This job will be the death of me. I know many cops will say it, but the moment I was briefed on my newest assignment, I knew that if I didn't shoot someone after a week, I would shoot myself; right in the head. I suppose if I were a regular policeman, they would send me on undercover missions to infiltrate the mob or some prostitution or gun smuggling ring...but I'm an Animal Cop; one of ten in the entire city. Sure, if need be we could call on the standard cops, but for the most part, we're on our own. I know you've seen us on TV rescuing stray dogs from under a house or kittens trapped in abandoned buildings and all that crap, and that is a large part of our job. But I'm going to be sent into deep cover as a servant boy, a butler to work in the Gillante Estate. Baxter Gillante is a disgustingly rich philanthropist who we believe to be involved in --if not head a small club of big game hunters who go after extremely endangered animals. Since he's been back in town, a rare albino African Gorrilla and a Red Panda have disappeared from two seperate, but nearby Zoos and we think he had them kidnaped, killed and stuffed for his monsterous collection. Of course, we can't prove it. We've tried gathering evidence the old fashioned way, but thanks to all his loyal goons and lawyers, we can't get near him. (He even has a restraining order against one of my more passionate colleagues.)
All I have to do is get in, gather evidence, either by finding documents or overhearing key conversations with his butcher buddies and then I'm out of there. But nothing is ever that simple. I love animals, that's why I chose this job. That's why I endured three whole years of desk detail, walking a 12am to 8am beat around housing projects and investigating toxic waste dumps and domestic desputes. It all led up to joining the animal precinct. To be walking into the belly of the beast, knowing the man's going to have walls full of his "trophies" is going to make me lose it. I'm a strong man, but not a very patient one. Of course I'm nervous. Who knows what this guy would do to me if he found out who I am before I'm able to gather enough info to nail his ass to the wall? But my guys worked damn hard and pulled a lot of strings to get me here, so I can't fuck this up.
My head fizzles and whirls around me as my taxi pulls up to the main gates of the enormous mansion. This place is so over the top, it makes me nauseous. It quite literally looks like a castle, straight out of the damn middle ages. I was expecting Merlin to come out in a black suit and tie to levitate me over the moat at gun-point. It took the cabbie almost 2 hours to drive up here from the Metro North station. It's so far outside the city, there have been reports of wolves in the area. At a quick glance around the property, it finally sinks in that I'm completely and utterly alone in this mission, and if I do fuck up, no one will be around for miles to hear me plead for my life like a bitch. I pay the cabbie and watch him drive away rather hastily before I go up and ring the intercom on the gate.
"Mr. Clement Sterling?" A dry, monotone female voice with a slight accent groans back through the intercom speaker at me. I glance up at the visible video camera and give a slight nod. "Mr. Gillante has been expecting you." And with that, the gate opens. I take a deep, shakey breath, reach down to grab my dufflebags and walk through, heading slowly towards the large, imposing house. It occurs to me that this is what death row inmates must feel like walking the last mile. That thought brings up some bile into my throat. As I approach the tremendous front double-doors, one of them creaks open to reveal a short, fat troll of a woman in a traditional bluish-gray maid's outfit. She looks me up and down with a scornful glare, and I suddenly become self-conscious, wondering if wearing a suit and tie on my first day of being a servant might be a bit unorthodox, if not downright insulting.
"Right this way." She frowns, opening the door just wide enough so my bags and I could squeeze through. She turns her back on me and heads through the wide fouyer, deeper into the house. The interior reminds me of a cross between an old style brothel and the mansion from the Resident Evil video game. A great big staircase blossomed out of the middle of the room and split off halfway up into seperate spiraling steps, leading to opposite landings on the second floor. There was a cathedral ceiling and heavy velvet tapestries cascading down the walls. Roman-style pillar lamp tables littered random places along the walls, holding up either statues or the stuffed corpses of small predatory animals. My insides wrench upon seeing this, and I almost lose my lunch right then and there.
"This can't be the new butler." A young male voice comes from out of nowhere as I try to reorient myself. I glance towards it's source and find a lithe, almost statuesque young man, maybe a few years younger than me leaning in a doorway with a sly grin on his pale face. "He looks far too young. Aren't butlers supposed to be ancient?"
"You watch too much Batman." I chuckle back at him, walking over to extend a hand. Hopefully, joking around will calm my nerves and my stomach down to a low roar.
The young man merely frowns at me and turns his nose up, crossing his lean arms. "Excuse me, you want to shake hands and be buddy-buddy with someone, Gretah is right next to you. As for me and my Father, you will address us as 'Sir' and always keep a respectful tone, posture, and most of all, distance. Is that understood??" The man's blue eyes burn holes into my retenas.
I suddenly remember what I'm here to do and correct myself immediately, lowering my gaze and bowing my head slightly. "Yes, Sir, I'm sorry." His face instantly regains that charming, wry smile as he looks me up and down, approaching me with a confidence I don't see in many people. It's false confidence, I tell myself. It comes from having a rich, powerful daddy with tons of lawyers and hitmen to clean up all his messes.
"We're off to a good start then." He smirks, reaching over to fix my collar and brush off lint from one of my shoulders. My gaze rises to meet his, my head still slightly downwards. His grin lengthens, showing off his unnaturally white teeth. "What's your name." It's a command, not a question. His eyes hold a certain superiority, as thought he believes he's a prince or something.
"C-C-Clement, Sir." I find myself stuttering, and I don't know why. Maybe this kid sees right through me, maybe he knows why I'm here and is just playing with me. Either way, he makes me terribly nervous, and it's showing.
His dirty blond brows knit thoughtfully, breaking the eye contact for a moment. "Clement....that's french, if I'm not mistaken. It means merciful."
A broad smile creeps across my face, thankful for the distraction from the dead animals lining the walls. "Yeah, that's right, wow."
"You see?" He mimics my stupid, broad grin condescendingly, patting both my shoulders. "This is why I'm better than you. Because I'm smarter. Always remember that. Now why don't you run along to see my Father before he becomes as impatient with you as I have." The grin quickly turns into a disgusted scowl as he turns on his heels and walks out. I'm left standing there not knowing if I want to say "fuck this noise", turn and leave, or follow the brat and beat the holy crap out of him.
"C'mon," Gretah takes my arm and nudges me towards the stairs. "Master Thaddeus is a pompous asshole, you'll get used to it. Mr. Gillate's study is right this way." She leads me up the stairs and I follow her in silence. We walk three long, carpeted flights and despite her large size, I'm more winded than she is when we reach the top. We come up to double doors painted antiseptic white with large brass L-knobs. She knocks three times, and a deep, commanding voice booms from the other side, granting us entry. "Clement Sterling has arrived, Sir." She steps to the side allowing me to pass her in the doorway.
He's not even facing us. He's sitting in a large recliner in front of a fireplace, a plume of cigar smoke wafting towards the ceiling. The entire room is lined with books, trinkets and more of his "trophies". I pictured him in a robe and slippers sipping wine and reading the paper like the stereotypical rich guy. "Sir." Is all I say for myself, and wait for him to say something.
A long moment passes and I glance at Gretah uncomfortably. "Come here." He eventually grumbles. I scurry around his chair to face him. I suddenly feel like a kid does when his parents catch him doing something wrong, and they say, "come here" with that same tone of voice. Those knots in my stomach return and I clench and release my fists nervously. This is the first time I've ever seen him, cold reality and my mind's fiction clash, shatter and crumble to dust. Instead of this big Teddy Roosevelt-type character I've been imagining, he's more like Bill Gates, only a lot older. Short, frail and balding with business wear and wire-rimmed glasses that hang off his gaunt, boney frame, giving him a slight zombie-esque appeal.
"Sir." I stand rigid with my arms tight at my sides, back straight, chest out, my chin high, eyes downcast. He looks me up and down, finally taking what's left of the cigar from his mouth and places it into one of those stand-up ashtrays, letting it burn rather than snuffing it out.
"Hm, I imagined you'd be older." He pauses. "Oh well. You come highly recommended, young man. Your family served under several of the Scottish Barons, is that right?"
"Yessir. For eight, proud generations, Sir." I'd rehersed all this for months. The Department even got a real butler to come and teach me everything I needed to know. I hope I don't freeze up under pressure.
"And just how long have *you* served?"
"Since I could walk, Sir."
"This sounds promising." He cracks a smile, and suddenly a massive collection of wrinkles appear on his face, making him look almost pleasant for a moment. He stands up slowly, grabbing his cane and making his way over to me. You can tell he didn't need the cane; like all rich people, he has stuff just for the sake of having it. He stands in front of me, about a head and a half shorter, but he acts as though he towers over me by a mile. "Gretah will show you around the estate and then to your quarters, and she shall brief you on the duties you will be expected to perform. Get a good night's rest and be ready no later than five o'clock sharp. If you appear unwashed, unshaven, or if you are so much as a minute late, you'll never work in this country again."
My brows knit slightly, though I don't mean for them to. "Sir, I understand."
"Good boy." If he noticed, he doesn't let on. "You are dismissed."
_________*__________
To say that this is going to be a challenge is as gross an understatement as the english language allows. The Gillante Estate is so expansive that I'm not even wholly sure I know how to navigate it without Gretah's assistance. I'm not even sure I know how to get to the room I'm supposed to meet the old man in tomorrow morning. We pass his punkass son, Thaddeus along the way past the courtyard, and I make a conscious effort not to look at him. I can see him staring at me from the corner of my eye and it irks me to no end. In fact, he follows us in silence for a bit past the courtyard into the greenhouse where Gretah explains to me this is Thaddeus' domain and I'm forbidden to touch anything or even enter, and I will only water them if I'm instructed by Thaddeus himself. At this point, I look back at him, figuring he followed us here to make sure we didn't touch anything. My gaze meets his and I realize he's staring openly at me; hungrily, like I was a mouthwatering roast pig about to be carved up onto his dinner plate. I'd seen that look a hundred times from all kinds of perps and perverts and it's never phased me. Yet somehow, one flash of his cold blue eyes sends a shiver so violently up my spine that my whole body shudders. Thaddeus merely grins, his eyes dark and cruel. I stare wide-eyed at him like a deer in headlights, and he turns and walks away. Throughout this whole ordeal, Gretah never misses a beat in her speech. I doubt she even noticed what had transpired.
One of my myriad of duties is to maintain and dust the trophey room. Nothing, not even the stuffed and mounted animals throughout the house could have prepared me for this. A room the size of my high school auditorium is crammed chock-full with some of the most exotic and endangered animals in the world, including White Rhinos, Bald Eagles, Snow Leopards, an Asian Lion, an Elephant and even a Red Panda. I begin to wonder if it's the same Red Panda that was stolen from the zoo, and if they had ways of testing the body for that. There's a tight ball of rage and grief accumulating in my solar plexus and it takes all my willpower to keep from bursting into a fit of rage and just start ripping this place apart. Again, Gretah remains oblivious, chittering away with that thick Old-European accent about how often I will need to come in here to dust, oil and groom the fur of the corpses to keep them looking shiny and new. Never have I been so glad to leave a room as I am when it's time to move onto the next floor.
The ten-cent tour takes nearly two hours. By then, I have so much to process and try to remember, that by the time I get to my designated bedroom, my head is swimming, ready to go into imminent shutdown. The moment Gretah leaves, I go tearing through my luggage for a pad and pencil and jot down as much as I can remember. My one saving grace is that they don't expect me to start until tomorrow morning, so supper comes and goes and I'm not disturbed. Not that I'd be hungry anyway. I didn't think I'd sleep much, if at all, but to my surprise, I'm out like a light a little before eight.
Three o'clock sharp, there's a rapping on my door. "Clement? Get up." I hear Gretah's raspy voice through the solid oak.
"Muh?" I grunt, lifting my head, as if coming out of a ten year coma.
"Come on, boy, it's time to get ready." She knocks a few more times to make me get up and answer the door. Her eyes squint a bit when she realizes I'm still wearing the suit and tie from yesterday. "You're a mess." She stuffs a suit on a hanger, covered with plastic into my arms. "Shave, shower and put this on. It should fit you. Shoes are in the closet. When you're ready, come to the kitchen for your breakfast." She gives me a lingering look of suspicion and walks back downstairs.
I gather my things and realize that the door to the servant bathroom doesn't lock. Also, you could die of old age waiting for the hot water to kick in. So at this ungodly hour of the night, I'm taking an ice shower with an unsecured door and I feel as though I only got 20 minute's sleep. This is going to be the longest day of my life.
At four o'clock the cook makes breakfast for himself, Gretah and I. They sit me down in the kitchen and help me go over what I'm supposed to remember today. Teo, the cook is a pleasant older Sicilian man with a big gut and a face that reminds me of Cyrano de Bergerac. He tells me that he was my age when he started working for Mr. Gillante. Unlike Gretah, he doesn't live here, he has a small cottage about an hour's drive from the estate. He just comes, cooks, helps Gretah serve and gets to leave after supper.
"You're bothered by all the stuffed animals, yes?" Teo glances up at the Zebra head mounted over the kitchen table. "I can tell." I don't say anything, I just shrug and continue poking at my hash browns with my fork. "I was bothered by it too, at first." Gretah glances up at him in disbelief. He smiles at her. "It's true! It took me a long time to get used to it. He will too." Get used to it? I don't think so.
"To serve the Gillante Family is an honor." Gretah reminds me after breakfast, fixing the bowtie on my tux. "You must do nothing to tarnish this. That means keep your outside business under wraps. This is a high profile family and the tabloids would love to hear about who their help is sleeping with, or doing whatever dirty deed with. If they offer you anything for information, refuse it. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. Speak only when spoken to, only relavant information. 'Of course, Sir.', 'Very good, Sir', 'Right away, Sir'. Understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good boy." We take one final lap around the first floor before she leads me to the "Master's" bathroom where we draw a scalding hot bath for him in a tub that can fit six people. She gets some towels and a robe ready and tells me to go wake the bossman up. The thought of having to face that man again makes my stomach hurt, and I almost protest. "Open the curtains first. He likes to watch the sunrise after his bath. Oh, and have his robe open and ready for him."
"Um, okay." I take the robe from her and open the double-doors leading to his bedroom. The light from the bathroom is the only light in here and I can barely make out where the bed is. I see the large dark shape of what I assume to be the curtain and grab it, only to realize I've grabbed a fistful of thick, corse fur. "AAAARGHHHH!!!" I freak out and hurl myself backwards into the real curtains, then trip and fall, tearing them down from the pole. I continue screaming and flailing about as the curtains and the pole land on top of me.
"What the hell??" Mr. Gillante shouts out. I hear Gretah run in, exclaiming something in a different language. Suddenly, Mr. Gillante bursts out laughing at me as I struggle to get out from under the curtains.
Just then I feel Gretah's hands on the curtain and a moment later, my head emerges. "Master, I am so sorry, this will never happen ag--"
"My god, I should get this sort of entertainment every morning!" He cackles, now sitting up holding his gut. Gretah looks at him, then at me, probably astounded he didn't order my head on a platter. "Did my Grizzly scare you, Clement? Haha, I knew there was a reason I liked that thing there." He pauses for a moment to look at us. "Well? Is my bath ready or not?"
"Yes, Sir, I'm terribly sorry, Sir. Right this way." She runs over to lead him from the bed and into the other room. She then glances back at me with a look that could knock me dead. She mouths the words, "Clean that up!" and promptly shuts the doors on me. I glance up through the pitch darkness where I know the Grizzly stands. I can't help but bust out laughing at my own stupidity.
The rest of the day goes by a bit smoother. The bossman has an early meeting so he leaves, and I'm able to bring my notebook with me so I can keep straight what my chores are. Gretah has her own stuff to do so she thankfully avoids me. Around eleven, Thaddeus comes along and eyes me on his way through the vast hallway leading to the Courtyard. I notice that he's wearing a plastic aprin and thick rubber gloves.
"You missed a spot." He grins, pointing to one of the enormous wooden frames I've been waxing. I ignore him. These frames are carved in such fancy, gaudy detail that in certain places, the only way to get into every crevis, I need to use Q-tips. It's the type of job you wear sweatpants and an old ratty tshirt for, not a full tux and dress shoes. Thaddeus gets as far as down the hall when my shoe slips on one of the rungs and I fall off the ladder with a yell and a thud. He doesn't outright laugh at me, but he doesn't run to my aid either; he merely stands at the end of the hallway and watches me get up and dust myself off in silence. For a moment I stare back at him, holding my elbow. It's only when I attempt to get back up on the ladder that he cracks a smile and walks off. It's a good thing too because about 10 minutes later, I accidentally knock down one of the paintings and it takes me nearly a half hour to get it back up again. Though I discover that they're infinately easier to clean while lying on the floor.
Gretah comes to get me at twelve to see if I'm hungry, which I am, so we manage to hide away in the kitchen for a bit and eat some chicken salad sandwiches. She doesn't yell at me, but she makes me promise to be more careful in the future. She also lets me know how fortunate I am that the "Master" has a sense of humor. Teo hears about what happened this morning and can't stop laughing for five solid minutes.
At around three, the head hancho returns from his meeting with an appetite so an early supper is in order. I set the table for two, but only the bossman sits and eats. Before the main course is served, he gets my attention. "Clement, go summon my boy. He's undoubtedly still in that useless plantroom of his, enthralled with his weeds. Tell him his father wants to see him in the dining room at once."
"Yes, Sir." I take off, not really wanting to see Thaddeus again but it's better than standing around watching the old man stuff a cornish hen down his throat. I go all the way down the hallway leading to the courtyard and realize on my way past that the painting I'd dropped now hangs slightly crooked. I cringe and tell myself I'll fix it after dinner. I get to the greenhouse and knock on the door. "Umm....Tha--I mean Master Thaddeus?" I walk halfway around and try to peer into the thick green glass but I don't see him in there. I call him a few more times before heading back empty-handed. His father seems angry, muttering about what a rotten kid he has under his breath. He spends the remainder of the meal taking it out on us by berating the cook, my poor posture and Gretah's failure to keep a good enough eye on his brat. I've never bitten my tongue so hard. Not even at the Acadamy. The only thing that gets me though is assorted fantasies of hitting him over the head with the serving platter, or shoving the stuffed Malasyian Squirrel up his cornhole.
Several hours later, Thaddeus strolls back in without a care in the world. Gretah instructs him to go upstairs to the study because his father wants a talk with him. Thaddeus rolls his eyes. "Ugh, like I've got nothing better to do." He groans, then turns to me with a dazzling smile. "Walk with me, Clement."
"Yes, Sir." I really, really don't want to, but I dutifully lower my head and trail him as he ascends the stairs the same way I did with Gretah when I first got here.
He glances back at me. "How was your first day at the castle?" His tone is sardonic, he's asking not because he really cares, but because he wants something to distract him from the blowout fight he knows is coming.
"It's been fine, Sir." I lie. I'm exhausted and pissed off and I hate you all and I wanna to go home. "How was your afternoon stroll?"
He lets out an empty chuckle. "It was pretty good. It's a beautiful day."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Sir." I hope your father shoots you, then stuffs and mounts you.
We get to the study doors and he stops and turns toward me, his hand on one of the L-knobs. I realize too late that I've been looking him in the eye again, but I don't advert my gaze this time. I think he's going to say something, but he doesn't; he just smiles. It's one of those "I'm hiding how nervous I am" smiles. Normally, those kind of looks draw concern from me, but I'm still so angry and upset from the way the old fart treated me during dinner that I just don't give a crap. He studies my face for a moment, then turns and walks in, closing the door. The screaming match starts almost immediately after. I stand there dumbfounded throughout the whole thing, listening to all the brutal, cruel, heartless things they say to each other. It makes my year on the Domestic Disturbance Squad seem like an episode of Seseme Street. Eventually, Thaddeus emerges, slamming the door behind him in tears. He sees me still standing there with this pale, wide-eyed stare and bumps my shoulder as he storms past me and down the stairs. The slamming of the front door echoes through the whole house.
Needless to say, that night I retire early. I sleep like the dead, only to be woken up at three o'clock sharp the next day. I ache so bad I want to die, and the cold shower only tenses my sore muscles further. The old man is in a foul mood when I wake him and makes a remark about what I'm going to bumble into or break today. Then he tells me he's terribly disappointed in the way I've been serving and he calls me a shame to my lineage. It doesn't mean a thing to me but I'm insulted reguardless. He eventually sends me away and I stand outside his master bathroom huffing and shuddering violently from rage, trying to keep myself from going in there and beating him to death. Thankfully, I don't have many chores to do so I'm able to lock myself in my room for a bit and mercilessly tear apart one of my pillows. By dinner, I feel better. Thaddeus joins us right on schedule and this seems to please his father so we're all spared his ire, at least until morning.
A week goes by; a long, torturous, grueling week of pure hell. I only manage to check in with my precinct twice, which has the rest of my squad worried. They tell me they don't like the way I sound, and if I want to quit now they wouldn't blame me. I give such a confident reassurance so believible that it even fools me. Back at the stately Gilliante manner, father and son argue with thunderous wrath at least every other day; Thaddeus leaves and Baxter takes it out on us. The one good part was laying eyes on my first paycheck; more than I'd ever hope to make on the force. I could pay my rent with it five times and still have some left to throw a pizza party. It made me understand why people get into this line of work in the first place, and if I didn't loathe it so much, I might consider a career change. Haha, career change...that's pretty funny.
I find out that during the night, there's a security system active inside Baxter's work area so it's going to take me a while to figure out a way into his study for any incriminating documents. I offer to clean in there a few times but I'm told that only Gretah is allowed in that room. Though I have had the opportunity to take some fur folicles from the Red Panda in the trophey room and mail it to my precinct. Hopefully, they can match the DNA with the one who was kidnapped from the Zoo. It would take a while so I had to bide my time with standard detective work. He hasn't had any friends over as of yet, and his chauffer is very glib about his master's comings and goings. Out of fear they might become suspicious, I stopped that particular topic of discussion for a while. Tonight during dinner, Thaddeus had promised to join him but didn't, and he became so enraged that he was yelling at all of us. It made me so nervous that as I was pouring gravy over his turkey, I dropped the gravyboat and it shattered and glopped all over the floor next to his seat, the hot gravy splattering on the Master's pant leg. He raised his hand to me and slapped me so hard I fell to my knees. Gretah and Teo ran to his aid and brough him upstairs to get changed. I merely cleaned up the mess, now so livid and insulted that I actually cried. After the mess was cleaned, locked myself in my room.
A while later, Gretah comes by to see if I'm alright. She appologizes for him, which is absurd, but it makes me feel a little better. "I calmed the Master down," she continues, still through the door because I won't open it. "He says he'll give you another chance to prove yourself. A few of his friends are coming here early tomorrow morning. They and the Master are leaving for a hunting expedition in Madagascar, they will be gone for a few days. He wants you to entertain he and his guests with breakfast and cigars, and anything else they wish. If you can succeed in impressing them with your immaculate service, you'll still have a job when he returns." She sounds proud of herself. Hunting in Madagascar....what a monster. And I have to suck up to them. However, it's a good reminder as to why I'm doing this in the first place, and after all I've been through, it would be rediculous to turn back now, when I'm so close to meeting the other poachers in his little limp-dicked Nambla circle. I thank her and open the door a crack. She sees how red my face is and her eyes sadden. She tells me to get some sleep, because I have to wake him at exactly four thirty. I try to rest but I don't fall asleep until almost midnight.
Three hours later, I'm up, back in the bathroom feeling like a zombie, staring in the mirror using my electric razor with just a towel on when Thaddeus drunkenly stumbles into the doorway.
"Shit!" I grab my chest and my razor drops with a metallic clunk into the sink.
He throws his head back with laughter at my reaction. "Aww, did I startle you?"
"You scared the hell out of me!" I suddenly realize what I'm supposed to be doing and drop my hand to my side. "Uhh...Sir."
"Y'know, I've been meaning to tell you," His speech is slurred, his short blond hair is messy, sticking up every which way, and one of his eyelids is drooping lower than the other. He's got this silk shirt on that's wrinkled and scuffed with half the buttons missing, like he's been in a fistfight. "You're too cute to be a butler." He makes his way over to my side, leaning his head on me, putting his arm around my shoulder, using the mirror to stare meaningfully into my eyes.
"Sir," This is freaking me out.
"Shhh." He moves behind me, pressing his chest flush against my bare back, and his now reddened cheek up against mine. I glare at him warily through the mirror as his hand strokes lovingly through my short brown hair.
"What do you want?" It comes out a lot more sheepish than it sounds in my head.
"I want everything." He grins, closing his eyes to breathe deeply of my pre-shower morning musk. "But right now, I want you. Right now; right up against this sink."
My brows knit worriedly. "Sir, please. I need to get ready. If I'm late, your father will fire me."
"If I tell him to, he'll keep you." He murmurs sensually into my ear, his hot breath beating on my neck. He feels up and down my naked sides, then his arms envelope around me to rake his nails lightly up my abs and chest. It sends a chill through me, but not like the one on my first day at the greenhouse. I want to move away from him but I can't. There's something about this guy that downright scares me, like if I anger him, he'll just turn and beat me to death without a second thought. Somewhere deep inside my head I know I have self-defense training on my side, but by now I'm so emersed in this sheepish servant boy role that my policeman identity might as well be a past life.
"Sir, please. This is my last chance, I can't be late." He responds to this by reaching under my towel; his fingers brush heavily against my cock. "Sir, stop!" I manage to spin myself around so that I'm facing him and my ass is pressed up against the rim of the sink. He wraps one of his lean arms around my neck and the other around my waist to try and pull me into a kiss. I snake my hands between us to push him away by the chest. He goes flying back into the towel rack with a loud grunt. My strength surprises him. His eyes turn dark and angry, and his teeth grit.
"You dare deny me, you lowly piece of shit?" He raises his balled fists at me. "You fuck with me and getting fired will be the least of your worries!" And with that, he turns and storms out, slamming the door behind him. I wait a moment, listening to him stomp furiously down the stairs, and then with shuddering hands and cloudy eyes, I continue shaving.
I can't eat breakfast, I'm too nervous. While Teo and Gretah eat, I pace around the kitchen restlessly. They assure me that I'll do fine, it will only be an hour at most. They even give me a few more pointers for what the Master is looking for. Before I know it, it's time to draw the Master's bath. Gretah comes upstairs with me to help me out.
"Ah, Clement." He muses when I wake him up. "You haven't destroyed anything this morning, eh? Looks like we're off to a great start."
"Your bath is ready, Sir." I grunt out between clenched jaws, following him into the master bathroom. I comtemplate drowning the old man, or "accidentally" kicking his radio into the tub while he's got soap in his eyes.
To be continued....
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