Daddy P.I.: Negotiation

Chapter 5 - Logan

The first person we meet upstairs is Rachel. Of course.

She's standing on the landing at the top of the stairs as I help Emily up them. My little girl's struggling with the butt-plug, grasping the bannister with one hand and my arm with the other as she tries to climb the stairs. I'd be able to tell from a mile away that she's plugged, and I'm sure Rachel can, too.

I refuse to remember teaching Rachel to walk while plugged.

Whatever Rachel's remembering, she's got her face under control by the time we reach the top of the stairs. Rachel's one of those women who has a different hairstyle every time I see her. Tonight, she's pulled the hair around her face up into a high ponytail. The rest falls in caramel ringlets to her shoulders. It's pretty, but it's a little too styled for me. I prefer Emily's long, loose curls that I can run my hands through.

I also prefer Emily's school-girl uniform to the black leather basque set that Rachel's filling out. The uniform reminds me of school in Morecambe, where I fit in, had good friends and played rugby and cricket. Those aren't sexy memories, but they're rich and warm.

They're much better memories than the memories of my last few weeks with Rachel. That's when she started wearing the basque set of a house sub. That's also when she made me and Sante compete for her. I push those memories aside. We've both moved on. All the heat, hurt, anger and remorse that was between us can stay in its grave.

Rachel waits until we reach the landing, where I pause to let Emily catch her breath. Rachel steps forward, kneels and prostrates herself at my feet, the way I taught her to do whenever her Master entered a room.

"Master," she says into the carpet. "Welcome home."

I'm not amused. I snap my fingers at her. "Get up, Rachel."

"Yes, Master." She rises and takes a step back. There's a little bloom on her high cheeks, but that could just be blusher, since she's made up like she's about to hit a catwalk. Sante's generous. I never let her wear anything but mascara, so I could see the black streaks running down her cheeks when I made her cry.

"Rachel, this is Emily. Emily, Rachel."

Rachel's deep brown eyes flick to Emily and then back to me. She doesn't greet Emily or acknowledge her, a little discourtesy that's getting reported to her Master.

"We'll be using the Library play space for about an hour," I tell her.

After she became exclusive with Sante, Rachel moved from house submissive to hostess for the playrooms. It's a good fit for her skills. Rachel's very organized; in her life outside the club, she's a wedding planner. But it's a move that left a lot of my brothers, and guests like Rick, very disgruntled at the loss of Rachel as a play-mate.

"Yes, Master," she says. She doesn't consult a clipboard, or the flatscreen that's mounted on the landing wall, showing the various rooms in use. Rachel can keep hundreds of details in her head, even during the harshest of scenes.

"Good. Mark me down for an hour."

She nods and bows. "Master, may I be of service during your scene?"

I give her a stern look. "Yes, Rachel. You can be of service by staying on station and serving the other Masters and Mistresses and our guests."

"Yes, Master." She bows her head, but not before I see her chin quiver. Maude was right about her being upset. Maybe it's my fault. I stepped back from the club. I didn't bring any of my dates here. She might have taken that as me pining for her. But if that's what she thought, she got it wrong, and it's time she got over it.