Page 30 of Anorthic Anarchy

When I enter the kitchen, the old chefs stand at attention and stop their busy motions. “Mrs. Strauss requires a new breakfast tray. I’ll send one of the door slaves to retrieve it in fifteen minutes.”

I rush through the door to a cacophony ofyes, sirsand find one of the girls starting the fire in the living room. “After that, take Mrs. Strauss’s tray to her parlor. Then light a fire in there for her.” Always looking at my feet as she has been trained, she nods with a small murmur of respect.

In my study, I find Falcon at the desk. She gives a stoic smile as I enter and pick up my cigarettes to light one. “Any news?” The first inhale calms my irritations from the morning.

“It’s not Halcyon or Lark, or anyone else sent by the societies that we recognize. We’re not sure who he is and he’s not speaking. Figured we would wait him out for a bit, then let you take over.”

Nodding, I offer her a drink with a wave of my hand, already knowing she’ll shake it off. After I pour one for myself, she stands so I can sit in the leather chair and kick my feet up on the desk. “I’m not in the mood now. Perhaps tomorrow. Let him starve some more.”

She holds her breath as if she has something else to tell me.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t get to meet him, but Tuttle brought a new guard with her. A gift from Slyvious. She said they could only afford one at this time, but maybe next month would have more.” Her tone says she’s not happy.

“And how is the new guard?”

Her dark brown eyes narrow as she runs a hand through her short black curls. “Not good. His name is Owen. A combination of arrogance and incompetence. So I have Brandon bringing him out on the town for supplies and checking on the Crimson Angel.”

I take another inhale of the smoke and blow it out with a shrug. “Stick him on the perimeter for watch duty at night so he doesn’t annoy me, then.”

“Yes, sir. And should I ask our representative from Slyvious for more lackeys again?”

The seat creaks as I sit up to dampen the butt out in the ashtray, clasping my fingers together. When I look up at my spy, her chest rises to hold her breath. She’s not askingthatquestion, the one she spoke aloud. She wants to know when to implement the plan. Or perhaps talk me out of it.

“In a month, it may not matter. So no.” She clears her throat and nods once, then slips into the shadows of the hallway.

By the evening, my day’s frustrations have not abated. Especially when I consider the highlight of my time was spent with the little girl I married. She needs to be taught her place in this harem.

But deep down in the recesses of my soul, I can’t wait to see her again. Which is dangerous.

As I eat the dinner laid out for me on the side table, I watch the other girls on the bed as usual. Nari is absent, but the other four suckle on each other’s nipples and cunts, giggling and moaning the way women do.

Ceylon is back to wooing Yasmina with her tongue tricks, but the girl keeps her eyes on me as she receives her pleasure. Giving her a wink, she smiles and writhes on Ceylon’s face in response.

Lydia harnesses a strap-on for Chloe and spreads her legs wide. I know Chloe doesn’t care who is between her thighs, but Lydia is doing this only to show me what a good slave she is. Probably trying to earn back some affection. It doesn’t work.

“Master! Please, I need you. Please!” Yasmina pants out as she orgasms. Nothing happens under my belt, so I sigh and finish my steak. The slapping sounds of Lydia fucking Chloe catch my momentary attention.

“Lydia, make love to her. Show me how much she means to you,” I instruct her, hoping she’ll go farther for my approval. She does as she gives me a cursory glance, then leans forward to kiss her. Chloe giggles and pulls her closer until their breasts meld together. Still…I’m unamused.

Standing, my heart flutters with every step I take closer to the door of my wife’s room. When I unlock it and stuff the keys back in my pocket, I spy her in a bizarre position.

She’s upside down on the sofa, legs dangling over the back, head dropped over the front with her hair splayed erratically on the floor. Holding a book up to her nose, she snaps it shut and her eyes widen as she spots me. Her dinner dishes lay askew on the coffee table, as do the lunch ones and breakfast.

Books are strewn about in various positions, tilting piles the evidence of her manic studies. Her notebook lays open with more hand-drawn figures and lists. Instead of doing what I want and scanning them, I curl my finger up at her.

“It’s time, angel.”

She makes it obvious that coming to the bedroom is the last thing she wants by taking her time to stand, then smoothing her dress down to her knees. Carefully, she sets her book on the table and closes the others. She’s dawdling, and I have to enjoy her rebelliousness. Her reluctance.

My dick is fucking hard again.

Finally, she saunters toward me, and I thread my fingers through hers. She glances at them, but lets me lead her to the cross. Without fanfare, she lifts her arms as I pull off her dress and toss it onto the chair. As if she’s used to the position, she backs up against the wood and lets me attach her ankles and wrists without giving me any eye contact.

I’m a bit befuddled. Why do I feel the need to garner her attention in childish ways? With a grimace, I turn from her and undress, then walk to the bed.

Yasmina prepares my pillows for me as I did the previous night, with a shy smile on her face. “Yes, good girl,” I tell her, but it comes out gruff.

---