Silver / clay

⊱ 16 ⊰

The large foyer was uniquely bare at this hour, as Caleb floated numbly to the elevator. Despite spending his weekend sleeping, it never seemed enough to recoup the lost hours, as if, by withdrawing them every night from the sleeping bank, he'd incurred interest and could never fully repay the principal. His dizzy mind imagined the numbers embossed on screwed up invoices, which he read aloud over the phone in some mixed up contortion of his jobs.

A familiar scent rose into his nostrils and he felt a presence by his side. As soon as he glanced over he swung his face away. It was like unexpectedly meeting an ex-girlfriend. And she'd brought an entourage: a couple heavy suitcases, on wheels, and a helper to move them, who seemed to shift within himself uncomfortably, as if he had ants in his pants.

Mistress Eboni motioned her gaze to Caleb, her body lending just enough support to her extended head, mouth open, about to speak, as the elevator doors opened with a chime. She thought better of it, returning to a shrunken state, which for Mistress Eboni meant average human-sized.

Caleb waited inside the elevator, inescapably face to face with his old domme, who hadn't moved. She examined him methodically. Fully clothed, Caleb felt even more naked than he'd ever been in her presence. She seemed to read his recent history with her stare. He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, wondering if this was a hallucination. Then held his breath when the apparition didn't disperse.

She chuckled to herself and gave her helper a look. The man, nodding eagerly, unsuccessfully hiding a grin of excitement, pulled the suitcases inside, both soon joined by their owner.

The doors closed to silence. Again they stood side by side. Again Mistress Eboni made to speak, and again she pulled her punches, adding an annoyed grin and shake of the head.

"Get the access card," she said, her words forceful.

Caleb felt for his leg, for the dangling card, before realising she was talking to her helper. The man fidgeted with the front zip of a suitcase, low down, and as he bent, his own loose pants dropped enough to reveal the chords of a pink fluoro g-string riding up his hip. His eyes grew wide when he sensed Caleb's discovery, sloshing down his top to cover the punishment, until his mistress shot her own look his way. Leaving the straps of pink visible, he hurriedly completed his task.

Caleb felt sorry for him. Not for the humiliation -- that was what the man lived for -- but having to subsist on this inauthentic experience. A wave of tranquillity washed over him and he felt incredibly lucky and grateful for the presence of Amala in his life. She would never demand of him to strangle himself with a pair of ladies underwear, her claws already wrapped securely around his heart. In fact, she would never demand anything at all.

"Are you here on business?" said Caleb.

She gave him a look, then turned straight ahead, raising her nose a little. Her thumb rubbed across the top of the access card. "A client likes to start the week off with some play."

"Client?" said Caleb. The word grated on him. At the same time, it left in its wake the relief of liberation, no longer entrapped by that superficiality.

His dismissive grunt, though inadvertent, was picked up on by Mistress Eboni.

"You know what?" she said, turning, and drawing a deep breath into her chest. "Normally I'm discreet about this but I know you sought out someone else."

"I feel like she found me," said Caleb, basking in thoughts of Amala.

"I wasn't enough?" said Mistress Eboni. "Never mind, don't answer that." His old mistress seethed. She was about to let loose but, again, held her nerve, literally biting her bottom lip, before presenting a nasty smile to the elevator. "Wonderful," she said, her thumb bending the corner of her access card.

"Isn't it risky?" said Caleb. "Coming to a workplace to, you know..."

"Twenty five hundred an hour makes it worthwhile," she said, with gloating pleasure, searching for an avaricious response in Caleb. "How does that stack up?"

"It's a lot more than me," said Caleb, honestly, as his gears began to turn.

"Yes, I'm sure it is."

The elevator doors opened.

"How much do you think he earns an hour?" said Caleb. "Your...client." He said the last word quietly, not for fear of being heard in the desolate office ahead, but because it still saddened him, like an abolitionist discussing the welfare of a slave.

"He wouldn't even be earning that a day," Mistress Eboni crowed.

But that wasn't the reason for Caleb's question. He squeezed past the suitcases, and past Mistress Eboni's other chattel.

"Why are you smiling?" she said, to the helper.

"Sorry," he said, flattening his expression.

Maybe the helper enjoyed his mistress getting one up on another man, or maybe the thought of her earning a generous bonus was enough to elicit a curling of his toes and, ultimately, punishment for insubordination, but Caleb's focus was squarely on Mistress Eboni's boast.

The doors closed, allowing her to continue her ascent, but not before she left Caleb with a mean giggle of pride. The sounds quickly faded, replaced by the slowly blinking strips of neon as his presence brought life to the pockets of empty desks. He'd jumped at the chance to earn overtime, but had to start early rather than staying back late so as to accommodate his second job. But what if he didn't need a second job...at all?