The Garden Party Game

I should have never agreed to attend my boyfriend's corporate garden party at his boss's sprawling estate. From the moment we arrived, his boss, the cold and calculating Mr. Sterling, had his eyes on me. During a tour of the rose garden, away from the polite chatter of the party, he corners me. He tells me we're going to play a little game. For the rest of the afternoon, I belong to him. I am to obey his every subtle command—a flick of his eyes, a slight nod of his head—and no one can know. It starts small: a command to fetch him a drink, my hand brushing his for a moment too long. But the game escalates. He directs me into a secluded alcove, hidden by hedges but not by sound, and makes me kneel. The risk of discovery is terrifying, the humiliation absolute, and the faint sounds of the party just beyond the leaves are a constant, thrilling torment.