.”

Alexi smiled grimly. “Knowing you, I have absolutely no doubt that it will be very decisive indeed.”

When the videoconference was over, I made sure to order the control room manager to keep the incident contained to the Dungeon and not let anyone – especially the Turks – know that anything untoward had happened. The manager nodded vigorously showing that he understood my instructions perfectly. Satisfied that the incident would stay quiet, I headed back to the clinic.

In the clinic, I found Sir Bernard deep in conversation with Dr. Pashir. Not wanting to bother them as they discussed Gunter’s treatment, I sought out Sam and asked him how things had turned out.

“It’s better than any of us could have hoped, thanks to Sir Bernard,” Sam said. “He did a phenomenal job repairing the damage to Gunter’s face. He’ll have a couple of scars, but they certainly won’t be disfiguring and the old boy said that later on additional plastic surgery can be done to minimize even more the damage that’s been done.”

“Good, good,” I nodded with relief. “I want Gunter to be spoiled while he’s healing.”

“I’ll personally see to that,” Sam promised. “Do you want to see Beemis now?”

“No … no, not right now,” I said. “I still need to get a little more information on him – once I’m better educated on who he is and his background, then I’ll see him. For now, treat him with care – don’t take any risks with him.”

“You can be sure of that,” Sam promised.

Looking over towards the two doctors, I noticed that they were politely waiting until I finished my conversation with Sam. I left Sam and went over to them. Sir Bernard quickly filled me in on Gunter’s condition and his immediate and long-term prognosis. It was pretty much the same as Sam had already told me with slightly more detail added. Gunter was going to require several additional surgeries to minimize the scarring around his mouth, but under Sir Bernard’s skilled hands, the guard would be spared disfigurement.

I thanked the plastic surgeon and turned to go when he stopped me and shyly asked about William. I thought for a minute and decided it wouldn’t hurt to let the two of them see each other. Checking my watch, I saw that it was almost time for lunch.

“I have a few things that need my attention before lunch,” I said. “Why don’t you join us in the flat … say around half past noon or so. Then, you can see for yourself.” Sir Bernard fairly beamed at the prospect of seeing the young man again. I smiled and excused myself.

Back in my office, the first thing I did was to call up to the flat and tell Simon to get William spruced up and ready for company, adding that Sir Bernard would be joining us for lunch. Simon wanted to know whether William would be serving lunch, joining us for lunch, or both. I decided that a little of both would be a good way to show the doctor the skills William had developed so far.

That call finished, I checked with the control center to find out if more of Beemis’ records had come in yet – especially his criminal records from the States. The nervous manager admitted that he’d been able to get some of the records already, but didn’t have a complete file yet. He did promise to get what he already had uploaded to my computer within the hour.

“Keep up the good work,” I said into the phone. “I won’t forget how hard you’ve worked.” I broke the connection and forced myself to turn my attention to the more mundane, but necessary tasks of getting the clubs ready for their openings. I quickly became engrossed in the paperwork before me and Irma actually had to shake my arm to remind me that it was almost twenty minutes after noon and that I was expected up in the flat. Shoving the papers aside for the time being, I slipped up the secret staircase to the flat.

As usual when the weather was nice, Simon had had the table on the balcony overlooking the Thames set for lunch. Simon hurried from the kitchen to greet me with a quick kiss and hug.

“I didn’t have enough time to get William down to Konrad,” Simon said. “He really could use another haircut, but I think he cleaned up nicely for such short notice.”

I looked over at the young slave and gave him a long silent appraisal. William tried not to fidget under my gaze. He was dressed in scarlet shorts, a white tank top and white sneakers. His hair was a little long – it was already slightly over the tops of his ears – but it was clearly freshly washed and neatly styled. Completing his ensemble was a black leather collar around his neck.

“Not bad, not bad at all,” I said walking around him. Before either of us could say anything, there was a purposeful rap on the door.

“Think that’s Sir Bernard?” Simon asked.

I gave him a little grin. “It has to be,” I said. “Who else would give such a no-nonsense knock on a door?” I tilted my head towards the door. “Go on, let him in.” I placed my hand on William’s shoulder and whispered to him. “Just relax and remember – head up, eyes lowered. You’ll do just fine.”

“I hope so,” William muttered. I could feel the slight shiver that was running through his body.

At the door, Simon looked over one last time and I gave him the nod to open the door. He did his best to wipe the silly grin from his face as he turned the knob and swung the door open to admit Sir Bernard. Simon greeted the physician and led him across the room to a point just a couple of feet in front of William. Sir Bernard looked at the slave in open astonishment. I could sense that he had a hard time believing that the clean, well-groomed young man in front of him was the same as the street urchin that had caught his eye in the hospital.

“Don’t be so surprised, Sir Bernard,” I said. “William hasn’t changed that much – a new hairstyle and some weight on his bones is all that’s really different.”

“I just can’t get over the change,” Sir Bernard admitted. “William, you look even more beautiful than I remembered.” He gingerly walked over to his potential slave and touched William’s hair. “The new style suits you … and I like the color enhancement.”

“Thank you, sir,” William said softly. “You’re very kind to say so.”

I looked over at Simon in surprise. He gave me a little smirk – he’d clearly been tutoring William in far more than just physical deportment.

“If you’ll step this way, Sir Bernard,” I said motioning towards the balcony. “We have a light lunch laid on.” The physician followed me out to the table and took his seat by me while Simon stood to one side and watched as William expertly served the meal. Once everyone had been served, William stood by his chair silently. “Excellent job, William,” I said. “Won’t you join us?”

“Thank you, Master Duncan,” William murmured softly as he took his seat.

Simon hid another smirk behind his napkin. By any measure, the meal was a total success – the food and wine was excellent, the coffee and dessert delicious, and William behaved perfectly. As we ate, Sir Bernard chatted politely with William, neither really saying much of substance in their words. But the looks they shared spoke volumes. Any idiot could tell that Sir Bernard was even more enthralled with William than he had been at the hospital. When the meal was finally finished, Simon and I stood to leave the other two alone, but Sir Bernard insisted we stay.

“I suppose the time has finally come to speak frankly,” Sir Bernard said. He looked directly into William’s face. “The few weeks you’ve had here have certainly made a difference in your appearance, my boy. I don’t mind saying it again – you’re simply more beautiful than I remember.” William actually blushed and slightly tilted his head. “So, let’s not beat around the bush any longer … William, are you ready … ah, are you willing to give yourself to me as my houseboy?”

“Do you mean that you want me as a slave like Simon is to Master Duncan, sir?” William asked.

“Exactly that, William,” Sir Bernard replied.

For the first time, William actually smiled. “I think that if you’d have me that I’d like that very much, sir.”

The old doctor grinned like a schoolboy in love for the first time. He fumbled with his watch chain trying to think of what to say or do next. I let him flounder around for a bit before coming to his rescue.

“At this point, Sir Bernard, it’s perfectly acceptable for you to take William in your arms for a moment,” I said with a smile.

Sir Bernard brushed his moustache before pushing away from the table and going around to William. The young slave forgot his manners slightly by jumping up so quickly that he nearly tipped his chair over. The two embraced passionately and remained in each other’s arms. I quietly got up, went around the table, and grabbed a lock of Simon’s hair. “Let’s give them some time together,” I whispered. “Besides, you have some explaining to do.“

“Anything you say … Master Duncan,” Simon said with that impish smirk playing over his face.

“Just what is this Master Duncan, shit?” I asked Simon when we reached the sitting area.

“Oh, I just thought it would impress the old boy,” Simon grinned. “Besides, the look on your face was priceless.”

I playfully grabbed his fringe of bangs and pulled him closer to me, locking my mouth on his. “Does this mean that you’re pleased with what I did?” Simon giggled when we were finally forced to take a breath.

“I don’t know if pleased is the right word,” I said. “But, I do have to admit that it impressed Sir Bernard.” I pulled Simon onto my lap in the overstuffed wing chair. “It did sound good – maybe I’ll have to have you start calling me Master Duncan from now on – it does have a certain ring to it.”

“Whatever you say, Master Duncan,” Simon giggled. “You’re the master, Master Duncan.”

I stroked his nipple beneath his shirt, making him sigh with pleasure and then when he least expected it, moved both hands to his waist and began tickling him. Laughing helplessly, Simon struggled to break away, but I held him tight and continued his tickling until be begged breathlessly for relief.

“You call me Master Duncan again and I’ll tickle you for hours,” I teased. “I’ll….”

“Oh!” Sir Bernard exclaimed from the balcony doorway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“Not at all,” I said as Simon sheepishly climbed off my lap. “It looks like you and William have hit it off.”

“Erm, yes. Yes, we have,” Sir Bernard admitted. “We’ve … ah … we’ve had a little discussion already about changing his appearance further.”

“What Sir Bernard means is that he wants me to be circumcised,” William finished for him.

“Well, that is if William is willing…” Sir Bernard said apologetically.

I stood and faced them. “Whether William is or isn’t willing isn’t the question, Sir Bernard,” I said politely, but firmly. “William come over here.” William moved quickly to take the spot on the floor where I pointed. “Take your shorts off.” The young slave blushed slightly, but he removed his shorts without any question and returned to a proper slave’s ready position. I took William’s penis in my hand and held it up. “Sir Bernard, do you prefer a circumcised or uncircumcised dick?”

“Well … circumcised, actually.”

I nodded and turned to William. “William, are you willing to do what it takes to satisfy your Master?”

William didn’t hesitate. “Yes sir, I am.”

I patted his cheek. “Good boy. You can get dressed now.” I turned to Sir Bernard and motioned him over to the chair opposite me and waited until he sat down. I gave William a nod of my head and he quickly sank to his knees next to the chair. “Sir Bernard, we’ll be finished with William’s training in a few weeks. You’ll be getting a good slave.”

“Yes, I’m quite aware of that,” Sir Bernard said.

“He’ll need only one thing to keep him a good slave,” I said. “And that’s a good Master who accepts his responsibility to fully take control of his life. You are free to discuss physical changes to him, but in the end, the decision and responsibility is yours and yours alone.” I looked from one to the other. “Normally, I would never speak to you like I am right now,” I said. “But, I want both you and William to understand your various responsibilities to each other. William is responsible for making you happy in all things. He is giving up the right to make most decisions for himself and defer them to you. You are responsible for caring for him and that includes taking the responsibility for making decisions on his physical appearance.”

“You’re quite right,” Sir Bernard nodded. “This is all new to me.”

I grinned. “If I may be permitted a little more blunt speaking,” I said. “I think that you’ll make a wonderful Master for William there, and I’m sure that he’s going to serve you wonderfully as your slave.”

Sir Bernard gave a decisive nod to his head. “Right. It’s decided then – William will be circumcised as soon as the arrangements can be made.”

I glanced down at William and was a little surprised at the expression on his face. He was trying his best not to show emotions, but couldn’t completely hide the look of happiness that crossed his face. For the first time in his life, he had someone in his life who wanted him. And, William was willing to accept modifying the way he looked to make that person happy.

Simon and I left the other two in the flat so they could have a little more private time together. “Where are Malcolm and Matthew?” I asked as we went into my office.

“I sent them over to help Konrad work on his shop in the Emporium,” Simon said. “I figured Sir Bernard and William might need a little time together.”

“You’re just full of surprises today,” I said taking a seat behind my desk. “Have I told you lately how much I love you and how amazing you are?”

Simon screwed up his face in concentration and looked at the ceiling. “Um, not since this morning in the bathroom, you haven’t,” he said impishly. “I was beginning to think that you’d started overlooking my talents.” He paused and looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, they’re never really going to really be Master and slave.”

“Is that so?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.

“They’re in love,” Simon said. “I know you didn’t miss that.”

“Then they’re like us,” I smiled warmly. “In which case, they’ll do just fine.”

Even though I had spied the Beemis dossier sitting in the middle of my desk, I forced myself to ignore it. Simon and I hadn’t had this kind of time to each other for longer than I cared to remember and I wanted it to last as long as possible. We talked – about shows we wanted to see, about favorite foods that we hadn’t had in a long time, but mostly we talked about nothing that really mattered. We talked just to share each other’s company and it felt good.

Sir Bernard showed up about an hour later, ending our reverie. The old doctor thanked us over and over for what we’d accomplished with William so far and then promised to do everything in his ability to help Gunter. Simon gave me a wink before returning to William and escorted Sir Bernard from the office. With them gone, I had no choice but to turn to the dossier.

I had already formulated Harold Beemis’ background in my mind. He’d probably come from a poverty-level family, had been abused – at least physically – by family and friends. In the end, he turned hard and had probably run away from home, turning to dealing drugs to make a living.

I’ve been wrong before, but not nearly as seriously wrong as I was with Beemis. His mother was a lawyer and his father a doctor. They lived among the wealthier strata of their community and had given their children every possible advantage. Beemis’ two brothers and sisters seemed to have thrived and even excelled in that atmosphere. But something in Harold was twisted and bent from the beginning. Somehow, our people had managed to get childhood records opened and I couldn’t believe the depravity Beemis had shown almost from the beginning.

By five years old, he was seeing a psychiatrist after being caught abusing animals in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, the therapy didn’t have any effect on his behavior – he continued to torture and kill small animals and graduated to bullying other children. Between the ages of twelve and fourteen, Beemis spent more time in private clinics than he did at home. Some daring psychiatrist finally put down on paper what the others had either been too stupid or unwilling to admit – Harold Beemis had sociopathic tendencies and would likely grow more violent. Desperate to keep Harold from his brothers and sister, his folks had shipped him to the International School in Augsburg, Germany. I knew the school – it wasn’t much more than a high-class, very expensive private juvenile detention centers. Even the Masters at the International School had been unable to handle Harold and seemed more than content when he managed to break away from them when he was sixteen.

For a short while, things in Harold’s life were sketchy. He eventually turned up as a free-lance enforcer for drug dealers, and seemed to excel in his work. Then, there was the business in Turkey – he wasn’t just dealing drugs. He had gone to Istanbul to torture operatives of a rival drug dealer. I closed the dossier in disgust. I was staring at the file, recalling its grocery list of abuse when Irma slipped into the office.

“There’s going to be a video conference call for you in about five minutes,” she said. “It’s coming in to the conference room.”

“Right,” I stood. “That gives me just about enough time to get down there.”

When I arrived in the conference room, the flat panel monitor on the wall was already showing color bars indicating that the scrambled link had been established. I took my seat and made sure the cameras on my end were up and working properly. Moments later the color bars disappeared and Alexi’s face appeared from Basel.

“Have you read the dossier on Beemis yet?” Alexi asked without preamble.

“I’d just finished a few minutes ago,” I said.

“Your impressions?”

“Harold Beemis is a mistake of nature,” I snapped. “He should have been locked away in the deepest recesses of an insane asylum a long time ago.” A thought suddenly struck me. “How’d you already get a copy of his dossier? I didn’t give orders for a copy to be sent to you, yet.”

Alexi chuckled. “From the same place you got much of your copy, although I suspect there are probably more than a few sections that you have that I don’t yet,” he replied.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Your control room manager is quite an accomplished hacker,” Alexi said. “He hacked into the Istanbul club’s mainframe and took their files. He’s good, but not so good that he didn’t set off a couple of alarms.” I bolted up in my chair. Alexi raised a hand as if he could push me back. “Relax, Istanbul doesn’t know – I saw to that.”

“How’d you know before they did?”

“That’s a part of the system,” Alexi said. “Any unauthorized entry into any of the organization’s computer systems immediately sends off alarms here in Basel even before the hacked system is aware of illegal intrusion. I happened to be in the control room here asking for information on Beemis and Schlemmer when the alarm went off. As soon as it was identified as coming from your location – which, by the way took a little longer than it normally would have, your control room manager really is good. Anyway, I gave the orders to cancel any notification to Istanbul and then had our computer people piggyback on your operator’s intrusion and we copied all of the files he took.”

“I don’t know whether to reward him for his success or have him punished for getting caught,” I said, shaking my head.

“Reward him, definitely reward him,” Alexi said. “To get as far as he did is incredible – he certainly deserves to be rewarded.”

I told Alexi about the psychiatric files on Beemis from the private clinics, and his childhood criminal records. He didn’t have any of the psychiatric files and only about half of the criminal files – especially the ones from before Beemis was thirteen years old.

“The question now is what shall we do with him?” Alexi asked. “We clearly can’t keep him in the auction.”

“Of course we can,” I replied.

It was Alexi’s turn to give a start. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Not at all,” I said grimly. “I’ve been thinking it over – there are a few very special clients who would be capable of handling Beemis quite nicely.”

Alexi leaned back in his chair as he tried to think of the clients to whom I was referring. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and a malicious grin spread across his face. “The Russian Mafia,” he said.

“Exactly – they’re about as pitiless and heartless as they come,” I said. “I suspect that your or your uncle has connections?”

“Yes, he does,” Alexi thought for a moment. “In fact … look, remove Beemis from open auction bidding.” He held up a hand to forestall any objections from me. “I’ll personally pay you for Beemis – my uncle has one friend in the underworld who recently did him a favor. Beemis would be a particularly good present for him.”

“In that case, he’s my present to you,” I said. Alexi tried to refuse, but I insisted that he accept Beemis as a tribute of honor to him and his uncle. “Of course, I’m going to make him pay for what he did to Gunter before I turn him over.”

“That’s only fair,” Alexi agreed. “But, I must ask that his genitals be intact. Valentin Klimenko will want those for himself.” Alexi leaned forward. “I promise you that when Klimenko is finished with Beemis, his balls and cock will be gone – Klimenko has this thing for personally castrating boys. He especially likes rich Western boys. Needless to say, Valentin doesn’t get to indulge in his unique fetish as often as he likes.”

I sighed. “Okay – I can live with that – I just want his personal DNA line to end with him.”

Alexi grinned. “Oh, it will. Now, keeping him intact doesn’t mean you can’t turn Brigitta loose on his dick. I imagine that she could do something interesting with her ink gun.”

“Thanks, we’ll both appreciate that.”

“But, you’ll need to work fast,” Alexi added. “Beemis needs to be ready for transfer in forty-eight hours.”

“Then I need to get moving.”

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Alexi promised moments before the screen went blank.

Harold Beemis stared up at me from his hospital bed with cold, lifeless green eyes. A black rubber gag mask had been fitted over the lower part of his face, keeping his mouth closed. Padded leather mittens encased each hand making it impossible for him to use his hands to try to remove the restraints that bound him to the bed. His rust colored hair was chopped and ragged – probably the result of his recent Turkish prison stay. I motioned for Sam to remove the gag mask. Sam looked at me like I’d slipped my moorings before shrugging the removing the gag. He quickly stepped away and produced a hypodermic with a powerful sedative.

“You’ve caused no end of trouble here today, Harold,” I said calmly. “You seriously injured one of my people.”

Beemis worked his jaw and licked his lips. Finally, he turned his head to face me. “I don’t like the name Harold,” he said in a voice that was slightly high and nasal.

“What do you like to be called?”

Beemis rolled his eyes as he thought. “You can call me God … the Lord Almighty … Master … any of those would satisfy me.”

I actually chuckled. “That’s not likely to happen, Harold,” I said.

“I told you – I don’t like being called Harold,” he repeated.

“Tough.”

“I don’t think that I’m interested in talking to you,” Beemis said. He turned his head away from me.

“Fine by me,” I said affably. “I’ll talk and you can just listen. You viciously injured one of my people today…”

“Did he die?” Beemis interrupted.

“No. No he didn’t die,” I replied. “But he was seriously injured and he’ll be scarred for life.”

“He didn’t die – so it’s no big deal,” Beemis said, turning back to face me.

“It is to me,” I said.

“Sounds like a personal problem to me, go tell it to a priest,” Beemis said with malicious grin. “Otherwise, get over it – the guy didn’t die, so it’s no big deal.”

“You’re going to pay for what you did today,” I said. “And, you’re going to pay for all of the rotten things you’ve done in your life.”

“Oh, please! For a little while I really hoped that you’d be interesting to talk to,” Beemis sneered. “But, you’re just another version of the same old broken record that I’ve heard all my life.” His voice took on a falsetto sign-song tone. “You’ve got to be responsible for your actions … you have a responsibility to others … you’ve got to behave in an acceptable manner … it’s all a bunch of shit.”

“Why so?”

“Because I don’t have to be responsible to you or society or anyone else,” Beemis explained as if I was mentally slow. “You just don’t understand, do you? The individual isn’t responsible to society – it’s the other way around. It’s society’s responsibility to make life interesting for the individual.”

“And things are interesting to you when you can hurt others?”

“You’re making it too simplistic – you’re really not that smart, are you?” Beemis snorted. “Hurting the weak isn’t the point – that’s just the end result. The point is the thrill of the stalk … society is nothing but a big fucking lie invented by the weak and inferior to keep those who are better than them from exercising their natural rights.”

“And you’re one of the superior ones?”

“What do you think?”

“I think that you’re a worthless waste of humanity,” I said coldly. “The world would have been better off had you never been born, or had you been locked away in the most secure asylum and just forgotten.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah …that’s what everyone’s always said,” Beemis said. “But, they never manage to make it come true. I’ve been in institutions before and they always sent me home. Then that joke of a school in Krautland – I’m still surprised I stayed as long as I did. Once I got bored enough, I took off. And that Turkish prison?” Beemis snorted again. “You think they didn’t try to break me? They ended up having to get rid of me – I took everything they threw at me and gave it right back.”

“And you think that’s what’s going to happen here?”

“Eventually – you’ll either get rid of me or you’ll slip up and I’ll escape,” Beemis chuckled. “I’m just telling you the way it is, not bragging you understand.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I understand,” I said. “You’re reached the end of the line. It’s payback time and I’m the cashier here to collect.” I turned toward the doorway and motioned to the four guards who stood waiting patiently. “Gentlemen, take him to the other room … oh, and be sure to put that hockey mask on him first … we don’t want anyone else bitten.” I turned back to Beemis. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Harold.”

Since the facility had to be as self-sufficient as possible, the clinic contained a dental office and after leaving Beemis, I headed straight there to find Dr. Pashir with another man of about thirty or so. Pashir introduced the stranger as Douglas Farley.

“This is all for real, right?” Farley asked right off. “I mean this isn’t some absurd joke – Benny and the others aren’t going to suddenly jump out laughing are they?”

“I told you that this is for real, Doug,” Pashir laughed. “You’re going to have the chance of a lifetime – you’re going to be able to live out one of your darkest fantasies and not have to worry about any repercussions.”

“It’s incredible, I still can’t believe it.” He looked around. “Just what kind of place is this?”

“It’s a place where dreams and nightmares come true,” I said. “Today both collide with each other. You’re going to live out a dream. Unfortunately for the subject – it’s going to be a nightmare for him. But, that’s exactly what I want.” I looked at the dental tools laid out so neatly and precisely on a tray. “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready.” I picked up a vial of Novocaine. “You can put that back – you won’t be needing it.”

I took Pashir out into the corridor and asked about Farley. “He’s kind of a friend and totally reliable,” Pashir assured me. “We first met in a pub near the university – since I was a med student and he was a dental student, we sort of had similar interests. As we got to know each other, we discovered other interests.”

“What’s this dark fantasy of his?”

Pashir chuckled. “Did you ever see that movie where Laurence Oliver plays this Nazi dentist who tortures Dustin Hoffman by drilling into one of his teeth? Well, one day we were both in our cups and the movie was on the telly and he admitted that he’d love to be able to do that at least once in his life – but not stop at just one tooth.”

“That’s fine – as long as he knows that by the end of the day tomorrow I want every one of Beemis’ teeth removed.”

Pashir grinned. “I’ve already explained that to him and he’s more than eager to do that as well. I, uh … I took the liberty of arranging for him to stay here overnight.”

“Not a problem,” I assured the doctor. “In fact, I’d prefer it that way.” I glanced over Pashir’s shoulder toward the dental office. “Do you know what his preferences are?”

“Doug? He swings both ways,” Pashir said with a sly grin. “He has this thing for redheads – short haired redheads, if that helps any. He loves girls with boyish crops.”

“I’ll make sure there’s a redheaded male and female in his suite to keep him happy.” The sound of Beemis shouting and cursing came from behind me. Turning, I saw that the guards had strapped him down naked to a gurney and were wheeling him down the corridor. The two of us stepped back as the guards took the gurney into the dental lab and transferred the cursing Beemis into the dental chair and securely strapped him down.

From the doorway, I watched as Farley carefully removed the hockey mask and went to work preparing his patient. The dentist used a device I’d never seen before to force Beemis’ jaws apart and hold them in place. Then, he used another device to pull Beemis’ upper and lower lips away from his teeth. The equipment looked uncomfortable for the patient – and, I hoped, painful.

With Beemis’ mouth held open, Farley solicitously placed a heavy paper bib around his patient’s neck. The bib looked incongruous against Beemis’ naked body. I walked up to the chair and stood right over Beemis, staring down into his green eyes.

“I told you that you’re going to start paying for all the evil you’ve done,” I said coldly. “Before things get underway, I want you to know that what is about to happen here today is only the very smallest of down payments.” I turned to Farley. “He’s all yours, doctor.”

“Now, this isn’t going to hurt,” Farley began before being racked by laughter. “Who am I kidding? This is bloody well going to hurt beyond anything you can imagine.” He lifted the dental drill and activated it, letting the high-pitched whine fill the room. Approaching Beemis, Farley asked, “Is it safe?” He glanced back at us. “I always wanted to say that.”

Beemis began screaming even before Farley’s drill touched his first tooth. His screams changed in pitch and intensity when the drill actually began boring through his tooth. I ignored the sounds and concentrated on watching the dentist. Between attacking each individual tooth, he’d pause to massage his crotch. He was clearly enjoying himself. I stayed a while longer before excusing myself.

Before heading back to my office, I made my way down to the lower levels to the dispatching office to arrange for some companionship for Farley once he was done in the clinic. The dispatcher pulled up images of the redheaded males and females available. I carefully examined the images on the monitor before selecting two slaves with deep red hair and blue eyes. Both were between twenty-two and twenty-four and beautiful. I asked that they be sent straight to my office once they were freshly showered and dressed.

I had almost worked my way through all of the files on my desk when Irma showed the two slaves into the room. I watched as they took their place a few paces away from my desk, their heads held up and their eyes lowered respectfully. The dispatcher had dressed them both in matching white shorts and T-shirts. I explained that they had been chosen to entertain a special guest for the duration of his stay. Both of them perked up hearing that – entertaining special guests was a good way to move up in the slave’s hierarchy and they both knew it. When I informed them that they’d both need to have their hair cropped much shorter to suit the guest. The female swallowed hard, but did make any other outward show of emotion. The male however, forgot himself briefly and twisted his face in a show of distaste.

“Do you have a problem with that, boy?” I asked.

“No, sir,” the slave replied. He ran a hand through his floppy bangs. “I forgot my place, sir, is all.”

“That’s a good answer, boy,” I said. “We’ll see what Konrad can do to keep some length at the front for you.” I waved a warning finger at him. “If you hadn’t made such a quick recovery, you would have ended up with an induction buzz cut or worse.”

The slave gulped. “Yes, sir – I’m sorry, sir.”

“Just try to remember not to show your emotions so openly,” I said. “You don’t want to be punished for a momentary lapse of protocol.” I rose from behind my desk. “Come on, we’ll get you two down to Konrad now.”

I was lucky and found Konrad in the club salon rather than at the salon in the Emporium. I explained that Farley liked redheads with short-cropped hair. I stressed that I didn’t want a simple buzz cut – especially for the male.

Konrad studied the young man’s face. “I already know exactly what to do with the girl,” he said thoughtfully as he circled the male slave. “Hmmm, something short…”

“With bangs,” I said. “Something that can be combed over.”

“Okay, okay,” Konrad mused. He absently chewed on his thumb as he thought. A satisfied grin slowly spread over his face. “I know what would work on him,” he grinned. “I’ll have to take about half of the length of his fringe off, but that will still leave him with a nice length.” He looked up at me. “Will you be staying here or coming back to get them?”

“I’ll come back,” I said. “I want to see how things are progressing in the clinic.”

“Brigitta’s there now,” Konrad said. “She can’t wait to get at that fellow.” Konrad lowered his voice and stepped closer. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she is kind of sweet on Gunter.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Like I said, I don’t know for sure – but she has worked with him in the past back in Basel,” Konrad said. “And, each time she did she kept talking about him – how handsome he is, what beautiful Nordic blonde hair he has, how much his eyes shine in the light.”

In the clinic, I found Farley was still at work. Pashir told me that the dentist periodically took breaks so that Beemis’ pain levels didn’t overload his senses. Staring coldly at Beemis, I could see that the dentist had drilled straight through the center of each of the slave’s front teeth. Beemis was groaning, his green eyes unfocused. He gradually became aware of my presence and brought all his focus to bear on me. As his eyes cleared, he struggled to make one word clear and intelligible. Eventually, he got it out – a garbled, but understandable “why?”

“Why?” I repeated. “Because it’s high time someone really held you accountable for your actions, you miserable piece of shit. You’re not hiding behind some therapist who thinks letting you talk about your feelings will make a difference with you.” I poked him hard in the chest. “We both know that talking out your feelings in group and private sessions was just a way for you to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. Well, now every time you step a toe out of line, it’s going to cost you.”

“Hiss ott hare!” Beemis cried out as best as he could. He had to repeat it over and over a couple of times before I realized that he was complaining that ‘it wasn’t fair’ the way he was being treated.

“If you think that’s not fair, wait until you see what else is in store for you,” I chuckled.

“Do you think I can have a crack at him while the dentist is taking a break?” Brigitta asked suddenly appearing at my elbow.

“Where have you been hiding?” I asked in mock surprise. “I was just seeing how Gunter is doing and whether he needed anything.” I noticed that the usually unflappable Brigitta had slightly more color in her cheeks than normal. “Do you have something in mind?”

Brigitta gave me a lupine grin. “Oh yeah,” she said, taking Beemis’ limp cock in her hand and pointed to the big mushroom head. “I think the head of his dick would look great with fire shooting over it.”

“Oh – that sounds like it will hurt,” I said loud enough for Beemis to hear.

“It will,” Brigitta quipped happily. “It’s going to hurt a lot.”

“I don’t see why you can’t go ahead and get started,” I said stepping aside.

Brigitta eagerly began setting up her equipment and pulling a low stool up next to the chair. It didn’t take long before her tattoo gun was running and she was creating flames that covered the entire head of Beemis’ dick. She worked freehand, totally oblivious to the squealing, high-pitched screams coming from her victim.

Leaving Brigitta to her work, I went to the staff lounge near Pashir’s office. Opening the door, I walked in on Sam on his knees orally servicing Farley as Pashir looked on. Farley turned several shades of red and tried to push Sam away.

“Don’t stop in the middle of what you’re doing, Sam,” I called. Sam managed to raise a hand in greeting before renewing his efforts at sucking Farley’s dick. I took a seat near Pashir and watched, as Farley slowly became more engrossed in what was happening between his legs than in my presence. I studied Farley as he leaned his head back; his eyes closed in ecstasy. The dentist was tall and athletically built. His sandy hair was thinning slightly and receding at the temples, which gave him a slightly distinguished look.

He finally climaxed with a loud moan of pleasure. He tried to pull his pants back up from around his ankles, but Sam insisted in using a moisturized cloth to gently wipe down the dentist’s groin and clean him up before allowing Farley to get dressed.

“Good job, Sam,” I called.

“Thanks,” he grinned back. “After I clean up a bit, I’ll be right back with a tea tray.” Without another word, Sam hurried from the room.

“Well Doug, how do you like living out your fantasy so far?” Pashir asked. “Everything you thought it would be?”

“It’s bloody incredible,” Farley said sinking into a chair near us. “I can’t believe a place like this exists.”

“It exists, all right,” Pashir assured his friend. “You just can’t ever tell anyone about it or what goes on here.”

“What would one have to do to join this place?” Farley asked.

“Pay more money than you currently make in a year to become a member,” I said matter-of-factly. Farley’s face fell. “But, there are other ways to avail yourself of the services of this particular club.”

“How is that?”

“You could become a member of the staff here,” I said. “You have talents that could be used elsewhere. Plus, we could use a staff dentist.” Farley opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand to stop him. “Don’t answer right away – I want you to think it over and you can tell me your decision tomorrow. Complete your work today and have a relaxing night, then make your decision.” I stood to go. “Brigitta is working on Beemis right now. She’ll get out of your way when you’re ready to resume your work.”

“It’s not work,” Farley said with fervor.

I smiled and inclined my head. “Whatever it is, she’ll get out of your way when you want to resume. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I returned to Konrad’s Dungeon salon just as he was finishing with the male slave. Most of his floppy red hair had been skillfully cropped to about an inch in length and carefully layered. His bangs were much shorter than they’d been when I left, but were still long enough to fall casually across his forehead. I turned to study the girl – her chin-length bob had been reduced to a short schoolboy’s crop with a sharp part. The style suited her and made her even more appealing in a waifish way than she’d been before.

“Konrad, you never cease to surprise me,” I said in awe. “The styles are perfect for these two. I can’t imagine our guest not being entranced by these two.” I had Konrad take the slaves to the suite that had been prepared for Farley and returned to my office to continue working on the stacks of paperwork that seemed to pile up every time I left the office. Perhaps this time the papers had stopped coming I mused.

Reaching my office, I sighed – the papers hadn’t stopped coming. If anything, they seemed to be increasing in volume. Shaking my head, I sat at the desk and went to work attacking the papers. Luckily, most of the papers just required my signature and that helped make the work move along at a decent pace. I worked steadily through the afternoon and was just finishing the last of the stack when Pashir called from the clinic.

“Just thought that you’d like to know that Doug has finished for the day.”

“He’s got great timing,” I replied into the phone. “I’ll be down soon to see how things are progressing.”

I could tell how tings had progressed in the clinic even before I pushed through the swinging doors. Beemis’ cries of pain carried into the main corridor. Pashir and Farley were in the outer waiting area, sipping tea when I entered.

“Brigitta is finishing up on her work just now,” Pashir explained. “Her needles – combined, of course with Doug’s handiwork – are the cause of the increased noise level.”

“Yes – those needles must hurt something wicked,” Farley said. “They must be making Beemis cry out in pain and each time he opens his mouth the cold air makes his teeth hurt even more…”

“Which only increases his suffering,” I grinned.

I left the two of them to relax as best as they could and went down the hall to see Beemis. At first he didn’t realize that I was there. His entire attention appeared to be focused on the pain coming from his groin. Brigitta had outdone herself with the flames covering the mushroom head of Beemis’ dick. Flames of yellow, orange, and red spread out from his urethra opening and covered every inch of bare skin. She was just finishing the shading and outlining when I entered the room.

“That’s just amazing,” I said as I watched Brigitta work. “Those flames look almost real enough to burn my hand on.”

Brigitta paused in his work long enough to turn in my direction. “Thank you,” she smiled. A mischievous spark danced in her eyes. “Do you think I could put something like ‘Cut Along Dotted Line” along the shaft of his cock? And maybe have a dotted line around the base?”

“I don’t see why not,” I grinned back at her. I moved closer to the head of the chair and gave Beemis a light slap on the shoulder. “How’re you holding up, Harold?”

Beemis’ eyes rolled in my direction. For several long moments they just stared unfocused in my direction. I stood quietly and waited as they slowly focused and Beemis recognized me.

”Y-y-you th-th-think th-that if you inflict e-enough p-pa-pain on me, th-that y-yo-you can b-break me,” he gasped. “W-we-well – f-fuck you. Y-yo-you can’t break me.”

I massaged Beemis’ shoulder in mock friendliness. “You’ve got it all wrong, Harold,” I said jovially. “I have no intention of breaking you. Nope – I’m not interested in that. Our only goal here is to cause you as much physical pain as possible. So, how’re we doing? Has the pain taken you to the brink of madness, yet?”

“F-f-fuck you,” Beemis gasped again.

I sighed. “I guess we haven’t done our jobs well enough,” I said. “We’ll have to try to do better tomorrow, Harold.”

“I tol-told y-yo-you I do-don-don’t like th-that name,” Beemis stuttered, wincing each time the air hit his ruined teeth.

I patted his cheek, causing him to give out a high-pitched squeal. “That’s too damn bad, Harold,” I said. “I really don’t care what you like. In fact, just because you don’t like the name makes me like it all the more, Harold.” I patted his face again. “Get used to the fact that it doesn’t matter what you do and don’t like anymore.” I reached down and grabbed his dick, giving it a shake. “I sure you won’t like it one little bit when your new owners cut your dick off – but that’s not going to stop them from doing it.”

Beemis’ eyes grew so wide that I thought they were going to pop right out of his head. He lost all of his bravado as he stared from me to Brigitte and back. It began to dawn on him that I was deadly serious. “Yo-you’re fucking with my head!” His voice trembled and he sounded like a scared little boy.

“Guess again, Harold,” I laughed. “You’ve only got a few more days of having this really impressive example of manhood still attached to you. After that – CHOP! … and it’s gone.’

Brigitta and I barely had time enough to jump out of the way as Beemis’ stomach heaved and he vomited all over himself.

Brigitta shook her head in disgust. “I thought Harold said he could take anything you threw at him – looks like he was wrong.”

The next day when I showed up in the clinic to see how things were progressing, Farley nearly shook my arm off as he enthusiastically pumped my hand up and down in thanks. Seeing the quizzical look on my face, he explained that the two redheads had taken him to heights of pleasure that he had never dared imagine before.

“And that Andy,” Farley said, rolling his eyes. “He did things with his tongue and mouth that … that … oh, man! I can’t even begin to describe those things … I just wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’m glad he gave you such pleasure,” I said with a grin. “I’ll be sure that he is rewarded.”

“Don’t forget Heather,” Farley said quickly. “She was great, too – but Andy … oh, he was just beyond incredible.” Farley lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do you, um, do you think that it would be possible…”

“Yes, I think that it wouldn’t be any problem to arrange another visit with Andy,” I said. “In fact, if you’ve nothing pressing, I’d like to invite you to stay another night if it’s convenient for you.” I turned towards the dental office. “How’s it going with Beemis this morning?”

“I’ve already removed all of his front teeth,” Farley said, his breathing automatically growing heavier with excitement. Realizing that his excitement was obvious, the dentist blushed. “I’d never dream of actually doing the things I’ve been doing since yesterday – I mean, it was always just a guilty fantasy. But, to actually get those fantasies out of my system ... it's like being purged of a heavy burden.”

I nodded. “I know what you mean – most of our clients would never do the things we make possible for them here. The Dungeon exists to give them an outlet for their darker fantasies and at the same time prevent them from going too far.”

We entered the dental office and Farley proudly showed me his handiwork so far. Harold was still writhing in pain and as soon as he saw the dentist, he immediately began whimpering in fearful anticipation of more agony to come.

“His parents must have paid a fortune to give him perfect teeth,” Farley observed. “I almost felt guilty for destroying them…”

“And then you remembered what kind of a monster Harold is,” I finished.

“Exactly!” Farley said excitedly. “Even with that ragged ragamuffin haircut, he looks almost angelic and innocent.”

“He doesn’t look so angelic now,” I said. “He’s beginning to look more like the piece of filth that he really is.” I stepped closer to the chair, reached out and playfully shook Beemis’ dick. “Good morning, Harold. Been thinking about how it’s going to feel when this piece of meat isn’t hanging between your legs anymore?”

Beemis’ whimpering increased as he shook his head as if trying to shake off a horrible nightmare. Smiling, I gave his dick another shake before leaving the room. I was almost to the clinic doors when Sam caught me and said that there was a call in the office for me. Following him to the office, I found Irma on the phone.

“You didn’t turn your cell phone on,” Irma chided me.

“Actually, Miss Smartypants, my cell phone is on,” I replied jokingly. “I just left it in the flat this morning. So, what’s up?”

“You just got a call from Basel – Mr. Yousuppov will be arriving at Heathrow in about an hour and a half. There are three people in his personal party and five others in a second party.”

“Okay – have Monk to take a car to the airport and personally meet Alexi and his party. Have him arrange to have Steven meet the second party with a van. Have Monk call me when he leaves the airport.”

“Alles klar,” Irma said absently, reverting back to her native language. I knew that she was probably on the other line and ordering the cars brought around to the front of the club.

“Once you’re through with that,” I said speaking rapidly. “Contact Ingo and tell him to have the main dining room ready for our guests – Simon and myself, Alexi, Eric, and their guest for sure. So that’s what – five people right?”

“Yes – five exactly,” Irma confirmed.

“But, make sure Ingo is prepared for as many as ten or more guests,” I said. “I don’t know whether any others will be expected to join us.” I thought quickly trying to remember the personal facts about Klimenko that I head read in a dossier I’d asked to be prepared for me. “Tell Ingo that the salad should be tomatoes, cucumbers, onion, red, yellow, orange, and green peppers garnished with anchovies and Feta cheese. The dressing should be light olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette,” I said, speaking quickly.

“Klar,” Irma mumbled absently jotting down my instructions.

“Soup should be a clear mushroom soup,” I said. “Ingo can make do with steaks and potatoes for the main course – Klimenko is a meat man. And, we’ll have brandied pears for desert.”

“I have it all down,” Irma said on the other end of the phone. “Appropriate wines, coffee, tea and other beverages will be available as well.”

“You’ve got it.”

I went back to the flat for a quick shower and change of clothes, telling Simon to join me. He eagerly jumped into the shower, but pretended to pout when I told him that we didn’t have enough time to fool around. He had to be content with me washing him from head to toe and promising even more to come later that night.

Once we were dry, we both dressed in charcoal three-piece suits. I was just affixing my cufflinks when the house phone rang. It was Monk calling from the car. They were about ten minutes away from the club. I told him to escort Alexi and his party directly to the clinic and that I’d have some of the slaves take their luggage from the car.

“’At’s the fing,” Monk said. “They ain’t got no luggage, do they?”

“No luggage at all?”

“Nuffink but brief cases,” Monk said. “Certainly nuffink big enough t’ use fer a overnight bag. Looks ter me like they ain’t stayin’ overnight.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads up,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Simon and I weren’t in the clinic long before Alexi and Eric entered. Like us, they were both in three-piece suits. Alexi explained that Klimenko would be along in just a minute – he was studying the layout of the public club.

“Not staying over?”

The corners of Alexi’s mouth turned up. “I see that Monk is his usual efficient self,” he said. “I didn’t even notice him talking on the phone on the other side of the divider.”

“He uses a speaker phone,” I offered.

“Smart man,” Alexi said. “No, none of us are staying overnight. Valentin can’t wait to collect his goods and get out of the country. There’s a freighter leaving tonight and he’s already made arrangements to be on it with Beemis. With the kind of goods he’s transporting it’s best to get them in transit as quickly as possible.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. I’ve got arrangements made for lunch in the main dining room – Ingo can accommodate the additional people Klimenko brought with him.”

The clinic doors opened before Alexi could reply and Monk ushered Klimenko into the waiting area. Valentin Klimenko looked like he was in his late thirties to early forties. I knew the looks were deceiving. I knew that he was fifty-four years old and an exercise fanatic. His black hair was swept straight back from a widow’s peak. His facial features were sharp with cold, merciless eyes. He came straight to me, his hand extended.

“I have heard so much about you. It is an honor to meet you. I am Valentin Klimenko,” he said with just a slight trace of accent.

“The honor is mine, Mr. Klimenko,” I replied taking his hand. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t stay with us longer.”

The Russian Mafia leader gave a very Slavic shrug. “The nature of my business, I am afraid. The sooner I transport my goods, the better and safer it is for all concerned.”

“I quite understand,” I replied. “Let’s not hold you up much longer. If you’ll step this way, please.” I held out my hand to indicate the corridor. I guided my visitor to the dental office where Beemis was still strapped to the chair. The only other person in the room was Brigitta, who was finishing tattooing a dotted line around the shaft of Harold’s penis. I had decided that until Dr. Farley was officially on the staff of the clinic, it was best that he not have contact with clients like Klimenko.

Brigitta quickly came to her feet, prepared to move aside, but Klimenko stopped her. “No, no – please don’t interrupt your work.” He bent forward at the waist; his hands lightly clasped behind his back and studied Brigitta’s work of the day before. “This is your work?” He asked in delight. “It is absolutely wonderful. It looks so real.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brigitta replied, tilting her head respectfully.

“And this work you are finishing?” Klimenko extended a well manicured finger towards the base of Harold’s penis.”

“Oh, just a little joke,” Brigitta replied.

Klimenko’s face went blank for a second and then he burst out laughing. “I see it!” He exclaimed. “Cut along dotted line! I like that.” He looked to me. “May I…”

“Of course, feel free to inspect Harold all you want,” I said. “After all, he belongs to you.”

Klimenko ran his hands lovingly all over Harold’s smooth body like he was inspecting a priceless work of art. When he reached Harold’s lower belly, he took hold of the prisoner’s penis and lifted it to inspect it from every angle. Then, he expertly cupped Harold’s balls as if weighing them in his hand.

“Oh yes,” Klimenko sighed breathlessly. “This one is going to be such a pleasure to work on. He is so nicely endowed.” The Russian used both of his hands to fondle Harold’s genitals, which slowly began to respond to his attention. Klimenko watched critically as Harold’s penis began to engorge with blood and grow erect. He continued tenderly rubbing and fondling Harold’s tool until it had achieved full erection. He stepped back and cocked his head from side to side as he examined the erection before him. “Hmmm, not as big around as some, but still thick enough to be impressive and at least eight inches long. I like the slight upward curve to this sword.” Klimenko nodded appreciatively. “Oh yes, I am going to enjoy this one.” He turned to me. “You can have him readied for immediate transport?”

“That’s not a problem at all,” I assured him.

“You have had all of his teeth pulled,” Klimenko observed. “I am curious to know for why you did it.”

“He attacked and savagely bit one of the guard slaves here,” I replied. “He had to be punished for that. You already know that he is not a trained slave and one that I wouldn’t trust.”

Klimenko ran his finger along Harold’s mouth. “What a marvelous idea for punishment,” he mused. “I shall have to remember it.” He turned to face me, wagging his finger in my direction. “You have Russian blood in your family somewhere – only a Russian could dream up such an appropriate punishment.”

Finished examining Beemis, Klimenko, Alexi, and Eric joined Simon and I for lunch. Klimenko’s other men ate in one of the canteens after they and Dungeon guard slaves prepared Beemis for transport. The Russian was amazed that I had gone to the trouble of finding out his favorite dishes on such short notice. He ate heartily, praising each dish. Between courses, Klimenko studied the room and especially the waiters standing quietly off to the sides ready to serve us.

Once the last dishes of the meal had been cleared away, the Russian offered cigars all around. None of us smoked, but I urged Klimenko to feel free to indulge while the rest of us had more coffee. Smiling, Klimenko took his time preparing his cigar, meticulously clipping the end and studying it to make sure the cut was clean. Then, he produced a gold lighter and held the cigar just over the flame, turning it as he puffed the cigar to life. Finally satisfied, he leaned back and leisurely talked about his plans for Beemis.

“He will lose his impressive dick,” Klimenko assured us. “I’m not sure just when – it won’t be immediately. No – first, I must have time to play with it. Remind him just how much pleasure his precious manhood can deliver when given the opportunity.”

“How long does that process normally take?” Alexi asked.

Klimenko shrugged. “It depends – mostly on my mood, I admit. Sometimes, the slave is given only a day or two. Sometimes, I let them enjoy the pleasures of the flesh for a week or so – always promising that if they perform impressively that I will spare their manhood.” The Russian gangster chuckled maliciously. “Of course, none ever succeed in saving their equipment. I so seldom get the opportunity to indulge in my little hobby – I like to make the anticipation of the pleasure last as long as I can.”

“I’d have thought you’d have plenty of opportunity to find subjects in your country,” I said.

“Pah!” Klimenko spat. “There are so few real men in Russia today – they have already allowed themselves to be emasculated – first by the old Soviet system and then by the West. The physical loss of their equipment would be redundant.”

“It sounds like you hate the West,” Eric said softly.

“Not exactly, little one,” Klimenko said. “It is the upper class who pretend to welcome my country with one hand, while withholding true economic assistance with the other. They like the idea of a weak Russia – weak in military power and weak in economic opportunities and lacking national and international respect. They are the ones who have continued the emasculation of my countrymen.”

Simon nodded. “And so castrating only certain Westerners you’re kind of turning the tables on them.”

Klimenko nodded his head vigorously. “Exactly! Exactly! I get almost no pleasure from cutting the dick from a working class lad – whether he be Russian or from the West. But let me get one of the privileged class under my knife – there is something sexually, physically, and emotionally satisfying from the act.” He drew on the cigar and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Unfortunately, it is usually difficult to find as many of that class as I’d like to have.”

“What happens to Beemis once you’ve altered him?” I asked.

“He goes to work,” Klimenko said simply. “Either in one of my factories, as a heavy laborer on one of the farms, or in one of the coal mines in which I have an interest.” He drew on his cigar again. “This one would make a good draft horse – harnessed to a wagon, pulling it through the fields.” Klimenko nodded, his smile broadening. “Yes, I think heavy labor in the fields would suit him very well.”

The demands of time forced us to leave the dining room so Klimenko could supervise moving Beemis from the clinic. Aside from Harold’s moaning and cursing that we had no right to do anything to him, the transfer went smoothly. Once the Russians were gone, Alexi apologized for not being able to stay longer. Family business in Basel was presently taking up most of his free time. He did promise to return in a week for the auction and spend at least a week or so visiting.

With all of the guests finally transported either to the docks or the airport, I had time to relax in the flat. I couldn’t help noticing that William seemed distracted as he laid the table for dinner. Simon perched on the arm of my chair and whispered that he had made arrangements with Pashir to perform William’s circumcision the following afternoon. Simon explained that William was facing the procedure with an equal mix of anticipation and fear.

I thought about William for a few moments. “Have Matthew spend the night with William,” I said. “Tell him to give William a night to remember to take his mind off of tomorrow. Ah, let Matthew and William have dinner here and spend some time alone.”

“What about us?”

“You, are going to go upstairs and get cleaned up and back into your suit again,” I said, tapping his nose. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”

“You mean like a date?”

“Yes – exactly like a date,” I replied. “Just you and me. And afterwards, I’m going to bring you home … carry you up those steps, rip your clothes off of you and then,” I grinned up at him wolfishly. “Then, well I think you can guess what I’m going to do with you.” I pushed him from the arm of the chair. “Now, go on and get changed right away.” I grabbed the phone on the side table and called down to Irma, asking her to get us a good table for an early dinner and tickets to a show.

While Simon was changing, I told William of the change in plans. Matthew appeared while I was talking to William, slipping his arms around William’s waist and pulling him close. The young slave blushed when Matthew promised to put a smile on William’s face that would last at least a week. He had just taken William out to the balcony when Simon appeared on the stairs. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, his hair brushed with just the right stylish casual hint. For a moment, I was tempted to forget about going out and take him right on the stairs where he stood.

Matthew appeared at my elbow. “I’ve called down to Monk and the car will be at the front of the club in just about ten minutes. I checked with Irma and she has reservations in your name at the Savoy and you have a box at ‘Phantom’.”

Going out onto the street after getting the call that the car was waiting, both Simon and I were shocked to see the big Bentley standing at the curb. Even more surprising was the sight of Monk dressed in a real chauffeur’s uniform, complete with high boots and cap. He gave us a conspiratorial wink as he held the door open for us.

“I jes’ got the uniform fer special occasions,” Monk explained. “I figgered it’d impress special visitors yer might ‘ave me pick up at the airport.” He gave me a knowing look. “I figger this counts as a special occasion.”

Heads turned as Simon and I entered the dining room – partly because of how fantastic Simon and I looked and partly because Irma had made the reservations in the name of Grand Duke Duncan Masters. There are still some places where a title – even an empty one like mine – makes an important impression and the Savoy was one of those places. Of course, it didn’t hurt to show up in a Bentley and clearly have money.

I found myself silently thanking Irma for using the title, which I normally disliked. We got the best service in the dining room, which made the entire dining experience seem like something from a dream. Simon was simply dazzling and for much of the meal I just wanted to take him in my arms. While that wasn’t possible during the meal, I have to admit that the two of us spent the entire production of Phantom in each other’s arms. I decided that the expense of a box – a luxury that I had never permitted myself before – was worth every penny paid, and that every time Simon and I attended the theatre we’d have a box.

Once during the production, Simon pointed out that someone on the other side of the theatre was looking our way. Instead of pulling away from my boy, I turned to him and kissed him full on the mouth, not giving a damn what the snoop across from us might think.

Somehow, we managed to pretty much control ourselves throughout the evening – that is, until we were right at the door of the flat. Just as I was opening the door, Simon gave me an innocent peck on the cheek as he thanked me for a wonderful night. That little kiss was all it took to destroy what little reserve I had left. I took grabbed his face in my hands and began kissing him passionately. My hands explored his face and raked through his hair as our tongues wrestled.

Somehow we managed to get the door open and stumble inside while our mouths were still locked together. As I kicked the door closed, my hands were already clawing at his tie and throwing it across the room. I didn’t even bother to try and unbutton his shirt – I simply took it between both hands and literally ripped it away from him. With his smooth chest exposed, I broke off our kiss for the first time and began licking, sucking, and nibbling on his delicious nipples.

I felt my own shirt pulled open and vaguely heard the buttons ping off the hardwood floor in all different directions. Without thinking, I scooped Simon up in my arms and carried him up the stairs to our room where I threw him on the bed.

For the first time in too long a time, the two of us concentrated only on each other – thoughts of the clubs, the impending opening and auction, the slaves for whom we were responsible were all banished for the night. For me, the whole rest of the world ceased to exist – the only thing that existed was the beautiful young man between my legs. We kissed, we bit, scratched, writhed, and twisted around the bed, as we sought to each bring the other to a higher level of physical and mental pleasure. Our sex transcended the mere primal physical sensations of self-gratification. Each of us focused only on the pleasure of the other.

When we finally staggered down for breakfast in the morning, we were greeted with bemused smiles from Malcolm, Matthew, and William. Matthew wryly observed that we must have enjoyed ourselves the evening before if he was to judge from the remains of our clothes. Looking around the flat, I saw that he had left my jacket, vest, shoes, and shirt where we had flung them the night before. Unable – and quite frankly, unwilling – to deny the evidence, I just smiled back. There really wasn’t that I could say.

I had just sat down on the balcony overlooking the Thames to share a bowl of strawberries and cream with Simon when Monk lumbered into the flat, a serious look across his wide face.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Monk replied. “Mebbe, mebbe not – ‘ere’s a geezer t’ see yer. ‘E’s a foreigner – sez his name’s Suliman Bey.”

“Bring him up here and give him some breakfast,” I told Monk. “Give him my apologies and tell him that I’ll join him as soon as I finish dressing.”

Monk barred my way protectively. “Is it trouble?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But, I’m sure it’s going to be an interesting meeting.” I stepped around Monk and started for the stairs. “One way or another, though – it is going to be interesting,” I repeated.

To be continued…