Some food would be good, he thought, eyeing a banana.
“I’m not carrying his ass. You want him to hang all over you, you help him.”
The large man rolled his eyes. “Fine. I will.” He wrapped an arm around Kris. “I’m Jonesy. Don’t try anything funny. I’m just helping you so you don’t fall and get hurt and we get into the shit for it.”
Kris leaned against him, trying to prove his docility while secretly wondering if they all ready from some ‘how to be a bad guy’ phrasebook. They all seemed to say the same thing. Jonesy and Smitty walked him out of the kitchen and into a dining room. A man in a sharp suit sat eating a roast chicken dinner. The smell of the meat juices made his mouth water and his stomach gurgle once more.
The man looked up and frowned. “Did no one think to feed him? I can hear him all the way over here.”
“Bill said you wanted him clean and empty,” Smitty replied defensively.
“Yes, as in his bowels cleansed and taken for a piss! Not starving!”
Kris felt ice skitter along his veins. This was the man from when he first woke up. The one who told Crichton he could have him. Was this it? Was Crichton going to fuck him right here? He glanced around the room, not seeing Crichton anywhere.
The man sighed. “Is his ass at least clean?”
“He threw up everything he’d eaten yesterday from the looks of it,” Smitty answered.
“And he’s had nothing since,” the man mused. He appeared to be mulling these facts over, coming to a decision as he pointed to a chair with his empty fork. “Sit.”
Smitty pulled the chair out from the table and Jonesy folded him into it.
The man got up and paced towards him, eyeing him critically. “Could use a shave to get rid of the peach fuzz. Never mind, time for that later on, I suppose.” He gave Kris a smile that reminded him of a shark. There was none of the measured strength hinting at how dangerous a predator was lurking under an urbane exterior, unlike Ishmael and his men. This was all swagger; the fancy clothes and home furnishings were but a testament to his ego.
Please don’t tell me he’s about to monologue.
“Hi, Kris, isn’t it?” The man didn’t wait for a response. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” The man gestured around the room theatrically.
Fuck, he really is going to do the movie villain monologue thing.
“It’s quite simple, really. My name is Victor Tynesdale and to I’m afraid you simply got mixed up in a very sordid situation indeed. I’m sorry about that, but that is out of my control. It’s done.” He looked around at his men who all nodded in agreement.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m going to die and it’ll be during a complete travesty.
“So with that in mind, I feel I must first apologise to you. I really am,” Victor placed a hand over his heart, “filled with regret about what’s about to happen.” Victor turned to pick up a woven jute bag.
Kris squinted. Were those pictures of vegetables? And the words, ‘Every little helps’ printed on the side as well. Ah, a grocery store bag then.
Victor reached into the bag. “It’s really amazing what you can find in London, did you know that? You can get just about anything, as long as you know where to look.” He reached into the bag. “Case in point. I found this cute little kitty costume.” He held up an elegantly stitched white leather mask, designed to be slipped over the head. It had erect ears detailed with pink interiors. The eyes were embroidered with heavy duty silk thread, as was the nose, which was complete with two small nostril holes. It was made to fit over the entire head, leaving only the mouth and chin free while covering the neck. Kris swallowed. He had a very, very bad feeling about this. This was nothing like his former cosplay.
Victor placed the mask on the table. “Look,” he said, reaching into the bag once more, there’s a bodysuit, mitts, and a tail. He took the items out one by one, placing them on the table next to the mask. Smitty snickered. “And there’s even a harness so kitty can be trained to walk with its master.” Victor placed the bag on the table. “Now, my little kitten,” he put a finger under Kris’ chin and lifted his face up to meet his gaze. “You have a choice to make. Ishmael has something that is supposed to be mine. So, I took something he valued that is his. A fair swap, no? He as something, I have something. But, you are not just a thing.” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “So, I will let you decide. You can become my pet or not.”
“And if I say no?” Kris whispered.
“Oh, then I get rid of you. You’ll be of no value, and the thing he took is of immense value, indeed. So, I would have to just get something else.”
Someone needs to re-write their handbook. Become mine or die is quickly becoming way too overdone for my tastes.
“Yours,” he croaked.
“Good, good, I thought you’d see it that way. I am not an unreasonable man, after all.” Victor laughed. “Look at him, he says one thing, but his eyes say he wants to claw me. So cute.” He looked at Smitty and Jones. “Help him put the suit on.”
Ishmael, I hope you hurry the fuck up. This is more than I signed up for. Way, way more.
The bodysuit going on wasn’t so bad though it left his ass and crotch completely bare. The mitts for his feet turned out to be like knee-high socks. The ones on his hands were thick mittens that rendered him helpless, unable to hold or grasp anything. The tail, that was the worst, he decided.
“Lube it first. I don’t want him to die prematurely from an infection due to rough handling,” Victor said.
