The Master’s Watch

While the new inmates slept, Garrett sat comfortably in what was once called a cell. But calling it that now would be a joke. The space had been transformed—a king’s chamber hidden within White Hollow. Plush carpeting replaced cold concrete, a sleek entertainment system lined one wall, and a private, fully stocked bar gleamed under dim lighting. The bed, oversized and draped in high-thread-count sheets, dominated the space, an undeniable symbol of indulgence. Even the air smelled different—cleaner, richer, a stark contrast to the sterile stench of the facility outside. A massive bed, a sleek television, fully equipped workout gear—everything a man of his status required.

At the door stood Moana, ever-loyal, ever-watchful. Her stance was firm, unwavering, her gaze fixed straight ahead like a well-trained guardian. In the corner, Bree, adorned in her flawless maid uniform, knelt silently, waiting for any task he might assign her. Beside him, Latoya’s hands worked expertly over his shoulders, her massage firm, deliberate, devoted.

Garrett barely acknowledged them, his eyes locked onto the multiple screens before him. The live feeds displayed rows of cramped cells, each containing a potential asset, a piece in his ever-expanding game. He controlled everything—what they saw, what they heard, when they ate, when they suffered. The thought sent a surge of satisfaction through him. He could mold them however he pleased, and none of them even knew it yet. The live feeds flickered in black and white, each showing a different cell. His focus narrowed onto Cell 3—his investments with the highest potential of the new female Inmates.

He read the reports again, considering his next move.

Róisín Murphy, the fiery little Irish girl. Her curves, her attitude—enticing. More importantly, her old-world Irish Mafia connections were worth exploring. Their influence had faded, overtaken by modern POC gangs, but there was still potential. A foothold in the remnants of that world could prove valuable.

Nyla Harrington, the councilman’s daughter. A golden opportunity. She was connected, privileged, naive enough to think she was still safe. Her friendship with Jade made things even more interesting. Manipulating her properly could provide long-term benefits.

Bianca Rubio and Hanako Tanaka. Both were beauties, both were natural manipulators. Perfect candidates for placement among woke corporate elites. With the right conditioning, they could be inserted as elite companions, a way to control from the inside.

Garrett leaned back, fingers tapping idly against his chair. So many possibilities.

Róisín was tempting—her fiery defiance intrigued him, and infiltrating the remnants of the Irish Mafia had undeniable appeal. Nyla, on the other hand, was a strategic asset; her political ties and naive confidence made her ripe for manipulation. Bianca and Hanako were obvious choices for deep placements, their natural charm and adaptability making them perfect tools for corporate infiltration.

He exhaled slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips. Which one would he break first?

His gaze flicked to Moana, standing rigid at her post.

"Come here," he ordered.

She obeyed without hesitation, stepping forward and kneeling beside him, head bowed, waiting.

"Still want to wait?" he mused, running a finger along her jawline. "You’ve been my good little guard dog for a while now. You must be eager."

Moana didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. "I haven’t earned it yet."

Garrett chuckled, amused by her discipline. "You really believe that, don’t you?" His fingers trailed down her collarbone, teasing the edge of her uniform. "Loyalty like yours deserves a reward."

Her breath hitched, but she held firm. "Not yet. When I do, I’ll know."

Garrett smirked. He liked her devotion. He liked testing her.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips—soft at first, then deeper. Moana’s breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. Her heart pounded, but not from fear—from discipline, from the rigid control she **** upon herself. She had chosen this path, and she would prove she was worthy of it. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to reach for him, to submit fully. Not yet. Not until she had truly earned it. His hands roamed, teasing but never taking. He was patient. He knew she would give in eventually.

"Fine," he murmured against her skin. "Then let’s make sure you earn it."

As Moana trembled under his touch, Garrett turned his eyes back to the screens, his mind already working through his next steps. But tonight, he wanted more than just strategy.

"Bree," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "Go fetch Nia."

Bree moved with quiet elegance, her obedience effortless, as if ingrained into every step. She left the room for only a moment before returning, leading Nia by a leather leash fastened around her neck.

The once-proud woman, a figure of authority and defiance, now moved with the **** grace of something broken beyond repair. The collar sat snug against her throat, a silent testament to her fall.

Nia sank to her knees without hesitation, hands resting in her lap, gaze lowered. There was a time when her eyes burned with fury, filled with fire and defiance. Now, there was only vacant acceptance, a hollow reflection of what she once was.

Her voice was soft, meek. Stripped.

“What do you wish of me, Master?”

Moana stiffened instantly. Her body tensed as she turned sharply toward Garrett, her expression betraying something rare—emotion.

“Master,” she spat, her voice dripping with disgust, “you’re seriously going to let this pathetic, filthy creature touch you? It’s beneath you.” Moana’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Nia, her lips curling in revulsion. “This thing should be rotting in the darkest cell, not even worthy of breathing the same air as you.”

Garrett smirked, his amusement flickering like a blade catching the light.

“Moana, tell me—what do you think?” He leaned back slightly, his tone indulgent, a predator playing with his prey. “You give me a taste of those exquisite curves of yours, satisfy me…” His gaze shifted lazily toward Nia, a mere afterthought. “While she satisfies you.”

Moana hesitated, just for a heartbeat. A flicker of something crossed her face—doubt, anger, or maybe even jealousy—but she crushed it before it could take root. She had worked too hard to let emotions cloud her purpose. If this was what Garrett desired, then she would ensure he was pleased. With a slow breath, she lowered her gaze, her jaw tightening, determination hardening her features into something unreadable.

"If that is your wish, Master. I will show her where she belongs."

She turned to Nia, her grip on the leash tightening before she yanked it downward. Nia gasped softly but obeyed without resistance, falling to all fours.

“On your back,” Moana ordered, her voice devoid of warmth.

Nia obeyed instantly, lying beneath her.

Moana rode Nia’s face with wild abandon, her movements a perfect blend of dominance and unrestrained pleasure. Garrett’s length brushed against her cheek—a silent command she eagerly obeyed. Her fingers wrapped around him with reverence, as if she were holding the most precious thing in existence.

“This… this is an incredible reward, Master,” she murmured, her lips parting as she took him in.

Garrett’s smirk deepened. “Then take control of my pleasure, Moana.”

“Yes, Master. Gladly.”

"Bree, Latoya—come here," she commanded smoothly.

Bree leaned in, pressing her lips against his, her obedience effortless and natural. Latoya, hands trembling with anticipation, knelt beside them, her soft fingers tracing along his thigh before peppering kisses over every inch of his body, worshiping him with each reverent touch.

Moana’s grip tightened in Nia’s hair, forcing her deeper between her thighs. “Give it your all,” she ordered, her voice laced with authority. “And if you do well… I won’t smother you.”

A muffled grunt was Nia’s only response, her submission absolute.

Moana turned her attention back to Garrett, pressing her breasts around his throbbing length, enveloping him in their soft, supple warmth. She moved rhythmically, teasing him with every squeeze and stroke, her breath growing ragged with arousal.

Then, with a wicked smile, she tilted Nia’s face, adjusting her so she could serve another purpose—her other hole.

“Oh, Master…” Moana moaned, her pace quickening. “Let’s come together.”

Garrett’s devilish grin widened. "Come on, my pet. I don’t like to be kept waiting. Show me just how well you've learned to serve."

Moana took him as deep as she could, her body trembling, and in that moment, they both unraveled, pleasure crashing over them in waves. As they rode it out, Moana slowly stood, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

She nudged Nia with her foot. “Get up and clean my mess off the floor.”

Nia obeyed without hesitation, immediately getting to work.

The screens flickered in the background, a constant reminder of the world he controlled—each cell, each prisoner, every breath they took under his watchful eye. But tonight, his focus was elsewhere. The games could wait. The breaking, the reshaping—it would all fall into place. For now, pleasure and power intertwined, and he intended to savor every second of it.