Chapter One
Vik
IMPENDING SHUTDOWN OF BUSINESSES…
The governors’ order flashed on my TV. Suddenly, I found myself facing a lockdown of my business offices, and the lack of a “pet” for my normal proclivities.
I suppose I shouldn’t say “suddenly.” It was a long time coming. The warning signs had been popping up like whack-a-mole since Christmas and the bastards in power were threatening extreme measures.
Locking down an entire city seemed like a bit of an overreaction at first. We did have a business to run, after all, and I would have liked to have seen the powers that be run anything without the help of the third-biggest Internet server in the Northern Hemisphere. Still though, I could understand their concerns.
I was going to have to find a way to meet the needs of my business and the needs of my kinky interests at the same time. It wasn’t like I could go to Club Lush, where I was used to procuring “pets.”
Where would I find someone who let me have my way with her?
And someone who could help me run the business while other employees weren’t able to work?
It dawned on me that the best place to look was among my current employee pool. I became determined to solve this dilemma ASAP.
I arrived at the office early, as I always did. The approaching 36-hour deadline before the city went into full lockdown, backed by the guns of the local police, had very little to do with it.
I really wasn’t worried. Not because I thought I was immune, but for far more logical, considered reasons.
The lockdown order only really applied to the city and other centers of so-called “civilization,” places where arbitrary laws had authorities to uphold them. This was exactly why I kept a piece of land with a luxury cottage in the nearby mountains. A completely private sale, the area, some 30 acres, was under no one’s jurisdiction but my own. It was fully equipped with solar panels for power and its own private Wi-Fi network, so I could just go up there to finish work on our current important project and wait out the hysteria.
I wouldn’t go up alone, though. I knew myself well enough to know that I would need to bring up an assistant, specifically a female one. Not so much for the human contact; I was fine with keeping my own company for long periods. It was part of how I had gotten as far as I had.
I mostly needed to bring the assistant for help on the project. It was a big job and would be too much for me to effectively do on my own, tech genius though I might be. She would need to have an Ivy League level of intelligence and the work ethic of an Irish dockhand. A tall order, to be sure, but still pale in comparison to my other requirements.
In addition to being a man of skill, with a good deal of business acumen, I also had particular needs, as I’ve alluded, that went above and beyond the professional ones that my assistants had to be able to assist with. And these were ones that, even if they were willing to perform in a non-professional capacity, many would not be able to meet.
I knew I could find such a candidate, even without the help of my beloved Club Lush, where previously I had even managed to find “pets” who could also serve as my assistants, it being best to kill two birds with one stone. The available pool was also getting noticeably smaller, though, in part due to my personal policy against repeat engagements, no matter how high the quality of a given assistant’s service.
These girls were not just assistants to me. They also acted as my partners in other activities. The usual term for what they were, at least the one preferred by me, was “pets.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hallgrimsson,” Mary said as I breezed past the reception desk, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
She never did look at me. It was some kind of mental block, I thought. As though if she gazed upon me, she would turn to stone or get horribly murdered.
It was pretty annoying, but a lot of women reacted that way. I didn’t think I was particularly mean-looking, but I towered over most of them by a good foot or more and had a permanently serious expression.
Mostly, I looked like a clean-shaven Viking in casual wear – my style at the time tended towards Mark Zuckerberg circa 2005. All in all, I didn’t look like the kind of person you would want to piss off or disappoint.
“Good morning, Mary,” I said, as kindly as I was able, still sounding like I was sending up praise to Odin after a glorious battle.
If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn that I saw the ghost of a smile play around the corners of her mouth and a hint of crimson touch her cheeks. I had the gut feeling that Mary was interested in me, in more than a professional capacity. I liked her fine, but she really wasn’t my type. Far too sweet and innocent.