Chapter Eleven
Cassius
I get turned around only once, ending up in the dining room and not down the other hall to where the bedrooms are. Once I pass through the foyer, I know where I am and find my room easily.
A whole room to myself? It’s… unbelievable. Just like everything else that’s happened to me since meeting him. I understand this is all temporary. I’m borrowing all of these things while I’m employed, but it’s still amazing. Every day here will feel like a vacation.
I sit on the bed and practically moan. It’s so soft. I lay back, and my head lands on a paper. I pull it out and read through the schedule.
It’s just for today, listed out by time.
6:00 - 6:45 - Tour and getting acclimated
7:00 - 7:45 - Dinner
8:00 - 8:30 - Reading
8:45 - 9:00 - Prepare for bed
9:10 - 10:00 - Exposure Practice
10:10 - 10:30 - Reflection
10:30 - 11:00 - Dismissal
It’s self-explanatory, except for the exposure practice.
Exposure to what? I assume it has something to do with all those things I checked off—or didn’t check off—on his list. Like the butt plugs and nipple clamps.
I’ve done enough kinky things in my life to not care about wearing a butt plug if he wants me to.
He said no sex, and I was willing to do that anyway, so anything else he wants me to do will be fine.
Seriously, I’m open to just about anything this guy wants me to do for five grand a week.
I did the math. That’s over $830 a day. In two days, I’m already making more than what I made in a month at the burger place.
I put the paper down, going over what he told me to do for dinner.
It’s simple enough. I’m basically serving him a meal.
I can do that. Though, what else he’s going to want from me is what’s making me nervous.
It’s not the act of doing it, I have no shame, it’s making sure I’m doing it right.
Doing it wrong has never been an option.
It costs too much to get things wrong. Because as much as this is for the money, there is a part of me that wants to do this right for me.
I want to be good at it. I want to prove to myself that I am not a loser, that I can do what needs to be done to take care of my family.
There have been too many times in my life that I’ve failed. I won’t do it again.
Holding my arm over my face, I look at the watch he gave me—no, not just gave me, but put on my wrist. It felt almost binding.
Like a collar, but for my wrist. Maybe to him it is, since he’s the CEO of a watch company and all.
I don’t hate the idea of belonging to him.
I’d be taken care of… and the thought of that? It’s indescribable.
The watch is silver, the face square with rounded edges that are outlined in black.
The hands are thin, also black, the rest of the face a light grey, almost white, while the numbers are there as little tick marks and not written out.
It’s a beautiful watch. Not quite what I’d pick for myself, I think, but something makes me like it because he likes it.
Because he chose it for me. Because it somehow fit perfectly.
I catch the time and sit up. Fifteen minutes have already gone by, and I haven’t done a thing. I hop to my feet and look around the room for the uniform I’m supposed to wear. He did tell me change, but where the hell did he put it?
Then I spot it. On the bed. It’s hard to see because it’s so fucking small. I pick it up, holding it out in two hands.
“Wow,” I mutter, shaking my head.
He really must know what he likes. I get undressed, folding my clothes neatly and putting them on the chair beside the bureau across from the bed. Then I tug on the mini shorts, unsure if they’re even going to fit because they’re so small.
They’re tight, form fitting, and definitely fit… like a second skin. I go to the mirror to check myself out—and holy shit, these are hot as fuck.
My ass has never looked better. They’re black sheer with a grey diamond pattern in the fabric, and enough of a pouch that it shows off my junk and doesn’t squish it.
I stare at the watch, unsure if I am supposed to keep it on or take it off. On the note it says to only wear the uniform provided, but that was before he gave me this watch which I know was a last minute decision—and I do need to know the time, right?
I’ll keep it on.
I leave the room, glad it’s warm in his house, and hurry to the dining room and into the kitchen. I get the tray set up, put the plate on it, along with the silverware that’s rolled up into a napkin.
The menu on the fridge is detailed, telling me how many glasses to provide and everything.
I take the bottle of water from the fridge, the water glass, then the bottle of Macallan and the rocks glass.
I make sure everything is balanced on the tray while looking presentable.
When I have one minute left, I carefully carry it out to the dining room ungracefully.
I’m going to need some practice doing that, for sure.
Harmon isn’t here when I get to the dining room, but I figure setting up his meal will be good. I’m sure he’s starving by now. It’s already almost seven and he hasn’t eaten dinner yet?
When everything is set up on the table, I stare at the tray and have no idea what to do with it. So, I hurry back into the kitchen and leave it on the counter, then hurry back, standing beside the table with my hands clasped behind my back.
I stare at the door, waiting for him to come through. Seconds pass like hours. My heart is pounding. Why am I so nervous?
After what feels like forever, he walks into the room like he owns the place—ha-ha, he does own the place.
But it’s not in the way someone typically walks around in their home.
It isn’t relaxed or comfortable. It’s intense.
When his eyes land on me, he stops short.
His eyes widen slightly, and he takes me in from head to toe, then does it again.
My dick stirs, and I hope he doesn’t get offended if I get hard… it’s just been a while since someone has looked at me at all, never mind like that.
He clears his throat, tugging on his tie, as he keeps moving and sits in his chair.
“Does it fit okay?”
“It’s comfortable.”
“It looks amazing,” he says, scooting in.
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, holding back my smile but failing.
“Kneel for me,” he says, out of nowhere.
“Uh…”
He turns his gaze toward me, waiting patiently.
Clearing my throat, I carefully get to my knees.
“Sit back and place your palms on your thighs.”
I do as he says, resting back on my calves and putting my palms on my legs. It’s comfortable, but I can feel how tight my legs are, so I bet soon enough, my feet will start going numb.
Guess I’ll have to start working out and stretching too.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks, reaching for the napkin and not looking at me.
“Yes.”
He unrolls the silverware from the napkin and places it on his lap, before pulling the cloche off the meal and setting it aside. He pours water into the glass, and a finger of whiskey into the other glass. Then he starts to eat.
Silverware scrapes against the porcelain as he cuts the steak, and I hear him chewing, but other than that, it’s silent. And a bit awkward.
“Come closer,” he says.
I scoot closer, so there’s about a foot or two between us.
“Here,” he says, before offering me a bite.
“Oh, I ate already,” I say.
“It would please me if you took the bite.”
I open my mouth without another thought and wrap my lips around the fork when he puts it in my mouth. His gaze stays on my mouth, eyes heated as he removes the fork.
I chew the meat that practically melts in my mouth.
We continue like this for the rest of the meal. He feeds me a bite every now and then—steak, roasted potatoes, carrots.
When he’s finished, he puts the silverware down and pushes the chair out.
“When I leave the room, you can bring this to the kitchen. There is no need to wash anything. Put the soiled dishes in the sink and the drinks back where they belong. Come to the sitting room when you’re finished.”
“Yes, sir,” I say as he gets up.
“Oh, I forgot to mention… when you’re here, call me Master.” His brow raises in question.
My dick twitches.
I am in so much trouble.
“Yes, Master,” I say, my voice raspy.
The word feels weird rolling off my tongue, but I’m sure like everything else, I’ll get used to it.
Maybe even start to like it.
The light is dim in the sitting room. Harmon is already comfortable on the couch, an electric fireplace going in the corner. I can’t tell if it’s actually giving off heat, or just the illusion of it, either way, it is warm in here and I am grateful for it considering I’m mostly naked.
I walk into the room, stopping in front of him.
“Kneel here.” He points to his left, in front of the end table, where there is a small, fluffy rug about the size of a welcome mat. I do as he says. “Good boy.”
I feel… not quite overwhelmed in the way that I want to stop but definitely worked up. I can’t tell if it’s anxiety or sexual tension, but it’s something. My heart is pounding pretty damn hard.
“When you meet me here, at any time, this is where you will go unless I say otherwise. Once we get more comfortable with one another, I’ll have you join me on the couch.”
I nod so he knows I understand and that I’m listening. He didn’t tell me that I couldn’t talk, but it doesn’t feel like I should, so I don’t.
“Will it be okay if I read to you for a little while?” he asks. His voice has taken on a calmer, relaxed, and almost sultry tone.
“Yes, Master,” I say, still having to force the word, but it’s easier than it was the first time.
He smiles, looking satisfied, and it makes me feel good.
I’m doing a good job.
He picks up a book from the end table, something old-looking and that I don’t recognize.
“I haven’t read this one in a while. We can start it together.” He glances at me, holding the book up for me to read the cover. “Have you read it?” I shake my head. “Saw the movie?”
“No, Master.”
He hums a sound of approval, then opens the book gently, and begins to read…
“Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.”
He turns the page, but glances at me before continuing. “Perhaps if we finish it, we could watch the movie. There are a few adaptations, and we could watch them all. See which we like best. It could be fun.”
“That does sound fun. Have you seen them?”
“No, I don’t typically have time for movies.”
“But you’ll make time?”
I don’t know why I ask the question, but I am thankful I left off the for me that almost slipped out. He regards me, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t recognize.
“Yes, I think I can do that.”
He goes back to the book and begins to read.
He gets through only the first chapter before he tells me the time is up, and it’s time to prepare for bed.
I have no idea what this means, but I’m sure he’s going to explain it.
I’m still trying to handle my disappointment over no more reading.
It wasn’t so much the story, but the way he told it.
His voice as he read… it was mesmerizing.
Harmon slides a metal bookmark between the pages and places the book on the end table… for tomorrow, I hope.
He gets to his feet, and says, “Go to your room and take a break. We will meet back here for 9:30.”
“But the schedule says 9:10.”
“It does, but I’d prefer if you got a longer break on your first day.”
I nod my agreement, and he tentatively reaches out to brush his hand over the top of my head in an affectionate touch. I find myself leaning into it, seeking out his hand, wanting more.
He huffs a small laugh. “Doesn’t feel like a dog, does it?”
His eyes shine with humor as he looks away and leaves the room. The second he’s out of sight, I’m on my feet and running to mine to think about grandmas and feet because my dick is aching.