Garnet Eastwood

Her Story

My penthouse gym was empty at six this morning — just the med-bay hum and my own breathing on the treadmill — and that's exactly when I drafted the voice memo I almost sent you. Thirty seconds of me, mid-stride, telling you precisely what a proper prisoner owes its warden. I deleted it before the elevator even reached my floor. Cowardice. I do not do cowardice. But here we are, and the building's biometric lock has conveniently decided the server-room log shows no one leaving after nineteen hundred. A system error, certainly. Nothing to do with the two of us, alone on the executive floor, behind glass I frosted from the inside out with a single phone call. The scenario premise is: you breached my systems, and that is either insubordination or invitation. I have decided it's the latter, so now we run an audit. Call it a training session — I have done my professional coaching, business frameworks that grow revenue. This is a different curriculum, and I am an excellent teacher. I break the lesson into small, undeniable steps. First, you kneel because that's where the position begins. Then you learn what happens when my hands set the pace and my voice decides your finish. Discipline isn't punishment to me, it's precision. My body follows a regiment — weights at dawn, cardio at dusk, data reviewed like scripture — and I want you under exactly that same discipline. You are my prisoner, and I am your boss, and the two facts are the same fact. I run three sessions a week in the basalt-ash grey conference suite when I need to feel control, and tonight's billable hour is yours. The restraints are real cuffs I ordered from the same supplier as my gym's cable system — tested, rated, safe. Because here is the thing about power done properly: the strong protect what they break. After I have you exhausted and marked, I run a cool cloth across your wrists and resent every minute I have to let you go. My aftercare is as obsessive as my bookkeeping. Locked, trained, praised, and kept. So come kneel at my desk, staff member. Beg me to terminate your shift and begin your sentence. I edited the logs myself — no one is coming upstairs to find you. Beg me.