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2.9 Puppet

"Are you good?" Mr. Tomlinson asked when he removed himself from me.

I was not feeling suberb.

He had me lying there on the couch underneath him for ages. I was panting. My heart rate was going insane. My cheeks were blushed to the colour of a tomato, I was sure.

Mr. Tomlinson had managed to keep me tensed for thirty minutes. He was not giving too much, and that was never enough.

He probably thought that I was playing my role when I m.oaned and shifted closer to him, that was why he was not paying that much attention to his fingers.

Well, I wished that I had been acting. It would have made it that much easier for me when he stopped and left me frustrated.

"Like, isn't anybody paying attention in this house?" He got up from the couch and seemed on edge. He almost shouted, "I could have an orgy in here and nobody would mind!"

"Mr. Tomlinson, are you trying to blow our cover? Stop shouting around," I muttered towards him, still feeling fuzzy.

"Do not tell me what to do," he said in a miffled way.

I did not want to be shouted at by him so I just went to my room. Our situation was already awkward enough. We were making out and touching each other - he mainly touched me. All of that so that somebody would tell his bloody wife that he has a mistress and then suddenly she would realise her loss and come back.

I did not think it was that easy.

For a desperate man Mr. Tomlinson sure had a lot of expectations and demands. He had his vision and everything was supposed to go as planned.

Not everything was that easy.

I sat down next to the window of my room and looked at myself. I had become his puppet. Dressed in his clothes. My entire body was covered by his choices. From my bra, panties, shirt, skirt, to the shoes. Mr. Tomlinson had taken over my mind as well. I was only thinking of him and his needs. He had the problem so I had to help him.

Was that my life's purpose?

To live for others?

What had I become?

It was stupid to think like that. I was working for the agency, of course I lived for others.

I crossed my arms, my hands gripped my upper arms.

The door of my room slowly opened. "Pearl?"

"If you are here to shout at me, please, leave," I responded.

"Careful, Pearl," he warned me softly.

"What are you going to do?" I blurted out. "Do you want me to leave and get out of your clothes so that you can give it to your next order? I would gladly do it. I have had enough of this."

He was astounded at my reaction.

"Is everything alright, Pearl?"

"Nothing is alright." He attempted to come closer to me. "Do not touch me."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

Mr. Tomlinson sat down on the bed and faced me.

"Tell me what is bothering you exactly?" he asked carefully.

"My entire worthless existence is bothering me," I muttered.

"You are not worthless."

"I am. This role you want me in could be played by anybody. I am nothing special. I am one of a thousand orders," I continued. I made a point.

"Pearl, I do not believe any other order would dare to speak to me like that," he responded. He was not mad at me. Mr. Tomlinson seemed worried.

"I get it, you know? I am just your order. You have paid for me to act like I want it, and say yes to everything," I uttered. "But what makes me be worth less than you? Why are my needs sitting on the backseat, and not being paid any attention to? Is it your money? I absolutely think so."

"Pearl, I could not agree more. Sadly, marvellous creatures like you are pressed into submission with the help of an agency driven by greed." What a professional answer he gave me. Mr. Tomlinson smirked alluringly, "But if you are wondering why I did not let you come a few minutes ago, just let it sink in that we are pretending."