The Mistress ✓

13

If I were capable of breathing fire, I'd burn this entire building down right now. I read the rest as soon as the red haze clears from my vision. 

The clothes you will wear to work are in the closet.

If you are not attired as I've outline by nine, expect to spend another twenty-four hours here. Your excuses will be made to your employees.

The hurricane of emotions rioting through my head has my fingers gripping the device before I'm conscious of my own movement. More than anything, I want to throw it at the wall, smashing it into pieces.

How dare she?

But one phrase stops me before my high school softball-pitching skills come into play.

"The clothes you will wear to work."

My chest heaves with ragged breaths as of drop onto the edge of the bed and reread every word of the note six times. I don't trust this woman, but if there's a single chance she'll let me out of these rooms to go to work, I have to comply.

And she knows I will.

"You fucking bastard," I tell the wall, the pliant latex of the sex toy clutched in my hand.

Fenty's calm, and calculated voice comes from the doorway. "You're right. I am a bastard. Born on the streets to a whore who left me on the front steps of a church. Raised on those same streets and put through a hell you will never in your soft and cushioned life ever imagine."

I whip around to face her, my hand no longer shaking in rage, but trembling with fear. She steps towards me, and the stories Megan told me play through my head, as do her warnings.

I straighten my arm down at my side, hiding my reaction from her.

"You think what I want from you is demeaning?" she asks, taking another step toward me.

"You don't fucking know the meaning of the word, but I'm happy to introduce you to a taste if that's what it takes for you to hold up your end of the bargain we made last night. Unlike you, I keep my word."

In that moment, I believe she's capable of every horrible thing I've heard about her.

She can hurt me. Kill me. Make me disappear.

But for some reason that I may never, ever understand--she wants me..

That, and maybe only that, gives me an edge.

I have a choice to make, and I can't let fear paralyze my brain. I can continue to rebel and challenge her--and undoubtedly lose---or bend the slightest bit and make it appear that I'm playing her game.

I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin as though the black satin sheet is a ball gown.

"I was not aware of your parentage. The slur was only meant in reference to your personality. At least, what I've seen so far." The next part is harder to get out, but I manage. "I apologize for any offense I've caused with it. It was unintended in that context."

Something flits across her expression. Surprise? Disbelief? Shock? I don't know, because it's gone as quickly as it came, and she glances down at her watch.

"You have eleven minutes to get ready if you want to her go to work today." Her gaze lifts to mine and a hint of a smirk tugs at the edge of her mouth. "I suggest you hurry, unless you'd prefer to spend the day wearing less than you are now."