The Brute Read Free Page B

idea of marriage. That was so far away from the reality of my life right now.
    “I miss you, Ang. We used to get up to such mischief, didn’t we?”
    We did.
    My phone beeped. I really didn’t want to look, because I knew who it would be from, and I didn’t want to deal with it yet. I hadn’t had a chance to think things through properly.
    I looked down. “Now,” it read.

8
     
    The Brute’s office wasn’t as spectacular as you would imagine. It wasn’t like he was a multi millionaire or anything with glass windows and a perky secretary. Sure those billionaire fantasies went through my mind too, when I first met him. Alas, reality with The Brute was getting more and more disappointing.
    Also, I’m not sure he even had a secretary, I’d never seen one. That could be because he never wanted me to use the lobby entrance though. He preferred that I take the stairs. I didn’t mind because by now I was annoyed at the whole situation that I’d gotten myself into and I didn’t want to bump into any more people than I already had. Nobody used the stairs so I was quite happy to make my way up the flights to the third floor. It might give me time to think about what I was going to say to him (and work off all those muffins I’d been eating). Was I going to try and break it off now, or wait until my financial situation improved? That question rattled through my mind with every step.
    His office was the second on the left when you came out of the doors on the third floor. Even though there was plenty of people working on this level, no one ever saw me. Most of the floor was cubicle hell, with high partition walls, and workers hunched over laptops with headphones on. Oblivious.
    He was waiting near the stair entrance when I arrived, making sure I wasn’t seen, I guess. He ushered me into his office.
    His room had the typical middle-management look about it. Nothing fancy, all utilitarian furniture that lacked style. Nondescript pictures on the walls, wooden bookcases filled with lever arch folders and a globe of the world. Generic, generic, generic.
    The only thing that distinguished this office from the thousands of others was that he had a huge mirror in it. I have no idea what his co-workers thought about him having a mirror in here. Maybe they just thought he was conceited? Correct, by the way.
    The Brute shut the door behind us, turning the lock. On his desk was a present. An aqua blue box with a white ribbon. Not quite the same blue as a Tiffany box mind you (as if I would be so lucky), and much, much, larger than a jewelry box, but it was stylish nonetheless.
    “Open it,” he said as he came up behind me, moving my hair to one side as he kissed down my neck. “I want you to wear them.”
    Them, turned out to be a pair of black boots. The type that came up to your thighs. They were shiny and smooth and while I wasn’t sure if they were actually leather, (I suspect they weren’t), they had the highest heel on them you’ve ever seen. There was no way I was going to be able to walk in them (not that I expected he wanted me to wear them so I could take a leisurely stroll through the park, mind you).
    I paused as a held them in my hand, trying to decide what I wanted to do. My head and my heart were having a huge debate. I could either run and tell him to go jump, or wait. My heart had made too many wrong decisions lately. I liked living in Charlotte. This situation wouldn’t be for much longer.
    So I did as he asked, stripping to nothing and pulling on the boots. They were tight and I had to struggle to get them zipped up at the sides. I looked at myself in the mirror. Naked, shaved the way he liked me to be, black boots, pert uplifted breasts. It didn’t even look like me. I looked like some tacky porn star or something. This was getting out of control. My head better be right about this.
    “Bend over the desk and spread your legs. I want to see how much your cunt drips for me. Begs for my cock.” I can tell