Fantasy #16: Expensive Tastes

Fantasies are hot.

I have a bunch.

Here’s one…

You’d been saving up for quite some time now, waiting and waiting for this wonderful day to finally arrive. You’d scrimped and saved, even missed a few meals so that you would be sure to have finally saved up enough for this special occasion. And now that it was finally here, you couldn’t help but feel like a kid on Christmas. Today was the day you were going to take Patriarch Connor out shopping.

You met up in a popular cafe in downtown Montreal, one that was overflowing with patrons and customers, many of whom were almost fighting for a place to sit down. Among the ruckus you found Him, sitting at a table, sipping His coffee while looking out the window and watching people walk by.

He was more handsome in person than He was in his pictures, taller, bigger, more stylish and the look in his eyes even more seductively devilish. You took your fate in both hands and presented yourself to Him. The smile that lit up on His face was one that you soon shared, His charisma and demeanor infectious. The noise from the cafe became silent in your ears as His beautiful voice overtook your mind. You’d heard it before on His podcasts, recordings and videos but to hear it in person was a whole other thing.

“Took you long enough. Let’s go, I need a new belt and you’re going to treat me to a shiny new watch.”

That was all He spoke as greeting and it was more than enough for you. As He stood and made his way towards the exit, the crowd parted ways to grant him passage in an almost biblical way. You barely had time to register this though for as soon as He passed, people came back flooding into the newly empty space. You did your best to keep up with this giant among men.

Once you were both outside on the street, He made his way to the most expensive store in the city, a store that you’d only ever seen glimpses of through its display but one which He entered as though it were home. You followed Him and barely made it through the quickly closing door, as though it somehow recognized that you weren’t worthy enough to be on the premises.

“So this is Bolt Lenfrew. I would be careful if I were you and not touch anything unless you want to run the risk of losing several month’s income if you were to break something. Ahh, there’s Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre how are you, you bastard! I’ve brought another loser along to help line your pockets with a big juicy commission!” His voice was filled with laughter and authority. He knew He belonged here, that He owned the place and He was not afraid at all to let everyone who could hear know it.

Jean-Pierre was a man in his late thirties, a head shaved bald and of medium stature, his mannerisms were flaming, and his clothing screamed class. Jean-Pierre voice was heavy with a Parisian accent and flowery of tone: “Oh mon Dieu, pas un autre! Le pauvre con, il ne sait pas le diable qu’il côtoie!“Jean-Pierre sighed and shook his head before continuing: “How are you today and how can I help you, beautiful man?”

Connor laughed in response, a big bright smile lighting his face and showcasing his hardening features: “Je vais très bien, mon ami. I am here for a new leather belt, something full grain, black and expensive. And of course, this one will be paying,” He said, pointing at you. “Hand Jean-Pierre your card and so I can start my fun.”

You didn’t speak French yourself but you were sure that they’d been speaking of you. You didn’t hesitate to comply with the order though. You certainly didn’t want to be embarrassing Him, not like that, not here. You were here for Him, to please Him, to be used by Him, so that’s what you were going to do and do it as best as you possibly could.

“Good, I know this card, it’s limit should serve you well for your belt. Follow me,” said Jean-Pierre before leading the two of you deeper into the store, past racks of beautiful clothes and horridly branded designer messes. As you passed a simple sweater, you stopped to look at the price tag and gasped out loud: 9 000$. Jean-Pierre stopped, looked at you then looked at Him: “Seriously Connor, you must tell these poor souls what they are in for when they come here. I don’t want to deal with another heart attack because of you!”

The French salesman continued on, plowing past rows of designer dress shoes and sneakers. He eventually stopped as he came upon what was one of the most beautiful displays you’d ever seen: a gorgeous belt multi-leveled belt rack made of sandalwood and trimmed in ebony. It must have been made by some Japanese artisan for it showed no obvious signs of nails or glue, just wood coming together perfectly.

The belts themselves were exquisite. There were browns, tans, beiges, greys, charcoals, blacks, even a few blues and reds. Their buckles ran from simple tongue buckles to screw closures, pin buckles to clamp closures. You’d never seen so many versions of such a simple item yet here before you was every variation known to man. While you marvelled at them, He made His selection.

His eyes wandered around until he saw the one He wanted: it was one of the blackest leathers you’d ever seen with a pin buckle with a large chrome buckle depicting what looked like two square “C”s mirroring each other and joined by a metal bar that was shiny and silver in color. The price tag soon caught your eye: 3200$.

“Excellent choice as always but you already know you have good taste: I tell you that every time you’re here!” said Jean-Pierre jovially. “Now follow me to the register so that I can charge your poor victim for your expensive tastes… Oh, I meant friend.”

“Now that I have the new belt that I needed, let’s go and get me a new watch,” He said, a greedy twinkle in His eye. “Wait, why am I holding the bag? That’s your job.”

You grabbed the bag dutifully and carried it for Him, happy to be of help. At His side, you visited a good number of jewelers, looking at all kinds of watches. Silver Tissots, golden Rolex, stainless steel Tag Hueler, nothing seemed to to His liking. You were beginning to think you’d escaped a giant expense when He spotted one that was finally to his liking. It was a beautiful minimalist Junkers watch made of stainless steel, banded in calfskin. Like Him, it screamed of exquisite taste in a simple way. It was a watch that was simply made for Him, as far as you were concerned. That it only cost $800 made you somewhat happy: you weren’t going to need to take a second mortgage on your house.

Once paid for, the two of you left the store, you stopped to sit on a public bench. He cleared his throat before speaking a command: “Take my old watch and replace it with the new one. Yes, I know we’re in public and surrounded by people, I want you to do it all the same.”

He knew you had trouble with such public humiliation. It was one thing to be humiliated in a store where you’d never return, but to have it done surrounded by people you might know was another. You were terrified yet you still complied, remembering His words: “If you can’t do something for yourself, then do it for me.” You unlatched his watch strap and carefully laid it out on your lap while you went on securing the new one on His wrist. You looked with hungry eyes at the angular muscles under His skin, at the veins surging there before putting away the old watch.

He smiled at you before looking down at his shoes erupting in another of his diabolical smiles: “My shoe’s laces seem to have become untied. Tie it up.” You gulped and got down on your knees, placing his shoe upon your thigh and tied it up. “The other feels pretty loose too, fix it up for me.” You obeyed, your fears and anxiety transforming into a desire to follow whatever order He told you.

“Alright, you’ve been a good boy today. Order us an Uber so we can go somewhere a little more private so I can squash you like I know you’ve been wanting all day.” He spoke so casually, as though his order was gospel from the mouth of a god.

And it was.

You looked up at the same time as something else in your pants rose up and said: “Sir, yes Sir!”

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