Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Charlie!”
I wake up in the bed, cushioned on all sides by soft foam. It’s like waking up in a cloud, if a cloud had surprisingly good back support. I squirm around for a bit, until I hear Marcus call me again. He’s not in the office anymore. I wonder how I’m supposed to find him.
“Charlie! Come here!”
It sounds like I am in trouble, which seems impossible. How do you get into trouble while fast asleep?
I follow the sound of his voice to one of the lounging spaces, where he is sitting in his chair behind his desk. A very large television is playing the news. I haven’t watched the news in years, since I was a kid. It’s almost like finding someone tapping out hieroglyphics on a tablet.
“Hm?”
“Look at this,” he says.
I look at the news, where a pleasant person wearing very nice makeup and a broad, pristine smile is defining reality for the masses.
“Billionaire Marcus Waterstone saved the life of a fortunate young lady today after a fire escape gave way. He happened to be passing by, and caught her in his arms.”
What follows is a reel on repeat of me falling off the fire escape like a ragdoll and being subsequently snatched from gravity’s brutal grip by Marcus.
“The young lady’s identity is unknown, but we imagine she’s very grateful this evening.”
Marcus looks at me. I don’t look at him, but I can feel his gaze on me, deeply unimpressed.
“This is nothing,” I say. “Literally nobody except you and one other guy watches the news anymore. Don’t worry about it.”
“People don’t watch the news anymore, do they,” he agrees. “So I suppose we’d be better off checking the media they do consume. Social media.”
“Yeah. Check…”
I trail off as I realize that his phone is in his hand and is already playing the same video on a loop in a reel.
“Guess you already did, huh.”
He is frowning. “This has two million views,” he says. “Two million people have already seen your misbehavior…”
My butt is starting to sweat, which is saying a lot because I’ve padded out here in bare feet and underwear. I’m suddenly aware that I’m standing in a billionaire’s penthouse with no pants and bedhead, trying to talk my way out of whatever super kinky punishment he’s going to come up with for this.
“That’s nothing. That’s barely viral. You don’t have to worry about it until the remixes start…”
He thumbs the screen, one video down. I see myself fall again, but this time, there’s a hard cut to a woman landing on a couch who gets up and starts talking about selling second-hand cars.
“Oh. They’ve started.”
He scrolls again. This time music has been added.
“Looking for a man in finance, six-five, blue eyes…”
“What is happening?” Marcus sounds rather concerned. I know it’s a rhetorical question, but I can’t help but answer in that proud way you just have to when you think about how fucking cool things like social media can be.
“The Internet is happening.”
He stands up and turns to me. The effect of Marcus Waterstone rising to his feet is similar to a bear towering over me. He’s very tall, and he’s very dangerous.
I take a step back, wondering what he’s going to do next. Punishment seems likely, but I am starting to think I can’t take much more of that. At least not of the kind he seems to prefer. My ass is still tender, and…
“I’ve managed to spend a lifetime without becoming a public spectacle, and you’ve managed to change that entirely in the course of twenty-four hours.” He gives me a sexy, disapproving look.
“Don’t worry. This is going to blow over in a few days. That’s the brilliant thing about the Internet. Nobody’s going to remember this or care about it in like, a week.”
“You could be right on that score,” he says. “You had better be right about it, or I am going to spank you so hard, you won’t sit for a year.”
“Didn’t you already do that?”
His expression softens as he laughs. “Charlie, I have barely touched you. Don’t think for a second that today’s disobedience has been atoned for during that little car ride. You are going to be receiving some much needed training.”
“I am?”
“You are. This instant, actually. Badly behaved pets don’t get to stand on their feet. Hands and knees for you. Now.”
The act of having to sink down in front of this already massive behemoth of a man makes raw shame run through me. He doesn’t just want to discipline me. He wants to make me small.
I crouch on the floor in front of him.
He walks around me, inserts a finger in the waistband of my underwear, and draws them down. Almost simultaneously, he unsnaps my bra through my undershirt.
“Take it off,” he says. “All of it. The sorts of little animals that run wild in the streets don’t wear clothing, do they?”