Page 34 of His Pet

“I know Ventresca has a shipment of girls coming in the next few weeks, and within a month, they’ll all end up like this.” He waves the pictures. “You will go back to Ventresca’s house and get me intel on that shipment so I can stop it and lock that bastard away for good. If not, I’ll make your life a living hell. Do you understand?”

“What will you do, Detective? Send the IRS after me? Send a health inspector to my studio? Have someone check my permits? Oh wait, you already did that, didn’t you? Remind me what they found?” Absolutely nothing because I’m not an idiot and have everything in order. It also helps to have powerful friends with contacts in the right places.

Small fumes because he knows he can’t touch me. He points to my house. “I’ll search every square inch of that place. I’m sure there’s plenty of interesting things to find.”

Plenty indeed, like the pet I’m holding in my basement. If they tried hard enough, they might even find traces of my previous pets. It’s not like I ever bleach the place. Have you tried bleaching leather-upholstered bondage furniture? It doesn’t end well. It’s a moot point, though, because Small is never getting a warrant. We both know his threat is empty. All he can do is keep inviting me to the precinct for repeated testimonies and make me wait for hours before he shows up, but even that harassment won’t last him forever. I’ll wait him out like I did before.

“Come back when you have a warrant, Detective,” I say, suddenly tired with all this. I just want to go home and cuddle with my pet. Is that so much to ask for? “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home and get some rest. Some of us actually work, you know?”

Reluctantly, Small moves aside, but not before pinning me down with a stare that makes him look constipated. Maybe I’ll send him a gift certificate for some bowel cleansing procedures, along with the penis enlargement ads. Anonymously, of course. He’ll know they’re from me, but what can he do?

“Remember what I said,” Small says. “I want that information.”

I don’t hear the rest of his speech as I roll up my window and click the remote control to open the gate. For a moment, Small looks like he wants to follow me inside, but to my chagrin, he stops himself. He’s not a complete idiot and knows that the second he crosses the line onto my property, I’m suing his ass off for trespassing.

Ironically enough, I wouldn’t even have to go back to Giovanni to get the information Small wants. I glimpsed the details about the shipment earlier today on his phone, but Small doesn’t need to know that. Talking to the cops is a surefire way to get myself killed, and my clients are much more dangerous than one detective puppy with a lot of bark but no bite.

Tension slides off my shoulders as I park the car and head inside. The pizza smells divine, and I steal a piece from the box before heading downstairs to greet Justin. It tastes as good as it smells, the cheese melting in my mouth while the pineapple pieces explode with sweetness all over my tongue.

I won't let Small ruin my time off. I'm going to kiss my pet, fuck the living daylights out of him, and then we'll cuddle and have pizza.

Life is great.

Chapter 23

Justin

Life sucks.

I never really understood the theory of relativity, but I get it now. Time isn’t constant and it doesn’t always flow at the same speed.

I mean, it should have been obvious. Have you ever tried to hold a plank for a minute? That minute is definitely longer than a regular minute when you’re just watching TV or lazing around. Even better, have you ever been locked in a tiny cage for days on end with absolutely nothing to entertain yourself with? That shit teaches you all about the relativity of time and how hours can feel like days and days like years.

I can’t reach any of the walls, so I can’t carve marks to count the days, but I’ve carefully picked a few loose threads from the blanket and I’m tying them to the bottom of one steel bar. Tonight, I’ll add thread number ten.

I’ve been here for ten days, and I’ve made absolutely no progress toward escape. The only thing that’s progressing here is my insanity, because I’m so bored that I actually look forward to Cameron’s daily visits. Isn’t that crazy?

It’s wrong, I know that. I know what it means when someone starts missing the person who locked them away, but what I know and what I feel are two very different things, and what I feel wins every time. Especially in the past few days, when I’ve felt myself slowly slipping, my mind too tired to come up with rational thoughts.

It’s ridiculous how I feel tired all the time when I’m not doing anything but sleep and sit around in the cage. Sure, Cameron makes me work for my rewards, mostly on my knees with his cock in my mouth, but he’s only around for a few hours every day, and the rest of the time, all I do is sleep and stare at the walls.

I wonder if Cameron watches me during the day. He said there are cameras, and if I ever try to masturbate when he’s away, he’ll know and I won’t like the punishment.

At first, I found the idea of jerking off in such a terrible situation ridiculous, but the longer I sit in the cage, longing for something to do, the more appealing it becomes. But I’m not an idiot, and I certainly don’t want Cameron angry with me, so I keep my hands off myself even when my cock gets hard, which happens a little too often to my taste.

My head shoots up, excitement bubbling in my chest when the door finally opens. He’s back! I can’t even be ashamed of that reaction, because I’m so freaking happy at being able to talk to someone.

My smile is one hundred percent genuine as I greet him. “Welcome back, Sir. Did you have a good day at work?”

I found out early on that Cameron loves talking about his job, and I made it a habit to always ask him about it. Keeping my captor happy needs to be my priority, right? It’s not at all about the way Cameron’s eyes always light up when he talks about art, how he wildly gestures around when he gets passionate about something, or how he gets almost nervous when he shows me his designs. As if it would hurt him if I didn’t like them. Which is impossible, because they’re amazing.

I know I should hate him. He had me kidnapped and is keeping me locked down here, but aside from the incredible boredom, I don’t have much to complain about. I have a roof over my head, plenty of food, and the only way he regularly tortures me is by denying me orgasms until I’m a mindless, begging mess. These things shouldn’t matter. They shouldn’t erase what he did and keeps doing to me, but I can’t help myself. I hate myself for a lot of things, but I can’t hate Cameron.

“I hate people,” Cameron huffs as he opens the cage.

“No, you don’t.” I sway a little as I straighten up, my legs shaky and too weak to carry me.

Snaking an arm around me, Cameron steadies me, and sighs into my hair. “I hate some people. This entitled, ungrateful Ventresca brat especially. I mean, I just warned him that the cops know about his upcoming shipment, and does he thank me for the information? No. He said, ‘I hope you kept your mouth shut.’ Stupid fucker. I never talk!”