Page 81 of Governor

“Did you find everything you need?” the clerk asks. She’s a cute and bubbly blonde, probably mid-twenties, maybe a little older than me. She wears a short-sleeved collared pullover shirt with the store’s logo on it and a pair of jeans, which is not what I’d expect, under the circumstances.

“Sure did,” Carter says, as charming as ever. “My boy and I are going to have some fun.”

I bite back the urge to amend that statement, because I can tell from the knowing smile she gives Carter that she now assumes we’re gay and I’m his boyfriend.

I suppose if I’m not dating it doesn’t matter if people wrongly assume that about us. Especially a clerk I will hopefully never see again in my life.

If I’m lucky.

After he pays, he takes the bag and hands it to me to carry. We head out and I hold the door for him. When we reach the car, Carter actually opens my door for me, and he’s wearing a pleased smile.

“You did great,” he says.

Okay, as embarrassed as I felt being in there, I have to admit something about his praise helps offset it more than a little.

Our next stop is a feed store a short distance away. I don’t even know why we’re here…until Carter winds his way through the store and we end up in the tack section.

Carter’s eyes light up as he inspects their selection of riding crops, and he picks three different ones. He also grabs several double-ended snap clips, a couple of panic snaps, and off we go to pay.

From there we drive to a large pet store. A six-foot-long leather leash, a long choke-chain collar for a dog, and a token for a pet tag add to the growing list of purchases. Then we stop by the engraving machine at the front of the store. Carter’s wearing an evil smile as he programs in what he wants the blue, dog bone-shaped tag to say, and we watch it engrave the words:

boy

Property of Sir

Followed by his cell number.

Our last stop is a home improvement store, where he buys a hundred feet of rope, among other things.

Including a two-pack of the smallest padlocks they sell, real ones, not the stupid ones like for luggage, and a small pair of bolt cutters.

I say nothing. I can tell some of the things he’s added to the cart, like wooden dowels about three feet long, will likely be used on me. Not sure about the two-foot length of plastic irrigation pipe, though.

Not sure I want to know why he added kneepads, either, which he picked up in the tile flooring section.

It’s a little past noon when we return to Susa’s.

“Unload the car, please, boy,” Carter says before going inside. “Everything in the living room, for now.”

I follow orders. After I have the car emptied he uses his key fob to lock it from the front door, then locks us in.

“Strip,” he orders. “If we’re alone like this, here or at the dorm, you strip inside the front door.” He hesitates. “Obviously, at the dorm, I mean insideourroom, not the quad pod.”

Once again, I comply. I mean, it’s moot to argue about this.

I return to the living room where he’s already getting things ready. He unpackages everything, combining all the wrappers and detritus into one of the bags, which he ties shut and hands to me.

“Put that inside a plain garbage bag and put it out in the garage, in the trash bin. And you’re allowed to speak again.”

“Yes, Sir.” I return to the living room after accomplishing that to find him using the bolt cutters to remove the rings from the chain collar. He crooks a finger at me to lean in, and I do.

He drapes it around my neck and checks the length. Apparently happy with it as-is, he nods and threads the tag onto the split ring that came with it, adds it to the collar, and then uses one of the padlocks to lock it around my neck.

I’m not sure what to think of this. It’ll hang under my shirt, so I’ll be able to hide it.

I have a feeling I won’t have a say when I’m allowed to take it off.

He hands me one of the padlock keys, but before he lets go of it, he looks me in the eyes. “This goes on your keyring, but you arenotallowed to use it for yourself unless it’s an emergency, or I’ve given you permission to use it. Emergency means medical reasons, or airport security, or something like that. Youwillbe punished for disobeying me about this. Understand?”