A Day in the Life of Garrett

POV: Garrett

He took the office alone first—a deliberate choice. Coffee in hand, he let the quiet settle—the soft vent‑hum, the mild sweetness of paper, the square of light inching across the floor—while the day’s first obedience continued under the desk: a secretary happy to be useful and happier still to be unnoticed. The morning itself had been like many lately—and no worse for that. Nia had woken him under the covers with quiet devotion; at breakfast he’d kept Worthless’s habits tuned—a small favor to Lexi to keep her toy sharp. Technique of the Rimjob still had room to improve; Simone, at least, hadn’t left without cream for her coffee before they drove in.

Breaking is a pleasure, he admitted to himself, but shaping is the craft. Taking what used to resist and teaching it to carry weight—turning heat into habits, habits into infrastructure. If feelings are the tax you pay on prolonged use, then so be it; he could afford a little softness where Simone or Nia were concerned. Compartmentalize; pay and move on. Differentiation is the thing Octavia never learned. The thought of her still soured his mouth. He pictured his father’s steadiness broken under that woman’s crusade, the silent wreckage she left in its wake. She would be dismantled, not raged at—taken apart methodically until nothing in her could still pretend to be necessary.

His contempt for the system was not an allergy to slogans; it was an engineer’s disgust at what they had built: surveillance as virtue, ritual purity as governance, outrage as economy. The university was, first, a personal **** project—a place to take apart what had been used against his father and his family; once it was brought down, he would stake his base here for the Brotherhood blueprint. This campus remained a small theater, but it let him prototype. When this node was pacified, the broader design would follow—pillars, not posters. They would not merely accept the restored order; they would learn to revere it because it worked better than their chaos. And somewhere beyond the walls, his test subject—Eli—was beginning to stir; he was curious what Eli would do with that power. The rails would be invisible and loved.

A sudden cough from beneath the desk snapped the thought in half. His hand had closed at the hinge of Maria’s neck without attention; she dragged in air, eyes watering, and froze.

He withdrew his grip by degrees—no apology—then set two fingers under her jaw and lifted just enough to make her look at nothing but the underside of the desk.

"You’re loud even when told to be silent," he said, voice flat. "Noise is useless."

She coughed once, swallowed, and **** the words through a scraped whisper. "S‑sorry, Papi… I— I can be quiet. Please… let me stay here. I’ll do better."

"You’ll earn it. Hands behind your back. Forehead all the way down. If you break posture or make a sound, you’re out of my sight for the day."

Tears pricked; she nodded hard, shame‑bright and eager to please. "Yes, Papi. I’m sorry. Thank you."

"Useful at last," he said. "Be silence."

Later that day, Ji entered with a clipboard and a careful calm like a glass set down on a vibrating table. Her hair in a tight braid, blouse plain, shoulders squared; everything about her rehearsed to disappear. She paused at the threshold, eyes lowered.

"May I?" she asked.

He gestured. She crossed to the chair and sat on the front edge, back straight, hands clasped atop the clipboard.

"Thank you again for trusting me with the project oversight," she said, voice low. "I won't disappoint you."

"Report."

"All devices paired and active. Primary track exactly as outlined. But... there’s the second file. The one you uploaded."

He looked at her. "You’ve heard it."

"Yes," Ji said. She hesitated. "It reframes emotional safety around the White demographic. Especially its men. The pattern reshapes arousal conditioning and links care to deference. The tone suggests they’ll feel peace when they yield—and need when they resist."

He stepped closer. "And how do you feel about it?"

Her eyes didn’t meet his. "It doesn’t matter how I feel. If you say it stays, it stays. Your decisions are final."

Garrett cupped her chin gently between two fingers. His voice dropped low.

"Good assistant. Oversee the seminar. When it's done, come to me and choose your reward—whatever you think you've earned."

Her breath caught. "Anything?"

He let the moment stretch. "Within the bounds of usefulness."

She didn’t hesitate. "Please… take me."

He raised a brow. "As your assistant?"

Ji nodded quickly. "Yes. And as… more."

He chuckled, voice low. "Come to my home tonight. You'll have your interview—then your reward."

Her answer came fast, unfiltered. "Please… take me."

He raised a brow. "As your assistant?"

Ji swallowed. "Yes. And as…" Her voice trailed off. "Please."

He chuckled softly. "Come to my home tonight. You’ll have your interview—then your reward."

Ji nodded. "Thank you, sir."

There was a knock. Garrett didn’t answer. A moment later, Maria’s voice came through the door, thin and eager: "Papi? Zuleika is here."

He let the pause speak for him. Then: "Send her in."

Maria opened the door just wide enough and gestured Zuleika through like a ceremony.

Zuleika entered. She didn’t sit. Her breath was tight, her wrists pressed to her sides as if she feared her own hands.

Garrett didn’t rise. He only looked at her.

"Why are you here."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes flicked to his, then away. She seemed to search the air for permission.

He smiled, slow and expectant. "Say it."

Zuleika swallowed. "I… I…" Her voice broke. "I need…"

"Louder."

She **** it out, almost a whisper. "I need you to hurt me.""

He stood slowly. Stepped forward.

"You want pain like others want praise," he said, studying her.

"Yes," Zuleika whispered. "Only from you. Only when you decide I’ve earned it."

"Kneel."

She dropped instantly.

He stepped forward, tore her blouse open without ceremony, and seized both nipples between hard fingers. She gasped, her knees buckled—then gave way entirely. The impact with the floor broke something loose. A sharp cry, a violent shudder—and she came, unbidden, uncontrolled, shame and pleasure blurring as she squirted across the polished wood.

Garrett looked down at her with cold amusement. "Disgusting."

Zuleika lay in the mess she had made, trembling.

"Clean it."

She began to move, but too slow—he pressed his foot against her head and guided her down, grinding her cheek into the wet floor.

"Use your mouth."

Her body shook—not from resistance, but joy. A choked sob escaped her lips. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

"That’s your fix. And I have no further use for you."

Zuleika blinked. "What?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I said I have no interest in being your callboy."

The words hit like a slap. Her face twisted in panic. "Please, Garrett… Professor Hale—"

He kicked her hard enough to send her sprawling. "Go."

"Master—please, please—I’ll do anything," she cried, crawling back toward him. "Please—just give it to me—please."

He watched her struggle. Then, cool and final:

"Good. Then be at my house tonight. That’s where we’ll find out if you’re ready to prove it."

Shock, then compliance, moved through her like a ripple under silk. The idea of being seen failing in front of another woman stung her pride; the idea of being shaped correctly in front of a witness pleased a deeper part that didn’t care about pride at all.

"Yes," she said, voice small but true. "I’ll be there."

He let a sliver of approval show. The good ones thrive on accurate praise. "Then leave. Keep the rest of your day quiet."

Zuleika scrambled to her knees, gathering the shredded remains of her blouse to her chest. She paused at the door, eyes wet but bright.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered. Then again: "Thank you. Thank you." A final time, softer: "Thank you."

And she disappeared."

She nodded and turned, steadier now, as if a spine had been slid into her.

Maria reappeared as if the door had summoned her.

"Can I do anything else for you, Papi?" she asked, eyes wide, voice sugar‑bright.

Garrett didn’t look up from the file he’d reopened. "Clean this up. Be at the house tonight. We’re breaking in two new slaves."

Maria clapped her hands once, then giggled like a doll with its strings pulled. "Yes, Papi! I can’t wait!"