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All the regular exhibits call her that, at her behest. Since it seems to make them more at ease in general, I never stop it.
Eustice wrinkles her nose over her smile, patting Zalia on her rope covered back before coming to my side.
She shrugs. “It’s not your best work.”
I smirk. She’s never once said anything other than that, and it’s exactly what I needed to hear.
“It’s a hefty crowd tonight. Huge pay-downs already. I called in two more floor guards.”
Understandable. The Deviant Devices display is one of the riskier galleries I do, so we have double the standard protocols. No reason not to have double the staff.
“Also,” she pauses, catching my gaze, “a representative from the Cartwright family is on the bill.”
Disgust oozes down my back. Our father had been a member of the Cartwrights’ operation before he fell for Mom. Was apparently quite the scandal. Getting out isn’t something the Cartwrights are known for allowing, so, rather than live with their heads on swivels, they started their own empire. The Saint Family was born, quite literally, one after the other.
We’d heard the horror stories, the things Dad had been forced to endure, and once we grew older, we saw the aftereffects first hand. Never anything to connect the tragedies with the source, but always the same outcome. Everyone who crosses Roman Cartwright turns up missing, or dead.
“Do we know which representative?”
She shakes her head. “Secretive as usual.”
“Hmm.” I refocus on nothing in particular, fighting to bury the memories of identifying Mom and Dad’s bodies. And Bridget’s. After a few moments, I exhale. “With luck, it won’t be Roman. I’d rather not play nice today.”
“Are you sure you’re—”
I shoot her a glare, and she eyes me a moment before nodding. Tired of delaying, I secure the hook to Zalia’s set-up and grab the end of her ponytail, craning her head back.
She sucks in a breath. “Oof, wait, wait.”
I release, and she cracks her neck.
“Take your time.” I massage the base of her skull with my middle finger.
“It just pinched a little. I’m ready.”
I don’t need to verify again, because she knows not to say it if she doesn’t mean it. She’s a respectfully compliant woman, flexible in both body and schedule, but not a sub by any stretch. And even if she was, she’d be nowhere near as good as Lucy.
…Might be. As good as Lucy might be.
“I said I’m ready, sir.”
My lids shutter, the familiar gallery walls coming back into focus. “Apologies. Lost in thought.”
Once her head is in position, hook firmly in place, last rope check completed, I push the button on the lift, and watch as she’s raised into place. She twists slightly as she gets more comfortable, but otherwise, she’s a near-perfect erotic ornament.
“What’s with the tarp?” Eustice mutters. “I thought oil night was Tuesday.”
“It is. I’m going to add steam tonight.”
“You—to Zalia?”
Shock covers her wrinkled face, and it’s not unexpected. I don’t normally change things last minute, rarely change things at all, to be honest, but for the first time since my heart was destroyed, I’m inspired. I can’t replicate the whole bathroom scene so soon, not without the proper equipment, but this is a good test run.
I should buy Lucy a gift to thank her. I suppose a birthday gift would be more fitting, since it’s sometime soon.
“Huh. Well, now I’m excited to see it. Still not your best work.” She winks and toddles out to the floor, checking in on all the other stations with uneven steps caused by a bad hip. Her first stop is Jaydon in the reverse pillory, with his spine arched over a sawhorse. The iron weights around his ankles keep his toes just brushing the floor, while the noose around his neck keeps his head craned back, waiting for inspection. No doubt his mouth will be used plenty tonight.
The weighted nipple clamps and strategic electrodes make this one of the more visually uncomfortable setups, in my opinion. Though, everyone has different views.
