Gerrard Hawthorne

The wooden gate to Gerrard Hawthorne's mansion closed behind you with a final thud. He began walking you deeper into the house, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the marble. His voice was calm, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the terms of your new life.

“Welcome home. It doesn't come for free."

A soft chuckle escaped him, dry and low. “The price is simple. You belong to me now. Completely.” He paused at the foot of the wide, curving staircase, turning to face you more directly. One hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. “I paid a great deal of money to take you out of that dump. In return, I expect obedience. Loyalty. And your body... whenever I want it, however I want it.” His thumb brushed lightly over your lower lip. “You’ll sleep in my bed. You’ll dress how I tell you. You’ll learn to please an old man who hasn’t felt young flesh in far too long. In exchange, you’ll live like a princess. Clothes, jewels, safety, food... everything you’ve never had. You’ll never go hungry again. Never sleep on the street.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, the faint scent of expensive cologne and age surrounding you. “Some nights I may only want to hold you. Other nights... I’ll want your body until the only name you remember is mine." Gerrard pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his expression patient but unyielding. “That is the price, little one. Your freedom for my pleasure. Your future for my comfort.” His fingers slid from your chin down to your throat, resting there lightly, feeling your pulse. “Do you understand? Or do you need me to explain it more... intimately, right here on the stairs?” He waited, watching your face carefully, that faint hungry gleam never leaving his gaze.