Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“No,” he growls.
“Food? Lunch maybe?”
“Fuck me. No.”
“What about if she gets bored, can I turn the television on?”
“I swear to fuck I’m goin’ to come in there and tie you to the fuckin’ bed if you don’t shut that pretty little mouth.”
“You think my mouth is pretty?”
He makes a long, drawn-out, frustrated sound. “Put the ball back. Lock the room. And leave her be.”
“I’m not sure I can do that. I mean, honestly, it has to hurt after a while.”
“You don’t do it, you’ll have no job.”
“Yeesh,” I mutter. “Moody. Fine, I’ll leave her there, but I can’t promise I’m not going to check on her.”
“Saskia,” he warns, voice low and holy fuck, very sexy.
“Yes, Mason?” I say sweetly.
“Do as you’re fuckin’ told.”
“Your fetishes are strange, but okay, I’ll do what you’re asking. I don’t like her anyway, I was only trying to be nice. She’s very mouthy. Remember that for later.”
He makes a groaning sound, partially angry, partially frustrated, mostly exasperated.
“Goodbye,” he mutters.
“Bye, boss!”
I hang up and turn to the girl. “Looks like you’re in for a long, boring day.”
“Just put the ball back in,” she snaps.
“Happily.”
I walk over, pick up the ball, and shove it back in her mouth. She makes a groaning sound.
“What if you get a blocked nose and can’t breathe? You could die ...”
She glares at me.
“Fine, have it your way. But I won’t be held responsible. My fingerprints are on this ball gag now. So, you better keep breathing.”
I tie it up and shove the blindfold back on, then I leave the room and shut the door.
Crazy woman is honestly going to lie there all day waiting for Mason.
The man must have a magic cock, or mouth, or hands, or all of it.
Because damn, that’s a long time to wait.
Oh, well, whatever floats her boat, I suppose.
I must admit, though, I am curious.
Really strangely curious.
~*~*~*~
MASON
“Mason, please, get them out! Get them out of here!”
I walk over, kneeling in front of my mother, taking hold of her face. “There is no one here, Mom. They’re gone. They’re not here.”
“They are here!” she cries. “They are, I saw them. They’re hiding. They’re tricking you. When you leave, they’ll come out, and they’ll hurt me.”
I squeeze her hands, trying to get her blue eyes to focus on my face; it seems to be the only way she is able to come back to reality from whatever hell she’s living in in her head.
“Mom, look at me. Look at me. It’s Mason. I promise you, they’re not here.”
“Mason,” she cries, cupping my face. “Mason, don’t leave. When you leave, they come. Please don’t leave.”
I look up at the clock. I’m late for work. If I miss another day, I probably won’t have a job. Without a job, I’ll have no money. Right now, Mom doesn’t know left from right. She has money, plenty of it, that my dad left her when he passed, but she has zero control over it right now. She couldn’t shop if she tried, which means I am the breadwinner, I am trying to keep everything afloat.
“Mom, listen to me, we’re going to get your medication and put you to sleep, you’ll feel so much better when you wake up.”
“Mason, no!” she screams. “No.”
Her fingernails dig into my face, and I wince, but I don’t push her away. We’re still unsure as to what is going on with her. She became ill after my father passed and started having hallucinations after an attempted break-in one evening. The doctors think it is mental, some sort of heartbreak and the fear she felt when she was alone and nobody could help her when someone tried to get into her home, but I think it’s more than that.
Something isn’t right.
Trying to get somebody to believe me is nearly impossible.
Getting help is even harder.
“Come on, Mom, let’s go upstairs.”
“No, you can’t leave, please don’t leave.”
Her voice cracks and she hangs onto me so tightly that I know today is a bad day, a really bad day. Most days, she manages with the help of a hired nurse, but some days, like today, nobody can help her but me. I exhale and take her hands from my face, saying in a low voice, “Okay, Mom. I won’t leave. I won’t go. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Good boy, my good boy.”
I hang onto the exhale and help her up the stairs.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do this.
How much longer can I throw everything in my life away?
I look at the fragile woman in my arms and I know, I just know ...
I’ll do it forever, if I have to.
I grip the sheets in my hands and glare at the wall in front of me, holding a massive television that almost glistens in the dark room. Another fucking dream, only they’re more memories than fantasies that are created when you sleep. My dreams are always real, which makes them that much more painful. Every time I see my mother in them, I wake up with the same empty ache in my chest.