Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Where is your head at?”
“I don’t know. This is all so strange, and… you have effectively kidnapped me, so…”
It’s not hard to explain my apparent spaciness when you take the entire situation into account. If anything, I’m surprised at how focused I am.
That’s because I’m on the cusp of exposing one of the planet’s corrupt criminal billionaires. In days, weeks, and years to come, people will know my name.
Marcus snaps the fingers of his other hand, bringing my attention back to him.
“You keep going away,” he notes, rather displeased. “I have you right here in my hand, but you keep escaping in your mind.”
He doesn’t like that. He wants my attention on him. I’m sure he’s not used to being anything other than the absolute center of attention, or the universe, for that matter.
“Sorry,” I whimper. “I’m scared.”
That makes his expression soften a little. “You don’t need to fear me, Charlie,” he says, using my name in a rare instance. “I don’t intend to let any harm come to you. In fact, I am rather taken with you. I don’t usually get this possessive of my playthings.”
“Oh? You have a lot of playthings?”
I try to keep my tone light, but I fail. I sound jealous, even to my own ears.
He smiles broadly as the elevator opens into a spacious living area. Just as I suspected, that elevator is just for him, and him alone.
He drops my chin and takes my hand instead, leading me into the interior. It’s furnished in fifty shades of millennial gray, with a few bright art installations around the place. I know instantly that this is not his real abode. There’s nothing properly personal about it. It looks like the efforts of a designer designing for a theoretical rich guy.
This is probably a place he entertains in, and its probably somewhere he’s comfortable working from. But it’s not a proper home.
“Beautiful place,” I say. “Like all your places, I imagine. Though perhaps not the one you most recently bought.”
“Yes. The one you went back to.”
I try not to look shocked and guilty. Of course he knows I went back there. He has a tracker on me. I knew he’d know.
“I just wanted to see it one last time. It’s… I don’t know if you understand how fucking traumatic it is to lose your home and have it replaced with a bed in a cage.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” he says.
“I don’t think you can. I think you’re used to being in control so much that you can barely remember what it feels like to have anything less than complete control over others.”
He does not reply to that.
“I need to get some work done,” he says instead. “You can come and rest in my office until I have time to deal with you. Smith?”
A well-groomed, lanky gentleman in a day suit appears. “Yes, Mr. Waterstone?”
“Please put the pet bed in my office.”
“Of course, Mr. Waterstone.”
I want to die inside. There’s something about somebody ordinary knowing what is happening to me that just makes it all so much worse. Though I suppose that Smith isn’t all that normal if he works for Marcus. Nobody can stay normal in Marcus’ orbit. We’re all warped by his gravity one way or another.
When we reach the office, which is just the sort of place that a very rich man does business in a very rich sort of way, there is one thing very notably out of place.
Marcus asked for the pet bed to be put in the room. I assumed that it would be a large dog bed, part of some ritual humiliation for a bad pet. He’s into that sort of thing, after all.
The pet bed is a dog bed, but not sized to a dog. It is a big, plush, soft expanse of bedding that is easily large enough to lie down in. It’s quite literally a human person sized dog bed, tucked away behind his chair—and it actually looks kind of amazing.
“Get in, pet,” he says. “But take your outer clothing off first. I don’t want you tracking the filth of the city into your sleeping arrangement.”
I’d say I’m not tired, but I am actually exhausted. I have barely slept, and even if I had, the strangeness of the situation would be tiring enough. It’s hard adapting to this oddness.
I do as I am told.
When I sit, and then lie down in the bed, I find a yawn escaping me almost instantly.
Marcus’ voice is pleasant and low. He’s talking to people about something business related. I try to listen, but I find the words sort of blurring and blending into one another as my extreme comfiness and the after-effects of the spanking in the car leave me in an unspeakably cozy state with something of an endorphin high.
My eyelids are getting heavy. As much as I resist actually going to sleep at Marcus’ feet, I don’t think I am going to be able to stop myself. I am just too cozy, and I just feel too…