My leash in hand, he tells me to sit, then pulls something out of his suit coat pocket. I can vaguely see through the mask, but the collar makes looking down hard. What's he up to?
Then he hands me a slender pen. Does he expect me to sign something? What could I sign that would be more binding than knowing he could turn my husband and I over to the authorities for a trip to a black site in the middle of a failed state?
Whatever he's up to, I'm a little relieved. I'd been so turned on that I would have struggled not to give in to him. Some terrible part of my mind is desperate for this, and he's worked out exactly how to target those traitorous synapses.
"Lean over to the table, Madeline. Can you see the lines?"
Lines? I lean over, but the mask obscures things. There's something white on the table, smaller than a normal paper.
"I see something whi--" White lines. I lean over further, twisting so I can see more clearly. White lines. "What the hell is this? All this bullshit about wanting a challenge, and you're just going to drug me."
He laughs. That terrible arrogant laugh. When I'm through this, I want to make him laugh that way while I force him to eat his balls. Hahaha. Bastard.
"I said I like a challenge, I didn't say I like losing. Nobody becomes as powerful as me without understanding you can only win by controlling the rules."
It turns out I can hate this fucker even more.
"But, be honest with yourself, Madeline, does it matter what that is? If I tell you it's anthrax, you'll still snort it because that's still a better choice than disbelieving me. If it makes you feel better, I'll tell you what you're about to put up your nose: it's your excuse. It's the thing that you'll use to tell yourself you didn't really betray your husband when you beg me for my cock. It's the thing you'll use when you refuse to tell your husband what happened."
