Paid to Watch: Delphic Agency, #3

By Romilly King

Dr. Cashel Gregory, Head of Organizational Psychology, is the guardian of ethics and sentinel of limits in the kink-centric world of specialist contracts at the Delphic Agency.  It's a shame he is about to run, not walk, right past his own boundaries.

 

Tay is the Dom's Dom, the experienced Head Trainer at Delphic. He is the man the Dominants look up to, and the Submissives drool over.  But Tay has secrets. He's banned from contract work, and he's in therapy with Dr. Cashel.

 

Cash never put a professional foot wrong until he let Tay under his skin. Tay never felt such desire as when he realized Cash has never had a man, let alone one like him.

 

They are colleagues. They are therapist and patient. They are an expert Dominant, who was born into a Leather family, and a theoretical Submissive, who has never even been kissed.  They are crossing every single boundary there is, and it could ruin both of them, in every way possible.

 

PAID TO WATCH is part of the Delphic Agency Series, and features a closet submissive, a leather Dom who yearns for a true submissive to call his own, and plenty of steamy kink exploration as they go from colleagues to lovers and beyond in search of the HEA they deserve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balloon Ride Books
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215394847

Book preview

Prologue

We have a rule at Delphic, well actually we have more than one, but it all stems from this one. We squeeze the market for as much money as it can bear.

The reason for that – what we do is hard, the services our people deliver are not easy, and while we wrap it up in every euphemism and protocol we can, at the end of the day, someone takes the most intimate connection humans can have and wants it their way, and their way only. That is a massive strain on the people who have to deliver it, even if they enjoy it.

Those who pay the money, it doesn’t matter if they are on the bottom or the top, they make the decisions, and our people come up with the required response. Kudos to them for that, all fucking kudos to them. As a result, we look after our people; we squeeze the market to pay for all the extras our people may need or want.

And by our people, I don’t just mean the ones out there rubbing uglies with those who can afford it; I mean everyone, management, trainers, security staff, counselors, and medics – did you not realize we had all those as well? – everyone gets to use this system to achieve things. That’s the deal, the payoff.

I will move the moon for these people because these are my people, and I care about them all – even if they don’t know it.

Chapter One

Riding a desk, all the way to retirement

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Personal Journal Entry – Dr. Cashel Gregory

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When everything is going wrong, they taught me, take it back to basics, go back to the solid ground on which you stand, and check it out from there. So that’s what I’ve always done because I’m nothing if not obedient.

Journaling was a mandatory part of our training, and I never really stopped. Sometimes there are just phrases or sentences in my moleskin notebooks, and sometimes there are more. In recent years, there has been a lot more.

It helped back in college when I was getting to grips with my empathy and shyness and struggling to express myself to my supervisors. I hope it will help now when I can’t tell anyone my biggest problem.

And as I’m honest here, I want to record what happened because this may be the only thing I have in years to come, to remember it by, to remember him by. To make sense of how monumentally fucked up I am.

So here goes.

I remember when I met him, back when he was a contract Venditor, a Dom in the field, spanking asses, roping rich guys, and fucking the well-healed in their Hampton Estates.

I was a mere squint of seventeen, a prodigy tapped by the Delphic Agency as future management potential. They sent me to work with Dr. Ash Gannon and Dr. Brio Hywel-Bennet, the founders of ManMindMaps, who were developing a system that mapped all the kinks of human sexuality – heady stuff, I can tell you.

I was running the first algorithm trials with Brio – who was very flighty back then – and Ash. He came in for one of the first psych evals and blew straight off the carefully constructed charts. High-end Dominant, kinks across the board, strong homosexual identity – hardly surprising as he came out of what was left of the leather scene - but no markers for pure sadism.

I remember Brio looked up from the chart and turned to me in outrage – He just blew up the bloody baseline! I don’t know whether to hit him or beg him to fuck me!

I heard laughter, and there he was, leaning against the door. Six foot four of muscle, wearing leather jeans and boots you could see your face in. His face was rugged, like something carved from stone, and his dark hair was shot through with auburn highlights. I really wouldn’t advise punching me, little sub. I’d have to take your pants down and punish you right here.

I had to turn away to hide my blush and the semi that instantly made my pants tight.

Brio looked like he’d seen the second coming – or, given Brio’s tastes, maybe the fourth or fifth coming.

And Ash, well Ash, stood up and did the brother Dominant thing, and slung his arm around the guy’s shoulders and led him away. I think we’ll have Cash do all your follow up’s because I don’t think we can trust Brio to be in the same room as you!

Brio made grabby hands, and I wanted to slap him.

Because that guy, he was everything my stupid little secret submissive wanted and could never have.

I got to spend the rest of my career watching him.

I was there when he fucked up, and we had to pull him from contract work. I was there when we saved him and made him Head of Training. I was there for him, year after year, through counseling and friendship and all the other stuff.

And I was there yesterday when he turned around and said he wanted to go back to contract work. That’s too much. I can’t watch that. Anything but that. I’ve been a martyr to the cause of Tay since day one, but no, I can’t do that.

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Cashel

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Cash rested his chin on his hand, elbow on the desk, and watched Tay’s tall figure walk through the falling snow. From the window of his office, he had a view of the long shallow slope of the lawn where it fell away towards the lake, and he had been waiting and watching for Tay.

The snow fell thick and heavy. Tay’s shoulders were hunched, and his hands were in the pockets of his jeans. His head was bare, and fat flakes fell onto his dark hair and died there.

Cash watched him step off the path from the boathouse to the main building and wade through the deeper snow towards the birdbath in the center of the lawn. He used the little hammer that hung on a string to break the ice before resuming his measured stride up to the Special Contracts Wing.

Cash sighed and turned away from the window where his collection of ferns strained towards the light. Today’s session with Tay wouldn’t be easy, not after yesterday when Cash had point-blank refused to let Delphic’s Head Trainer return to contract work.

Cash looked around his office. The walls were papered with glorious views of places he had never been because this was his world, Delphic, the Venditores, the staff, the trainers. As long as Tay remained here, that wouldn’t change because Cash would never leave Tay.

The door opened, and Cash looked up. Tay filled the space, his large frame and height accentuated by the black wool coat, black jeans, and boots. Flakes of snow still melted on his thick eyelashes, and his face was pale from the cold, his usually sensuous lips chilled and a little chapped. Cash wanted to brush the snowflakes away and kiss the lips back to warm rosy red. He wanted to take Tay’s coat from him and hang it up, make him coffee to take the chill off, usher him to his usual seat. Instead, he offered up a rueful half-smile.

I’m sorry about yesterday. I should never have been so rude when you said you wanted to go back into the field.

Disarmed, as Cash had hoped he would be, Tay sighed. I was out of order too, he said as he shrugged his coat off and hung it on the back of the door. I sprung it on you, and then I got angry. Not the best way to convince my therapist my anger management issues are under control, and I should be allowed back into the field.

Cash’s heart hurt at the stress Tay placed on ‘therapist.’

We can talk about it, he offered. That’s the point of therapy. We talk about it, set a goal, put coping strategies in place, then we assess and evaluate.

Tay sat down carefully, his body language still tight and closed. I want out of training, Cash. I can’t stay here any longer, not like this.

Cash swallowed, he remembered, he remembered so well, the feel, the smell of skin and leather, the feel of rope roughened hands. He tightened his jaw muscle and hoped Tay didn’t notice and rummaged on his desk, looking for the old-fashioned pad he used for taking notes during sessions.

I understand, he said, I totally understand, so let’s talk about it.

Tay didn’t need to know that Cash had no intention of granting his request.

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Tay

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It didn’t help that Cash looked the way he did. Tay kept being needled by the memories he’d tried to drown under hard work and long motorbike rides. To be fair, the motorbike rides had been a profound failure, but they felt nice and gave him a sense of freedom.

He needed to get the fuck out of here. Out of the training wing, out of the boathouse, and away from Cash. He hoped that Cash would be more reasonable if he made his case through the context of one of their regular therapy sessions. But it was hard when Cash stared across the desk at him with those dark moss green eyes. All Tay could think about was how they had once fixed on him with such trust.

Tay leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. He blew out a breath. I’ll repeat it. I want to get back out there, back to contract work in the field. The company has Painter now; I’ve spent the last year and a half training him. He can step into my boots and do a great job. Delphic doesn’t need me in that role anymore.

Cash tapped his pen on the notepad. I think you misunderstand why we offered you the Head of Training position in the first place. It was never just about our training needs; it was about your needs too. Working with Emptores in the field was proving detrimental to you, that’s obvious and hasn’t changed. I cannot recommend you go back to fieldwork until you have worked through that issue, and to be brutally honest, you haven’t.

I think I have worked through it, Tay said stubbornly. I’ve been working through it for nearly four years, and I know why it got to the point it did.

Would you like to share that with me?

To also be brutally honest, Cash, no, I wouldn’t.

Cash looked frustrated. How can I help you when you won’t meet me halfway?

Tay scrubbed his hands over his face. I get it, okay, I’m not an idiot, and I swear I will try and engage with the therapy, I have always tried, but for fuck’s sake, Cash, there needs to be an end to this, because I am not riding a desk all the way to retirement.

Is that what’s got you so fixated on going back into the field? You feel old?

It’s part of it, but it’s not a need to prove my manhood thing.

That was part of the problem back when you were a Venditor. There were performance issues.

The performance issues, as you so delicately put it, were a symptom, not the problem, Tay snapped, and that’s not an issue now. He forced the anger down, I think if my contracts are carefully selected, if they matched my profile better, then performance won’t be a problem.

He tried to ignore the microsecond of pain that flashed in Cash’s eyes, which he covered by bending his head to his notebook. Cash wrote for a moment and chewed his bottom lip. Tay wanted to lean over and stop him.

Eventually, he stopped and looked up at Tay. We blurred all the lines, didn’t we?

Pretty much every line there was, Tay replied quietly, the pain a chord that thrummed deep inside him.

The aim of this ‘therapy’ has always been for you, not us, Cash said, and I’d like you to try one more thing before you call it quits.

Tay gestured his acceptance. Suggest away, Cash, but this is my last go-round with therapy. If you don’t clear me for contracts after this, I’m going to quit, go somewhere else, and that’s my choice.

Cash looked at him steadily. I’d like you to take up journaling.

Tay sneered. What am I, a fucking soccer mom from Des Moines? You’ll be asking me to take up decoupage next. Have some fucking respect, Cash! For a second, Tay let his Dominant out, and the anger vibrated in his voice.

Cash licked his lips. No, you misunderstood, sir. The honorific must have slipped out because when Tay’s eyes locked with his, Cash looked mortified.

Don’t call me that, Tay growled.

Cash dropped his eyes again, and a muscle in his jaw flickered. Sorry. What I meant was sometimes it’s easier to write stuff down. It was part of my training, and over the last year or so, I’ve gone back to it more regularly to help me gain some perspective.

Tay was quiet.

I find that organizing thoughts into a form that makes sense on the page helps me, and it brings up details I’d forgotten or didn’t put much emphasis on, and those additional details can be vital. Memory has different forms, and it’s held in different places in our brains. When we journal, we access a different method of remembering so we can recall different aspects of an event.

How does that work? Tay asked, his voice gentler now. He had always loved it when Cash explained things like this.

We remember in broad strokes, initially. When we recount a memory or think about it, our brains take, Cash’s face was animated, like a summary, from the card index of memories we have filed, and we just glance at it. But it is just that, a summary. If we continue looking at it, as it were, our brain realizes it’s important, and so it goes off down to the basement and drags out the original box of details and starts pushing them to the forefront of our mind.

So, the more you think about something, the clearer it becomes? Tay was curious.

Sort of, but it’s more like pushing the button on the coffee machine to get your extra shots of espresso. Tay smiled at Cash’s reference to his impressive coffee habit. "It’s pretty indiscriminate at first, ‘oh you want more, more, more.’ There’s no