Free Killing Time by SE Chardou

it right with their caste system; it’s only a shame it never caught on in Western society to the extreme they take it.”
    “Mmm, something tells me you are also a follower of Nietzsche as well and adhere to his ‘God is dead’ doctrine,” I replied in a snarky tone.
    “No, actually, I don’t. That’s more of my brother’s domain. He’s the family philosopher, not me. I think Nietzsche was a sick twisted fuck who was in love with his sister and spouted off the kind of hardline dogma Atheists and Fascists like to hear. I’m an equal opportunity offender, my dear, and although I adore certain facets of the BDSM lifestyle, you will find out soon enough everything with me is about control not extremity.”
    I was quiet and didn’t say anything else until we reached Southampton and drove up to his vast waterfront mansion. What else had I expected from someone who had nothing but money to burn?
    Though we were arriving in the dead of night it was hard to miss the unique, one-of-a-kind mansion that was painted a white so stark, it seemed to glow. Everything about the place was very modern and art-deco but cold and devoid of life.
    Rory drove us into the garage and I stepped out of the Porsche Cayenne before I closed the door behind me. I couldn’t pretend my feet didn’t hurt. Yes, I was used to wearing heels, as it was a requirement from Grayson that I do so at all times. He was a “legs” man and liked the way they looked on me. However, high heels, regardless the price, were never truly comfortable and one had to get used to the pain of being on stilts all the time. Not to mention the grace required not to fall on your ass after one too many alcoholic beverages.
    It seemed forever since I’d eaten and I was starving but I didn’t want to tell Rory for fear of a “cock” joke though he certainly wasn’t the easy going or laidback type. He wasn’t a prankster like his sadist brother which shouldn’t have surprised me in the least. They were truly as different as night and day.
    I followed him inside and he led me through the house. After we stepped in, he programmed the alarm and we crossed from a dimly lit hallway into a wide expanse of a kitchen with an island, stainless steel appliances and everything else blinding white with granite countertops.
    He opened the fridge and removed a glass bowl filled with fresh exotic fruit and a bottle of chilled Cristal champagne.
    I took the moment to step out of my shoes, and take off my coat before I walked over to the fruit bowl where I began to dig in with my hands. He seemed to watch me quietly and contently while he grabbed two fluted champagne glasses and opened the bottle before filling each glass almost to the brim.
    I still didn’t know what to make of him but could I truly handle how easily he’d read my mind? Or perhaps he was an expert with body language. I didn’t think I’d made it all that obvious how hungry I was but somehow he knew.
    I chewed on a piece of papaya and followed it with a sip of champagne before I sighed with contentment.
    “I take it you’re okay with my selection of food and drink?”
    “Mmm, yes. I’ve never had Cristal before. Grayson’s family refuses to buy it because it is too ‘ghetto.’ They prefer Dom Perignon or Krug to Cristal so I had no idea it tasted so . . .”
    “Delicious,” he said though it was more of a statement than a question. “I find wealthy people like the Compstons tedious to deal with. To boycott a product that is highly superior to every other champagne on the market just because hip-hop artists have good taste in alcohol is plain stupid. Cristal didn’t get its reputation in the past twenty years—it has been around since 1876.”
    He leaned casually against the island and stared deeply into my eyes. “My family has bottles of Cristal going all the way back to World War II in their wine cellar at their estate just outside of Munich. It was the first alcohol beverage I tried when I was