The Basement 9

((There is no sex in this chapter))

Chapter One:

The battered, rusted Nissan coupe pulled unimpressively around the circle drive, making itself increasingly well-known among the higher double and triple grand vehicles with each indignant putt of the engine. I sighed in a familiar, defeated way, putting the clutch in neutral and shutting it down before climbing out.

I tossed the keys grudgingly to the smirking valet and tried to gather my dignity back with each step to the entrance. No point there though considering what I was here for, I quipped venomously to myself.

I'd heard about the rather infamous Basement club from a friend of a friend of mine who'd slyly encouraged me to look into it once he realized I'd been scrounging to find a job after quitting my last. Basement was a prestigious boys only club that was based in the Kovsky Estate, boys only besides the female staff. It was twenty-one plus for all members, for obvious reasons.

Tonight was their first annual convention of the year, where they would recruit new members and new staff. The friend of a friend, who wasn't really my friend, was a club member already, named Damian. With his connections to Basement, he'd set up an appointment and reserved a place for me tonight before I had barely uttered my agreement.

I waited patiently in line before I reached what looked to be a posh bouncer with a clipboard who stared me down intimidatingly.

"Morgan Allistor?" I tried, the statement coming out more of a question than I intended.

He made an approving grunt and marked something off, then proceeded in stamping my hand and sending me through.

As soon as I stepped into the marbled-out foyer, servants of sorts bustled around, taking my coat, handing me a flute of Champaign and sending me through a wide threshold that led to what appeared to be a ballroom. There was a section of circular tables with about five seats to a table and place card on each plate. I repeated my name to one of the waiting staff who looked at the seating chart and led me to one of the front tables near the low stage. Off to the left of the tables was an open bar and mingling area that seemed to be the busy spot in the room. I left my glass next to my plate so that I could remember where it was and made my way to the bar; some hard liquor might be good for the nerves.

The attire was formal but even so, I could spot the recruiters in the crowd; men in pitch black Armani suits and cool gazes. They carried loose clipboards around and occasionally would pull over one of the female guests and take her into what I assumed was a side room for her interview. I leaned languidly against the bar, waiting for my order of straight vodka on ice, trying to inadvertently use my curves to my advantage. It was working, I could tell, seeing the men glance at me appraisingly.

I'd dressed tonight in a simple tight black, sheath dress that fell just passed the hips and had an artfully cut top with lace lining. My legs were dressed in thigh-high transparent black stockings with a just-barely visible garter set and completed with sleek, four inch black pumps. My hair I'd flat ironed for the event, which was annoying but gave it a refined, shimmering quality as it swayed just below mid-back. It was a dark brown color, so dark it may as well have been black; that was theme obviously. All dark and mysterious, but I also knew I looked killer in black. My eyes stood out, a luminous green framed in thick lashes and pale skin.

"Morgan!" Someone called excitedly and I turned to see Damian weaving his way towards me, a large grin splitting his face. He was just about my height with curly gold hair and the air of someone with money. I hadn't realized how relieved I was to see someone familiar, even if I didn't particularly like him, until the weight had been lifted.

"Hey Damian, I have to say, I'm pretty impressed with the spread," I waved my hand around vaguely indicating the Estate.

"Yeah, it's all pretty impressive at first. But when you get the job you'll practically be living here so you'll get used to it." He leaned against the bar with a predatory look. How had I gotten myself into this?

"If I get the job," I corrected, taking a sip from my glass.

He rolled his eyes. "You'll get it," he spoke confidently.

"I'm not even sure I want it."

"Having second thoughts? It is a lot to take in, you're right."

"Yeah," I sighed a bit helplessly. "I've never done anything like this before, it's... unnerving. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it."

"You'll do great," he argued playfully, running a hand down a length of my hair. I stiffened at the touch.

"I don't fit in with this scene."

He laughed to my surprise and annoyance. "This," he gestured around, "Is just for show. The real club is nothing like this. It's a specialty club, you realize, not a normal one – we cater specifically to... different needs. And the pay is great."

"The pay is great – almost too good to be true," I conceded thinking about the six digit figured salary I'd be starting with. All my worries would be over, all my debts and loans paid off. It was enough to make me even consider this line of work.

One of the black suited men approached us just then. "Morgan Allistor?"

I nodded and he spun off without another word, expecting me to follow.

"Good luck!" Damian called with a grin, watching me as I quickly hurried to catch up.

The noise of the convention room died down considerably as we exited into a side hall I hadn't been down yet. After a ways of seemingly endless hall, all I could hear was my shallow breathing and the brisk clicking of heels. The suited man paused abruptly in front of a nondescript door and opened it up for me.

"After you," was all he said, his tone clipped and indifferent. I paused a bit breathlessly before putting on my best poker face and walking through the door. It was not what I expected, it was a lot worse. The lighting was low and one long table stretched out horizontally across the large office. Behind the table sat five men, all large and imposing but ranging in age. They sat facing me as I entered, watching, judging. There was no one else and the door behind my heel clicked shut.

I froze for a moment, a cold sweat breaking out along my lower back before taking a deep breath and walking to sit in the single, steel seat. A long moment of silence passed, a moment thick with tension, before the middle man in the third seat, a middle aged roguish looking one, spoke.

"Morgan Allistor?" he inquired already knowing the answer and scribbling something down on a paper sheet. I ached insecurely to see what he'd written.

I breathed and smiled pleasantly. "Yes, sir."

There were a few grins, small lip lifts shared between the men at something. The roguish looking one continued; a light playing in his strangely brown, yellow irises. "I'm Daniel Kovsky, owner of the estate. It says here on your resume that you have a BFA in performing arts, specifically contemporary dance?"

I nodded in consent.

"And your last place of employment was Herald's Dance Studio outside of Poulsbo as an internship. You are twenty-two, five foot eight, never been married, and single. You have never worked as an exotic dancer before or in this industry. You've never ran in with the law and you're a US citizen. You understand we've done a full background check on you as well as your closest family?"

"Yes sir," I replied immediately feeling a bit unnerved.

"So tell me, Morgan, why are you interested in this job?"

The command his voice held made me feel as though I had to tell the truth and the words came spilling out. "I don't know. I've been in between jobs and when my friend, Damian, referred me to the Basement I was a bit apprehensive. The money plays a big part but it also feels... right. Like I'm drawn to it. Sir."

"Very good. And as you should be aware, we cater to many different tastes. Here is a list, a contractual agreement, of what you will be willing and not willing to do." He pushed a sheet across the table toward me, just barely, so that I had to lean across to retrieve it. Heat rose in my face as I settled back down.

"Take your time," he murmured, leaning back in his seat and steeping his fingers.

I gazed over the sheet, a check list of sorts. I began checking off, as the top directed, everything I'd be willing to do. Five minutes later, with a bit of hesitation, I signed my name at the bottom. I raised my eyes a bit shyly as I handed the paper back to Mr. Kovsky.

In return he handed me another stapled stack which involved insurance, discretion, privacy policy, etc., which I preceded in signing three times after reading through it.

"From here on," Mr. Kovsky paused, looking through the stack of papers that I'd just handed him, "You'll be working Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays – twenty-four seven. The girls all have their own dorms of course, but you'll be expected to spend all the weekend here. Eleven hour shifts from six pm to eight am but you'll still be on active duty all the time. When you step through my door, your name will be," he paused, peering at me intently, "Emerald Dae." He continued to write that name down and I almost laughed at the cliché-ness of it.

He handed me a schedule with more information, then asked, "When can you start?"

"Whenever you'll have me, sir."

Emotion broke through for the first time on his face, a large, wolfish grin. "Tonight, then."

I walked back into the convention, a pit building in my stomach. Damian found me almost as soon as I stepped in, interrogating me with questions. He didn't seem surprised that I'd gotten the job, congratulating me with a lingering, unwelcomed hug. Soon after, people began taking their seats, so I hurried with that excuse to Damian so that I could escape. My table filled with men I didn't recognize though the table across from me had the four men from the interview room – the fifth, Mr. Kovsky, taking the stage. There was about two hundred guests' altogether.

"Good evening," his smooth, low voice echoed through the room as he spoke into the microphone, the only prop on stage. An eerie hush settled over the crowd as they leaned forward eagerly.

"We've had a successful night," he smiled, "fulfilling the Basement's members' quota. Five new members, making a total of thirty. Congratulations to the following men: Brian Butte, Conner Reilly, Horace McMann, Ian Fischer, and Blaine Riker." Applause filled the audience, an excited energy filling the room. One man, probably one of the ones mentioned, pumped his fist in the air. "For those who tried out to fill the positions and were not chosen, we are grateful for your interest and time and wish you the best of luck next year."

He scanned the audience mischievously. "And now for the ladies." The audience cheered with much more animation, taking a few moments to quiet down. "We have selected four lovely new women to join the Basement. If you would please take the stage as I call your name: Layla, Holly-Ann, Regina, and Emerald Dae."

I walked to the stage in a daze, taking my spot in line with the other girls. Mr. Kovsky grabbed the microphone and walked toward us, now holding a box which appeared to contain bracelets.

"Each of these bracelets," he explained to us and the crowd, "Mark you as different types of staff depending on what you signed for."

He started with me, since I was nearest. "Red, Yellow, Orange, Blue, Green, and Purple for Miss Emerald Dae." He handed the thin jeweled bracelets to me with quick efficiency.

"Blue, Green, Purple, and orange for Regina" Regina was a caramel skinned women, looking like a mix of Hispanic and African American maybe. She had luscious curves and waving brown hair, though a bit shorter in stature.

"Blue and Green for Holly-Ann." Holly was a petite, tan, thin blond with full pink lips and lush blue eyes.

"Blue, Green, Purple, and Yellow for Layla." Layla was another blond, but her hair was straight, long and thin – more pale than Holly's strawberry blond. She was also model height and thinness, with angular features and slight upturned nose.

Once Mr. Kovsky was finished with that he sent us back to our seats for which I was grateful. The men at the table were now looking at me with clear interest and I tried my best to ignore them with aloofness.

"Blue for vanilla sex, green for role play, purple for performance, yellow for exhibitionism and voyeur, orange for group sex, and red for BDSM and nonconsensual sex." He smiled into the microphone as he explained. "Now we will begin our bidding on the new lovely ladies for club members only. First up; Layla! Bidding starts at fifty points."

Layla easily cleaned up around 200 points. I wasn't exactly sure how the point system worked but I was sure I would figure it out eventually. From what I could tell each of the thirty members got points for donations, payments, among other things – which they used in bids or other events like this.

Holly ended up with a 120 point bid even though she had all those really iconic good looks. I knew right away I didn't like her though, much preferring Layla who seemed a bit more refined and yet less materialistic. Holly's excessively gaudy clothing and jewelry didn't help.

Regina I was still unsure about. She looked like one of those girls you wouldn't want to get in a fight with, who maybe had a little too much attitude. Nonetheless, she racked up a nice 400.

Then Mr. Kovsky laughed into the microphone – a bit unexpectedly. "And Emerald Dae won't be up for bidding because we all know I don't need to bid." Some of the men in the audience laughed at this but there were quite a few disappointed mutterings.

The audience applauded appropriately when Mr. Kovsky wrapped things up, wishing everyone a good night. I clapped a bit dazedly, the full impact of tonight's events not hitting me yet. That was, until a hand slipped onto my thigh, squeezing and biting with nails.

It was one of the men from the table, to my right, who gazed hungrily down at me. He looked to be in his late thirties, with thick head of silver hair and handsome square face. His lips curled into a snarl and his mild features shifted into something animalistic and frightening.

"I'll have you tomorrow," he growled into my ear, his breath hot on my neck and his hand crawling up my thigh, pushing my dress farther and farther up. "Donovan Craig, you remember that name."

I nodded meekly, swallowing hard and keeping my eyes lowered – I didn't want to look into his beady black ones. A rumble of silent laughter shook his body.

"Submissive, I like that."

"Craig!" Someone – Mr.Kovsky – snapped from just a few feet away from our table. He must have exited off the stage and been coming back to his seat. Donovan pulled himself away from me immediately at the chastising.

Dinner was served in three courses after that, but it was entirely uncomfortable with the men at the table. Their conversation was pleasantries and I got the feeling they didn't really know each other either. People flew in from all around the country for this convention, so that was no surprise.

"Where are you from, Emerald?" One of the men asked politely though I doubted he actually cared. I was just a high-end prostitute here – there was no pretty way to say it. And only high end because prostitution was illegal so they had to pay us well.

"Seattle but I moved to Poulsbo after graduating from Cornish College of Art."

This actually seemed to spike his attention and we finished the last two meals having a pleasant conversation about the art college and being a dancer. Turns out Keegan, the younger man I was talking to, had gone to Cooper Union in NYC for some design degree.

When the meal finished, I found Mr. Kovsky behind my chair, holding an arm out for me. I stood uncertainly, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow and saying my farewells to Keegan, whom I actually enjoyed conversing with.

Mr. Kovsky didn't say anything to me, just towed me along as he went to mill with important guests for the next half hour. I stayed obediently silent but attentive as I found some of the conversations interesting. Finally, Mr. Kovsky seemed done with the group and led me out into the foyer and up the grand staircase that split in two around the entrance to the ball room.

"How was your evening, Emerald?" He inquired with hushed tones, the sudden drop in noise making his voice loud.

"Surprising," I murmured, thinking of Keegan, the other girls, and everything I'd just experienced. "And yours, Mr. Kovsky?"

"Surprising, as well," he smiled down at me as he led us through winding hallways all the way to the back of the house. "I recently employed a girl who agreed to red, orange, and yellow. Not very common you know, especially for someone with no experience in this field. What was going through your head?"

"Indifference," I stared straight ahead. "I'm willing to do whatever someone wants me to do."

"Why?"

I sighed a little, wondering how to explain. "I had an affair with my last employer, the Herald of Herald's Dance Studio. Against my will at first but I found I liked it. I like... pleasing." I looked up at him with a confused expression. "Out there it seemed wrong but here... I feel much more accepted."

Mr. Kovsky nodded at this, holding open a door at the very end of the hallway for me. I smiled and walked through, finding myself in the master bedroom. It was modern and clean, with a low King sized bed against the back wall – with a velvety white bedspread and pillows and cherry oak box frame. There was no extravagant canopy or anything cheesy which I liked. Just simple things, like a nightstand and a lining of low hanging lamps along the back wall. Against the deep brown painted wall was a huge photograph, hanging just above the bed, portraying a deep green forest. The front wall that the bed faced was made completely of glass, giving a fantastic view of Olympia State Forest and Black Lake. It was all modern and nature-esque at the same time. There was a small stage off to the side in the cavernous room as well as a Jacuzzi. Everything fit in with the theme though and I gave the interior designer here kudos.

"And yet you were apprehensive to take this job?" Mr. Kovsky continued as I inspected the room. He stood close behind me after having shut the door and locked it. One hand slipped onto my bare shoulder, the other slowly teased the zipper of my dress down.

"I've never done something like this before," I shivered at his hot touch, staring wide-eyed out the window.

"You'll like it here if you like to please," he murmured into my ear, slipping the dress fully off me and letting it pool on the floor. He turned me around, looking me up and down with a slow smile. "Beautiful."