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Because apparently I could do all those things and figure out all the connections and still be an idiot.
I'd taken my test and not left until I was finished. I'd gone by the house and dropped off my laptop. St. Martin's dinner parties started at six with less booze than most people would expect and more showing off of flesh than most dinner parties would feature. The women brought by the guests were paraded and humiliated, forced to strip, to participate in sexual games and liaisons, forced to –
I sounded like law enforcement. It was forced. It was part of the game. Look what you made me do! I have no control over myself. But I thought other than indoctrination and being told that somebody owned them the reason I'd gotten furious responses and flat refusals when I asked any of the other women to walk out with me was that Look what you made me do! And Please! Don't! were part of it.
Cole St. Martin saved my life. When I'd said Don't make me do this to his insistence that I display myself naked before his guests, I meant it.
He did it anyway.
Never mind how I felt about it or what I was looking for. His rainforest pharma could save lives. It had saved mine. He needed to be left alone. There needed to be nobody present who could insist that what I knew to be consensual (even if it was deeply hidden from one's own self consent) wasn't.
I couldn't let him be arrested.
This marked the second time I'd come back to "save" him. Once from Kie, who I was pretty sure he could have disarmed. Now from the police, which might be a bigger problem.
Maybe after this I'd feel we were even.
Maybe after this I could actually move on with my life. Leave southern Nevada after graduation. Leave him behind.
Maybe.
Standing in the sage, on the least technical stakeout ever (I didn't even have a car) I watched as the guests began to gather.
And I watched as law enforcement followed.
12
Cole
"I'd heard about this place," Fred Covington said.
He was younger than me, which was unusual for a billionaire, and not that well known. People tend to believe there are only a handful of billionaires anywhere in the world but that isn't completely true. Not everyone is as flashy as Bezos or Musk. I'd never taken dick pics and sent them to anyone. The idea was repellant. When someone was gazing at my erection, I wanted her on site, close enough to do nice things to it while I did terrible things to her parts.
I'd also never blasted an electric convertible into space, with or without a test dummy driving it.
On the other hand, I did have a compound and techies working for me. Did that make me Bill Gates?
But billionaires while not rare aren't usually all that young. It takes a while to make that much money. Covington earned his through healthcare, not only inheriting from a family business that was all hospitals and managed care facilities, but putting his own touches on the projects and raking in the money.
He was tall, gangly, and attractive in the way of a friendly horse – long face, kind and hopeful eyes. I'd been to a dinner party at his home once in the last few weeks and I knew the friendly, somewhat hopeful expression hid one hell of a sadist.
The woman with him wasn't his wife. Not a surprise there. His wife was attractive, somewhere around twenty, and did exactly what she was told when she was told to do it. She was allowed very little in the way of clothing and most of it served to remind you how little she was wearing.
The woman he'd brought to my house looked like a supermodel from the 90s, those big bright eyes, the beautiful mouth, tall, glowing with health. She also had some pretty severe bruises on her thighs.
I watched her as I reached for Covington's hand. "What have you heard, Fred?" We shook and I drew him further in. He seemed like he was going to stop in the entryway. I thought there might be interest in others coming in eventually.
"That it's kind of crazy," he said without a trace of embarrassment. "High tech and hermit life, combined."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," I said and reached my hand to his companion. "I'm Cole. Sir, I suppose, tonight. You are?"
"She doesn't talk," Covington cut in.
I was starting to dislike him. Could I count on enough lifestyle enthusiasts of the same financial strata in the area that I might start a third group? My old circle had fallen when Claude was divorced and evicted by Chloe, and Vincent was killed. Arthur was one of the few left and I thought he'd be attending tonight. Fred Covington though, I could probably do without. A true sadist – my style, anyway, and why should I care what someone else thinks? – doesn't have to leave bruises. You can cause the most exquisite pain without breaking the skin or breaking the blood vessels under it. I wanted to stroke ointments over his sub's skin, then maybe spread some of them into her, easing the passage of my cock.
Fred, of course, would have to go before that.
"This is Chloe," I said, as she drifted up to my side. I frowned a little. Chloe was disappearing into ethereal mist after her problems with her ex. Fred's girl was threatened into not speaking. Suddenly I'd had enough. Maybe it was time to find some other entertainment. Rather than ask a group of rich men over for dinner, I’d simply surround myself with the females.
