Everything But

I had also felt the dismissal in his use of “Master” rather than “Mr.” when he addressed me. I was just another low-ranked, wet-behind-the-ears employee to him. He had no interest in me other than a name and an address to send his order vouchers too—if he decided to buy our equipment or to permit me to be his contact with the company. This brought me to the worry of whether his business was so important to Barrington that my boss would cultivate and train another young man in my stead to serve both him and Crowley. My task, of course, was to swallow my disgust and make sure that didn’t happen.

I was wrong in that assessment, though. Crowley was interested in me, I just didn’t rank as high in his priorities as food or business. By the coffee service he had been satiated in terms of his higher priorities, and he, at last, turned his attention to me, as if he only now was aware I was in the room, and I saw that hooded-eye look of lust return to his eye.

“You are a fine figure of a young man, Neal,” he said, his voice both heavy with sensuality and hard, commanding, in full control. “A gymnast, you say. A gymnast relies on flexibility. Have you retained that from your college days, Neal? Will you bend for me and not break? Will you pleasure me in taking you to the edge of being broken?”

His hand had come over to my knee under the deep-flowing table cloth and I winced at the strength of his grip. I didn’t quite know how to answer that and was still searching for words, when Barrington answered for me.

“He will give you whatever pleasure you seek, Horace. He has become my favorite.”