The Administration Series (167 page)

Warrick thought he recognized the occasional face, but as he rarely — perhaps never — spoke to other customers, he wasn't sure whether to greet them or not.

They wandered for a while, getting their bearings. Eventually Warrick ground to a halt at a small group gathered in one of the edge rooms. Guests — and occasional staff — seemed to be taking turns to recite poetry. Primarily poetry with a lot more sex involved than Warrick remembered from school, which was the last time he'd had much to do with anything that rhymed.

Clearly impromptu, rather than any form of organized entertainment, Warrick found it oddly engaging. People having fun, without caring what anyone beyond the group thought. When his presence registered, a couple stepped aside, making a space for him, then turned their attention back to the current speaker.

"Do you really want to listen to this?" Toreth demanded from behind him.

"I wouldn't mind. For a little while."

"Okay. I'll go get us some drinks."

Without waiting for an answer, Toreth began to shoulder his way through the crowd. Warrick watched him go, wondering whether he'd be back or if this was the start of his probably inevitable exploration of the fuck buffet. Then he dismissed the thought and returned to the recitation.

Toreth had expected to find his unplanned costume rather cold, but the air in the cellar had been warmed by the presence of so many bodies. Only the smooth stone flags under his bare feet were still cool.

So
many
bodies. He examined the crowd as he worked his way across the cellar, gratified to draw so many interested and openly admiring looks in return; probably there were more than he would have drawn in the DJ. He wasn't the only one modeling the minimalist slave look, although in his opinion he was one of the most striking examples.

As he waited for a space at the makeshift bar, Toreth felt a prickle down his back. Someone watching him? A safe bet, really, but when he turned, he spotted the source of the scrutiny at once.

The boy was certainly eye-catching. He wore a skin-tight black-furred outfit with a white patch on the chest: a literal cat suit, complete with white-tipped ears, curling white whiskers and gloves showing the gleam of claws at his fingertips. He also had a long tail, with some kind of control system installed — it held itself in a curve behind him, the white tip flicking from side to side like a metronome as he strolled over.

Even close up, the short glossy fur looked so natural it could've been growing from his skin. The suit was a dark chocolate brown rather than true black, with the faintest of tabby markings; it looked like Bastard in strong sunlight, if Bastard had been around one-seventy-five with a lithe, late-teens body. And, unlike Bastard, someone had collared this cat — a silver band bearing a nametag.

The cat mask was beautifully crafted, and thin enough to show the expression beneath. It swept down beside the boy's mouth and along his jawline, leaving bare his lips and chin. Apart from that, the mask hid everything except his eyes — a vivid and unnatural green with wide pupils.

With the air of someone trying out a line for the first time, the boy said, "If I said you had an incredible body . . . " Then he dried up, the visible parts of his face and throat flushing.

Even if it was deliberate, which Toreth half suspected, it was still irresistible. The voice — light, with a distinctive hissing lisp — also confirmed his guess as to the boy's age.

One white-tipped ear flicked in irritation, and he started again. "If I said —"

Toreth shook his head. "Don't bother, I've heard it before. It's old enough to have whiskers."

The emerald eyes widened. "That was clever."

"It's practice, that's all. You can have another go if you like — try something original."

"Okay. Do you know why cats scream when they fuck?"

Well, that won points for a fresh approach. "Go on."

"Because the toms have spines on their cocks. They tear the queens inside — the pain makes them ovulate." He sighed. "I don't have spines, though. Not yet. I'm saving up for implants."

Toreth winced. "That'll limit the available field."

"I'll find someone." He cocked his head, disturbingly catlike. "How was that?"

"Awful. One more go."

"Mmm." Twitch of the tail. "Can I lick your cock?"

Toreth grinned. "Much better. Although suck is more traditional."

"Most people prefer me to lick." For the first time, the boy smiled, revealing the source of the lisp.

In the face of the spectacular display of ice-white fangs, Toreth nodded. "Lick it is. Although, to be honest, I'd rather fuck you."

The tail lashed enthusiastically. "Sounds
great
. I bet you wouldn't need spines to make me scream. But . . . I can't." He stroked his flank. "I'm stitched in. Zips spoil the lines and nothing else holds it tight enough. I haven't had anything to drink since this morning."

It sounded spectacularly pointless from Toreth's point of view, although he wished he'd thought of it for Warrick's costume. "Why come to the party at all, if you can't fuck
or
drink?"

"I like it here. It's a great place to play. Besides, my owner'll let me out later . . . if I'm a good kitty. See?" He flicked the tag. "I have a home to go to. It's great, having somewhere to roam from." Reaching up, he stroked the back of a claw round Toreth's own collar. "You know, you don't look like something that lives on a leash."

"Not usually, no. I lost a bet."

"With your owner?"

"With myself."

The tail curled into a question mark. "Can I ask you something else? Something personal?"

"Go ahead."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-five," Toreth said, which was still true for another couple of weeks.

"
Really
? You don't look it."

"Thanks. Why do you want to know?"

Another fangy grin. "Curiosity. Well?" A pawful of claws raked very lightly down his chest, then batted at the trailing end of the leash. "Can I?"

Curiosity of his own prompted Toreth to ignore the request and take hold of the boy's hand, examining the claws more closely. The backs of the gloves were furred, but the palms were dark brown leather. The claws showed through slits in the fingertips.

"Watch," the boy said. He flexed his wrist back, and then curled his fingers. As he did, the claws extended, sliding smoothly out of the leather. They gleamed in the gold and silver lighting, long and obviously sharp. "Aren't they great?"

Toreth shifted his grip, feeling the fingers through the glove, but found no tangible sheath. "Implants?"

He nodded. "The second big thing I had done, after my eyes. Do you like them?"

Not having an opinion one way or another, Toreth settled for saying, "They're very realistic."

That provoked a delighted meow. "Thanks. I think they're just the
best
." Another flex of his fingers, and the claws retracted. Then the boy stroked him again, this time using the back of his hand. The fur shivered Toreth's skin into goose bumps.

"Can I?" the boy asked. "Please?"

"Be my guest. But —"

Already kneeling, the boy froze and looked up.

"Just watch what you're doing with those teeth. And claws. If I need a tetanus jab afterwards, I'll neuter you."

"I promise." He rubbed his head against Toreth's thigh, whiskers tickling and the fur silky soft. "Not a scratch."

Unhooking the thong, he took Toreth's cock in both hands, the palms of his gloves beautifully smooth. "Mmm," he said, and began to lap busily, his paws stroking in a matching rhythm.

It was a peculiar technique, but perfectly adequate for Toreth's drug-primed system. He narrowed his eyes, enjoying the attention, but not entirely letting his vigilance lapse — Warrick could be along any minute, and this was as compromising a position as could be imagined. It was far too early in the evening to ruin the plan.

Glancing round, he noticed gathering spectators — hardly surprising, considering they were on the edge of a busy space. However, even so most people around them were intent on the bar, or concentrating on carrying drinks away. Odd to be able to do this so publicly — to feel the hands and tongue on him — and not to be remarkable.

Toreth looked down at his feline companion, although he tried to keep his gaze away from the glints of claws. The boy clearly hadn't been faking his enthusiasm for the idea of sucking — licking — him off. As Toreth watched, he wriggled his hips, dropping a hand briefly to tug at the front of the suit.

With a new sympathy for the problems of erections in tight leather, Toreth shifted his weight and pressed his shin forwards between the boy's legs. With a throaty purr, he began to rub against it. He had a cat's physical coordination, at least, because he didn't falter in his attention to Toreth's cock.

As time passed, Toreth found himself clenching his fists, resisting the reflexive temptation to drive forwards, to grab the boy's head and thrust deep. He didn't have to fight it back for long as the flicking tongue carried him over the edge. Not the slightest prick of teeth as he came into the fanged mouth.

A
very
good start to the evening, he thought hazily.

To his surprise, the boy stopped moving and looked up, licking his lips, obviously asking permission. Toreth nodded, too breathless to speak, and the boy grinned.

"Yesss!"

Furry arms slid round his waist, half steadying him and half providing support for their owner. The boy pressed his face against Toreth, his claws pricking lightly into the small of his back as he rubbed faster. His tail lashed from side to side in a frenzy.

"Scratch my ears," he panted.

Bemused, Toreth considered the options, and then chose the ears moulded into the top of the mask. They twitched as he touched them. A dozen or so hard scratches at the base, and the boy yowled ecstatically, thankfully not digging in his claws as he ground his hips hard against Toreth's leg.

After a minute, Toreth disentangled the arms from around him and helped the boy to his feet.

"Thanks." Once upright, he shifted, gingerly rubbing the thin fur above his crotch with his knuckles. "Oh, man. That is going to be
so
disgusting."

"Serves you right for being a bad kitty."

Flash of sharp white teeth. "But it was
great
, it really was — thanks ever so much for playing." He leaned forwards and licked Toreth's shoulder lightly with the tip of his tongue, then grinned again. "See you later."

As Toreth watched the swaying hips and flicking tail disappear into the crowd, he heard a voice behind him say, "What happened to the drinks?"

Toreth remembered to look down before he turned — thankfully, unlike Bastard, the cat-boy had mastered the art of closing access points behind him. "I ended up talking to someone."

Warrick raised a politely disbelieving eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. We were comparing collars."

As effective a distraction as he'd hoped. Warrick looked at his throat, then down to his wrists.

What the hell — since he was wearing the gear, he might as well give Warrick the benefit of the full effect.

"Do you want me to put the chain on?" Toreth asked.

"That would be . . . yes, I do."

"Front or back?" he offered, before remembering that they were supposed to be finding drinks. Ah, well, he could wait for a while.

To his relief, Warrick said, "Front."

After he locked the chain into place, Warrick stepped back and looked him up and down.

"Well?" Toreth asked, although the result was obvious in Warrick's smile. Worth playing the game just for that — and for the thought of what he might be able to extract in the future as payment for this indulgence. Maybe he hadn't lost the bet, at that.

Finishing his examination, Warrick shook his head. "Rather better than that. Now — what would you like to drink?"

Toreth lowered his gaze. "Whatever you think I ought to have."

Warrick was enjoying the party more that he'd anticipated. Of course, a great deal of that could be assigned to the scene in his flat at the start of the evening and the near-naked man beside him but, beyond that, the atmosphere wasn't as he'd imagined.

Clothing aside, and sexual license aside, it wasn't so very different to any other social gathering where all the participants had at least one thing in common. The crowded rooms had the same friendly, open atmosphere as a conference. Talk to anyone, and the Shop unified, even where kinks diverged. All the guests, as far as he discovered, were customers of at least a year or two's standing.

Assumptions, made and subverted, formed a substantial part of the entertainment. Their respective costumes were a clear cue to those they met, despite Toreth's endearingly unconvincing attempts to stay submissive. People addressed him, not Toreth, and it was so different to their normal visits to the Shop that Warrick found himself wondering about the cues he must give off at other times. It was all part of the fun, of the otherworldly strangeness of the evening — novel and a little disorienting.

To his surprise, Toreth didn't seem to mind his demotion to silent partner. Playing the game — a gift, and a much-appreciated one. Every glance at the cuffs sent a thrill through him, and several times he even caught himself looking for a dark corner.

Later, he told himself. He had plans for that.

They had been wandering through the rooms for over an hour when the thing he'd worried about ever since the first visit to the Shop finally happened.

"Doctor Warrick? I didn't know you came here."

A woman's voice. Dreading who it might be, he turned slowly.

In fact, it took him a long few seconds to put a name to the face, partly because of the distracting leather outfit, which consisted primarily of studded straps, concealing nothing at all. However, the plump brunette was definitely familiar and, just as he thought he would have to ask, he realized who it was.

Funny that he'd earlier been comparing the party to a conference, because the last time he'd seen Eve Sanderson had been at a nerve manipulation trade show, where she and her husband had been pushing Peripheral Induction Technology's latest products.