Rain drenched the city, making the lights of the high tower blocks burr on the grey concrete. The air was filled with the sound of motion - both aircraft and the older, but still common, car. While darkness descended in a thick cloak New York didn't sleep - it didn't a centuries ago and if anything it was worse now. It was a city of Sin in a way Vegas never was, the new city. Pleasure, self discovery had become the meaning of life, had taken over.

It ruled Caella Evan's life and it was the reason she was hurrying through the street, pale fingers clutching at the lapels of her black jacket to close them over her throat, trying to stop the rain which threatened to drench her, to soak her through to the skin. The streets were teaming with people; some returning home from work despite the late hour, some going, some off to the clubs and houses of pleasure which crowded Times Square and the surrounding blocks. She loved the city, really, loved the atmosphere of it, how alive it was but she couldn't concentrate right then, couldn't focus on how beautiful it looked even with the onslaught of rain which threatened to entirely ruin the good work of evenings effort to look... perfect. She couldn't look any less than perfect, not for Mr Aidan McCallister. The man who owned more of the city than she could guess at.

The request had come as a surprise - she was a well liked consort, respected, she had a few years under her belt but McCallister was something else. He was big league. Bigger than the small escort agency who had her on the books but Mae's excitement, the high pitched squeak of her voice which was usually smoky fine and aloof had told her that this was no hoax. McCallister had asked for her.

Caella wasn't blind, she knew she was attractive - feminine, enough softness to be curvy and cuddly as some of her clients liked and toned enough to be admired, her auburn hair was long and thick and styled in loose waves tonight, her mouth crimson and sensual, her eyes a forest green. She was attractive, beautiful, striking even with her sharp jaw, the almond tilt of her eyes. But still beneath McCallister, her biggest client was a Lawyer who had made it big on a murder case the previous year.

The building loomed in front of her, elegant lines, glass and steal. It was prime real estate and she imagined the rent of a year could easily pay for her own apartment for the rest of her life. A doorman stepped up from a hidden alcove, potentially a bot she guessed from the smooth motions as he let her into the building. The lobby was as expensive seeming as the outside, but tastefully so. Creamy marble framed a run of lush red carpet, expensive enough that it felt springy beneath her six inch heels. Fingers brushed the inner button of her coat, the invisible shield which had protected her on her walk to the building disappating in a fizzle of blue light which momentarily lit up her features.

"Mr McCallister is waiting for you, Ms Evans, penthouse suite," the receptionist told her before she could even open her mouth, Caella having to force the hint of surprise from her features. Escorts weren't illegal and they had long since become common place in a world ruled by man, by those who gave themselves over to pleasure but it surprised her none the less that he was so open about his appointments.

"Thank you." The elevator was as nice as the lobby, lined with mirrors which she was sure could tell some secrets of the occupants of the building. From her it only got a glimpse of vanity, making sure her make-up was unsmuged, her hair still in place, her dress covering everything it should be.

With a gentle ping the doors slid open, spilling her out into a small hallway of cream walls and wooden floor. A security system was set beside the door and engaged the moment she stepped form the elevator, verifying her identity. Such systems were expensive. Very expensive.

The door swung open for her as the small red light on the box changed to green to confirm her identity. It felt like walking into the den of a predator, nerves like she hadn't felt since her early days danced in her stomach, butterflies the size of dinner plates letting themselves be known as she stepped further into the hallway and down into the sunken living area, trying to keep the look of surprised envy from her features.

"Welcome Ms Evans, I'm glad you could make it." His voice was like aged whiskey, smooth but burning, like liquid fire down her spine and Caella had to force herself to turn around slowly, to make sure her look was coy sensuality and not nervous apprehension.

"Master."