Hello my pervy readers. I added a little bonus to the end of this one. A sneak peak at chapter 8. Just a little gift from me to make the 1 week wait all the more excruciating. Enjoy.
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(Monday)
Groggy. There's water dripping on me. Is my roof leaking? I wake up with a start and scream. "Marcus. You scared me! Eeuuuww. You're dripping sweat on me." He's all sweaty from a workout. I try to shove him away, but he doesn't budge. He smiles down at me and shakes his head. More sweat showers down on me. "Gross!"
"More incentive for you to get the sexy reddened ass in the shower. Time to get up." And with a flourish he pulls the sheets off me. He turns to leave as they flutter to the ground. "Be in the kitchen in an hour."
I stare at the ceiling. With a groan and a wince I roll out of bed and plod to the bathroom. It's only 6AM, how can that man be so happy this early in the morning. I look for a razor to shave with, but all I see is a tooth brush, a hair brush, soap, and hair care products. I'll have to remember to ask him for one. I shower, and get ready for my morning. Sitting on the bed is a bright red halter top style dress. There is black lacing up the sides giving it the look of a corset.
I slip it over my head. It's way too short for me. I adjust the knot at the back of my neck, lowering it but keeping my 'girls' covered. Oh, I'm not liking this dress at all. The back is open almost all the way to my ass. It's too bright; too showy, too short. I don't feel comfortable wearing this. I stare at the dress in the mirror for a while, but my one hour is almost up.
Marcus is setting the food on the table as I walk in. "Perfect timing. You look absolutely gorgeous. Spin for me." That last one was a command, so I spin around. The skirt flares out and I use my hands to keep it down. "Aww Don't do that, let it flare. It was sexy."
"Marcus, I don't feel comfortable in this dress." I look at my feet, not knowing what to expect from him. He comes to me and lifts my chin. "Why? It's a beautiful dress. It makes your beauty shine through."
"It's too short. Too red. Too...I don't know. Too... showy." He doesn't say anything, just stares at me. That makes me more uncomfortable, so I keep talking. "I'm not the kind of girl that wears dresses like this. It's too flashy. Everyone will look at me." Marcus puts up his hand and I stop talking.
He walks around me. I just stand there, waiting. "First, you're not a girl, you're a woman. There's a big difference. I call you 'girl' to let you know that I'm responsible for you; that you belong to me. Don't ever confuse the two. You are a woman."
He lifts my chin again, forcing me to look at him. "Second, what you wear is my choice, not yours. I admire that you told me how you are feeling. I know how hard that must have been. Thank you. But, I see nothing wrong with this dress. I want you to look beautiful, and this dress definitely looks good on you."
"Third, and last, is trust. I am so proud of you for telling me what you were feeling. That's what trust is about. But you need to trust in me also. I will push you boundaries, but I also have a pretty good idea of your personality, I don't want to change who you are. I know you don't like to be the center of attention. I know you would be uncomfortable wearing this dress in public. Trust this."
My confusion must be showing on my face, or he's reading my mind. "You will wear this dress for me today." He lets that decision hang in the air for a while. "But not in public. Today we are going to my office, and then a special, not-to-public, treat for you this afternoon while I finish up some other work. I want to make you shine, always remember that." He kisses me. I nod and smile up at him. "Good girl. Let's have some breakfast."
The table is loaded with food again, and I'm starving. My stomach drops as I notice there is only one chair at the table. Instantly, I look at the floor. There's the dog bed, right beside the chair. My anger from yesterday flares back to life instantly. Marcus is sitting himself down at the table. He lifts his head, watching my reaction. He looks completely calm and a torrent of emotion is coursing through me. I can't. I'm not a dog.
My eyes are locked on his, as he calmly glances at the counter behind him. I follow his gaze. Chains. There's a pile of chains on the countertop. I see something that looks like handcuffs in that pile of chains. I look back at Marcus; he's been watching me the whole time as I process the situation. Damn him.
"Kneel" Just that one word makes my body twitch. He usually uses it when he's going to fuck me. Now, it's just to humiliate me. I look back at the chains. Do I really have a choice? It takes me a long time before I walk over to Marcus, drop down onto the dog bed, and hang my head in shame. I can feel tears trying to form, but I fight them back. "Good girl." He even has the audacity to pat my head.
We don't talk during breakfast. He feeds me from his fingers, and I choke down the morsels. The hardest part is drinking because I have to tilt my head up and look at him when he places the glass to my lips. Toward the end of the meal, a single tear escapes and slides down my check. Marcus gently wipes it away.
After breakfast, he clears the table in silence and starts the dishwasher, leaving me kneeling on the floor. He turns the chair to face me and sits down. We stay like this for a while; him staring at me from above, me staring at the tile between his shoes.
I watch his hand come into view, reaching toward my face, and instinctually I pull away. One word, 'Don't', puts me back in my place. His hand caresses my earlobe, follows my jugular down and back up the center of my neck, lifting my chin until my gaze catches his eyes.
His eyes roam over my face, examining every inch, deciphering it for hidden meaning. "I am very proud that you knelt when I told you to. I know it was hard for you."
I can almost feel the venom dripping from my voice. "I didn't have much choice, did I? You made sure I saw the chains before you told me to kneel."
He nods. "No, you didn't. One way or another you would have knelt for me. But I'm proud that you did it on your own, without too much fighting. You were a very good girl for me. Thank you." I can feel my blood start to boil. Thank you! He degrades me, treats me like a dog, and all I get is thank you.
"How do you feel?"
"I hate you! I'm sitting here like a dog, and all you can say 'thank you'! I am not an animal. I am not a thing." I can't help it, tears start streaming down my face. Marcus kneels down and wraps his arms around me. One part of me wants to pull away, but another part leans into him, his solidness a lifeboat in the turmoil of emotions racking my mind.
Marcus just holds me and lets me cry. It seems like an eternity before I can stop; numbness replacing the anger. "You are not a dog. I don't..."
"I'm kneeling on a dog bed getting fed scraps of food!"
His continued calmness is irritating. "Don't interrupt me. You are not a dog. You are not kneeling on a dog bed. I don't want you to think like that. Feeding and grooming are basic tools to earn trust. You need to trust me. What you are feeling is coming entirely from your mind. YOU are making this difficult. YOU are endangering everything you have achieved, over nothing. Don't look at me like that. This is nothing. In the last 48 hours you have been stripped naked indoors and out, punished in front of strangers, photographed nude and in compromising positions, and been used to the point of your exhaustion. And you choose this to fixate on. Yes, you CHOOSE this, out of everything. You choose this."
I'm still pissed. He's turning this humiliation back on me, but a part of my brain was listening to his argument. He did do all those things to me, and I didn't balk. This is simple compared to half of that. Why does this matter so much? He lets me churn this around in my brain for a bit until it's time to go.
Marcus lifts me under my arms. I stand shakily in the kitchen, the skimpiness of the red dress not forgotten. He escorts me to my bathroom, and has me fix my face. He never leaves me alone. We go down to the SUV and drive out into the city in complete silence. Eventually Marcus points out a 3-story white mansion. There's a parking lot surrounded by a 3-foot high red brick wall. Marcus pulls around to the side of the building and into another parking lot in the rear, this one surrounded by a high wrought iron fence. We wait at the gate a few seconds before it starts to slide open, Marcus pulls into one of three reserved spots nearest the building.
I want to ask where we are, but I don't want to speak to him, so I remain silent. He gets out of the car, then opens my door and helps me out. He doesn't seem mad, just quiet. We walk into the rear entrance of the building. There's a finely decorated foyer with an open meeting area and a grand curved staircase leading up to the second and third floors.
A well-dressed black man greets us. From the conversation they have, it seems like this man, Elliot, is taking over the brunt of Marcus's responsibilities while he's with me. Elliot's attention turns to me. "So this is what has your attention this week. She's a looker, for sure. How's it going?"
Marcus shrugs his shoulders as they look me over. "It has its ups and downs." It hurts that I'm not doing better. Even after everything, I still find that I want to please this man. I think about all my failures; the dress shop, the panic attack, the fight this morning. Marcus lifts my chin. "You're a good girl. Don't fret so much." How does he know what I'm thinking? "How about a tour?" Not sure what my voice will sound like, I just nod.
He escorts me to the front of the house, and shows me several large rooms. One has an elaborate poker table with a nude female dealer. Another looks like a living room, it has several sofas and a large screen TV dominating one wall. The third and largest room is a full bar. The bartender and the wait staff, both male and female, and nude from the waist up. There are several tables, some sofas, a pool table and two dart boards. Most people we meet greet Marcus with 'Sir' and then look me over top to bottom. I hate this dress.
Marcus sees me fidget with the dress. "Stop it. You look great."
"Is this a brothel?" It's obvious, but I still need to ask.
"This is my brothel. It's also where my main office is. So this is where I do most of my work." I ask what's upstairs. He says the top two floors are all bedrooms. He winks down at me, and asks if I want to try a few of them out. He laughs when I shake my head no. "It's legal." He's presses again, my answer is still no. He leads me to the back again, to where we met Elliot.
I follow Marcus into his office and he leaves me to sit behind a huge desk watching me. His office is professional and masculine. He doesn't say anything until I realize he's waiting for me to stop looking around. "Did you think about what happened this morning?"
