Page 19 of The Boss' Pet

“Would you like to go to the lounge, the training room, or a more disciplinary space?” Mistress Melanie asks the question, with an emphasis on ‘disciplinary’ that I could do without.

“I think we will start in the lounge. My pet seems a little on edge. I think she could do with a chance to relax.”

“I hope you both enjoy your evening,” she says, smiling at Marcus. The smile fades when she looks at me again. I narrow my eyes at her as Marcus leads me away, through a hall, and into a drawing room.

It is a very large space filled with a great many chaise lounges and other couch-like furniture. It is arranged in various little cloisters to create more intimate spaces for conversation and other such things.

Butlers move smoothly between the groups present, delivering drinks and other items. They all wear black three-piece suits and white gloves. I feel as though they should be wearing masks, but nobody here has their face obscured. Whatever happens here, these people feel comfortable with one another knowing, it seems. The blindfold is just so little normie pets don’t freak out when they’re being chipped, I bet.

Several people greet Marcus, mostly at a distance via little waves and head nods. Some of them wave him over, but it seems he has his own agenda, as usual.

There is a little end table, a very curious piece of furniture. It has been made to look as though a woman in a very short skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels, and not much else has been tied up so snugly she is in the form of an end table.

I stifle a little squeal as it moves slightly, just a little twitch of a toe, and I realize it is not a carved effigy of a bound woman—it is a bound woman.

“What the fuck…” I gasp to myself. I don’t want to show shock or fear, but the sight of her is truly shocking. The expression on her face is one of blissful resignation. That’s the only thing that stops me from straight up freaking out.

As I look around more, I see more. Everything here is very refined and well presented. In some cases, I cannot tell who is the controlling partner in a couple. Some of them look almost normal, until you spot a collar, or an ankle cuff, or perhaps a tattoo.

Marcus takes me not by the hand, but puts his fingers on the nape of my neck. I flinch, mostly because the touch reminds me of the sharp pain of being chipped. He steers me through the lounge with that possessive grip, making sure that everybody knows exactly who I belong to.

I feel eyes running over me. Are they wondering who I am? I am nobody to anybody here. I am a perfect, total stranger. Their interest in me is not personal, I am sure. It is the same interest a butcher has when looking over a pen of pigs. I am flesh, and they are wondering how I will look when I am strung up.

Marcus’ fingers tighten on the back of my neck.

“Do not worry, pet,” he says. “You are safe enough with me.”

Those words are disturbingly reassuring. I am safe enough with him. Not entirely safe, just safe enough. I did need to hear something like that. I needed to be reminded that I am not here to be thrown to the wolves. That would be a truly terrifying proposition. I am here with Marcus, and he is initiating me into his world.

This is what I have been stupid enough to dream of. Simply paying attention to the goings on in this room would be enough to satisfy my hopes for a while. But I think there is more to come this evening. I think I am about to end up so far out of my depth, I have no sense of where the bottom is. Marcus has taken me to the very edge of an abyss, and he is going to force me to look into this void.

“Marcus!” A man with a voice like a bassoon greets us as one of the inhabitants of this lounge waylays us. “It has been a long time since we’ve seen you at the Embassy. I was starting to think you must have lost your appetite!”

Marcus looks him up and down. They are both tall men, though the greeter is older. He has salt and pepper hair, a sharp jaw, and the dull, dark eyes of a shark. I know instantly and instinctively that he is not one to be trusted.

“Perhaps I did for a time, Earnest.”

“Yet here you are, with a very tasty morsel. She looks practically untouched. Did you pick her up off the streets and drag her here?”

These two men loathe each other. I can tell by the way Earnest is talking about me as if I look like a street walker. I don’t look any less put together than the woman who is chained to a nearby man’s wheelchair by her neck. I am more clad than many of the other female guests, most of whom lounge around with bared breasts and expressions like well-fed felines.

“Nice to see you again, Earnest,” Marcus says. He does not attempt to defend my honor. He does not engage with the beastly creature at all.

Instead, he sweeps me away to another little group of people. These ones smile more genuinely at the pair of us. There are two men, a redhead and a blond, and they have a pair of dark-haired ladies with them. Nobody is collared, chained, or obviously marked. These four look as though they could be in the lobby of any number of fine hotels.

“Ladies,” Marcus says. “And gentlemen.”

“You,” the redhead says, his lips twisting in a slight smirk. “I didn’t think we’d see you here again. Not after last time.”

I am now intensely curious as to what happened last time, but this clearly isn’t a good opportunity to ask the question.

Marcus smiles, but does not dignify the comment with a response.

“He can’t stay away,” the blond says.

“Charlie, this is Steven and Steven,” Marcus introduces me. “And their wives, Lisa and Lisa.”

“Ha,” I say, assuming it is a joke, but not a particularly funny one.

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