Under Strict Orders (Love Under Quarantine Book 1)

by Jamie Knight

  Under Strict Orders

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Vik

  Chapter Two

  Angie

  Chapter Three

  Vik

  Chapter Four

  Angie

  Chapter Five

  Vik

  Chapter Six

  Angie

  Chapter Seven

  Vik

  Chapter Eight

  Angie

  Chapter Nine

  Vik

  Chapter Ten

  Angie

  Epilogue

  Vik

  Angie

  Chapter One

  Vik

  IMPENDING SHUTDOWN OF BUSINESSES...

  The governors’ order flashed on my TV. Suddenly, I found myself facing a lockdown of my business offices, and the lack of a “pet” for my normal proclivities.

  I suppose I shouldn’t say “suddenly.” It was a long time coming. The warning signs had been popping up like whack-a-mole since Christmas and the bastards in power were threatening extreme measures.

  Locking down an entire city seemed like a bit of an overreaction at first. We did have a business to run, after all, and I would have liked to have seen the powers that be run anything without the help of the third-biggest Internet server in the Northern Hemisphere. Still though, I could understand their concerns.

  I was going to have to find a way to meet the needs of my business and the needs of my kinky interests at the same time. It wasn’t like I could go to Club Lush, where I was used to procuring “pets.”

  Where would I find someone who let me have my way with her?

  And someone who could help me run the business while other employees weren’t able to work?

  It dawned on me that the best place to look was among my current employee pool. I became determined to solve this dilemma ASAP.

  I arrived at the office early, as I always did. The approaching 36-hour deadline before the city went into full lockdown, backed by the guns of the local police, had very little to do with it.

  I really wasn’t worried. Not because I thought I was immune, but for far more logical, considered reasons.

  The lockdown order only really applied to the city and other centers of so-called “civilization,” places where arbitrary laws had authorities to uphold them. This was exactly why I kept a piece of land with a luxury cottage in the nearby mountains. A completely private sale, the area, some 30 acres, was under no one’s jurisdiction but my own. It was fully equipped with solar panels for power and its own private Wi-Fi network, so I could just go up there to finish work on our current important project and wait out the hysteria.

  I wouldn’t go up alone, though. I knew myself well enough to know that I would need to bring up an assistant, specifically a female one. Not so much for the human contact; I was fine with keeping my own company for long periods. It was part of how I had gotten as far as I had.

  I mostly needed to bring the assistant for help on the project. It was a big job and would be too much for me to effectively do on my own, tech genius though I might be. She would need to have an Ivy League level of intelligence and the work ethic of an Irish dockhand. A tall order, to be sure, but still pale in comparison to my other requirements.

  In addition to being a man of skill, with a good deal of business acumen, I also had particular needs, as I’ve alluded, that went above and beyond the professional ones that my assistants had to be able to assist with. And these were ones that, even if they were willing to perform in a non-professional capacity, many would not be able to meet.

  I knew I could find such a candidate, even without the help of my beloved Club Lush, where previously I had even managed to find “pets” who could also serve as my assistants, it being best to kill two birds with one stone. The available pool was also getting noticeably smaller, though, in part due to my personal policy against repeat engagements, no matter how high the quality of a given assistant’s service.

  These girls were not just assistants to me. They also acted as my partners in other activities. The usual term for what they were, at least the one preferred by me, was “pets.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Hallgrimsson,” Mary said as I breezed past the reception desk, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

  She never did look at me. It was some kind of mental block, I thought. As though if she gazed upon me, she would turn to stone or get horribly murdered.

  It was pretty annoying, but a lot of women reacted that way. I didn’t think I was particularly mean-looking, but I towered over most of them by a good foot or more and had a permanently serious expression.

  Mostly, I looked like a clean-shaven Viking in casual wear - my style at the time tended towards Mark Zuckerberg circa 2005. All in all, I didn’t look like the kind of person you would want to piss off or disappoint.

  “Good morning, Mary,” I said, as kindly as I was able, still sounding like I was sending up praise to Odin after a glorious battle.

  If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn that I saw the ghost of a smile play around the corners of her mouth and a hint of crimson touch her cheeks. I had the gut feeling that Mary was interested in me, in more than a professional capacity. I liked her fine, but she really wasn’t my type. Far too sweet and innocent.

  Giving the matter of my assistant some serious thought, I decided to try what I had been thinking about doing, and “promoting” from within, so to speak. The firm I ran had a good pool of quality talent, highly educated, very capable women. Sure that among their number I could find what I required, I scrolled through the index, trying to guess at who had the look.

  When you’ve been at it as long as I had, you learn to recognize the signs. I searched the faces of those pictured for any indication, finding none, though I did find quite a few very accomplished and dedicated employees who were also very beautiful.

  I felt I should try to narrow the field down a bit before sending out the invite. But this did not seem to be an option in this instance, given the time constraints, so I decided to take a bit of a gamble.

  Cuing up Thornography by the almighty Cradle of Filth - I had crazy taste in metal music - I set about composing a carefully worded missive that I would send to every prospect listed in the index and then go from there. I was careful to emphasize the ‘extra duties’ so no one could be caught too off-guard, and I made sure to mention the pay.

  It was an important assignment and I wasn’t goofing around. The position offered a thousand dollars a day with a five-thousand dollar bonus no matter how many days it went on - money I could find in my couch cushions if I was honest.

  I really wasn’t trying to buy a woman, though the financial compensation could be considered substantial by regular standards. The money genuinely was mostly for her work on the project and for being willing to go out onto a mountain for an undetermined amount of time.

  It’s not something a lot of people had the ability to do on such short notice. The “extra duties” were exactly that and just another part of the assistance that I needed to be able to work effectively.

  I had heard about the dangers of mixing business and pleasure, but if I paid any attention to conventional wisdom I never would have gone into computers. The consensus when I was growing up, at least among the alleged experts, had been that the Internet was just a f
ad and wouldn’t last.

  So, here I was trusting my instincts to bring me the perfect assistant/pet to get me through this period of strict orders to work from home by the government. I just hoped it ended up working out as well as my career choice had.

  Chapter Two

  Angie

  Of course there was a traffic jam. They occurred almost every day. One in the morning and one in the afternoon, like clockwork. They had become such a part of daily life in our area, in fact, that it had been nearly ten years since someone had died in a road-rage incident.

  It wouldn’t have been so annoying had I not left my house in such good time. For once in a long while, I had woken up before my alarm and had gotten out the door in what I thought was plenty of time.

  Who could have guessed that a tanker truck full of milk would flip itself in the middle of the freeway? One of those out-of-the-clear-blue-sky freak accidents where God might as well have left a note saying: NOT TODAY ANGIE!

  Since I didn’t have a chance of being on time anyway, I stopped in for a souvlaki on my way to the office. Having skipped breakfast in my concerted attempt to get to work early, I was not only late but also really hungry by my arrival.

  At least the firm had its own parking lot, with enough spaces to allot one even to the likes of me. At best I could call myself a mid-level administrative worker bee. On the other hand, at 22 I was one of the youngest employees at the firm outside of the interns.

  Brown bag in hand, I headed into the office block, three floors of power from which nearly a quarter of the western world got its Wi-Fi connections. At least, that was how the marketing department liked to sell it.

  “Late again?” Mitch asked from behind the security desk.

  “Looks like.”

  “Seagulls again?”

  “Milk truck. Flipped itself right over on the freeway.”

  “Terrible,” Mitch said, shaking his head in sympathy.

  Foregoing the nation’s slowest elevator, I took the three flights of stairs to the tippy top, where I was one of a crew of assistants dedicated to serving the brass of the company. Including, on rare occasion, the founder and president himself, Viktor Hallgrimsson. Rarely seen by mere mortals, he mostly kept to himself in his corner office.

  I had seen him more than most, my cubicle being near the glass wall of his office, the blinds of which were sometimes left open. I could honestly look at him for hours if it wouldn’t have been really creepy. He really was beautiful. Big, but still graceful. Strong, but with skin as smooth as gouda cheese. At least according to Mary, his receptionist, who claimed to have shaken his hand when first hired. I could honestly only imagine.

  He was also a lot older than me. And, word around the office had it, a lot more experienced.

  Not that it would take a lot for anyone to be more experienced than I was. I was still a virgin!

  I fortunately got to my cubicle without being noticed by anyone in power. Tension had been pretty high recently with both the big project and the impending lockdown. I carefully peeled back the foil wrapping holding the entire souvlaki together and ate my breakfast as neatly as I could, wiping off my hands before checking my email.

  I could have kicked myself black and blue for not checking my email first. Sitting there, along with the fandom newsletters and ads from cosplay companies, was an email from Viktor. Vik, as he was called. Not least because it was the first three letters of “Viking,” which was what he looked like. Just a much cleaner, modern version.

  Hand shaking, I clicked on the email that opened up a whole new world of options. I had to read it twice before the meaning of the message really sunk in. My English teacher would have been so ashamed.

  Assistant Needed to Travel with Vik to Remote Location to Continue Operations and Assist with Anything Else that May be Needed.

  For the first time in my life I was relieved not to have any family nearby or even a goldfish to call a dependent. An extended trip into the mountains was something I had always wanted to do. I had gone camping a few times near the base of our local range, trying to work my way up in the most literal sense, but had never had time for much more than a weekend trip into the foothills.

  And there would be Internet! Which really shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was.

  Then I got to the part about the money. There is no way to describe the sound that came forth from my lungs other than squeeeeee.

  I covered my mouth immediately and looked around to see if anyone had heard. If they had, they weren’t letting on. My dignity remained intact.

  I was definitely going to apply. I knew there would be crazy competition, but it was worth a try for the trip and money alone, not to mention the chance to get up close and personal with my sex god of a boss.

  I just wondered what the “extra duties” might be. I knew most of the business jargon they used around here, but that was a new one. I figured I would find out if I got chosen, but honestly, just about anything seemed worth it for such an awesome chance.

  Clearing my mind as well as I could, I started composing my response, first in my mind and then into the message box on my computer screen.

  I played up my sterling record with the company as well as my fairly numerous academic achievements, including but not limited to a degree in computer science from UCLA and an award for a programming competition I had received my sophomore year.

  I also mentioned my love of the outdoors, without directly stating my burning desire to go into the very mountains where the job would take me. It was heavily implied. I was sure he could figure it out.

  As the cherry on top - though I had no idea how literally at the time - I said that I was young, healthy, and ready and willing to complete any task or order he might need me to carry out.

  Clicking “send” with a sigh of both relief and satisfaction, I got on with the work of the day, majestic mountain views and dollar signs dancing gleefully in my head. Not to mention some sexual thoughts, as well.

  If I had been superstitious enough to believe in lucky rabbit’s feet, I would have rubbed one bald by the end of the day.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to think that this job would have no strings attached.

  But I was secretly hoping that I would be the one to be put on Vik’s strings.

  I was a little scared, but mostly excited.

  And I was really hoping he’d pick me.

  Chapter Three

  Vik

  Sleep deprivation could have some interesting physical effects. For example, the sensation of being both awake and drowsy at the same time. It generated a sort of fugue state in which I was neither energetic enough to be fully alert nor tired enough to go to sleep. The pot of coffee I drank before leaving the house no doubt had something to do with that.

  The email blast had gone even better than I had expected, and I had spent most of the night trying to whittle the number of applicants down to a much more manageable size. I only had a day to choose, after all, as I was planning to head up to my own little fiefdom by the next morning.

  Getting in early like I always did, I grabbed another cup of coffee and went to my office to prepare for the task ahead. Taking off my sneakers, I sat down in the middle of the floor, “Travel in Woods” on repeat in my earbuds. I did my best to get into a meditative state, which turned out to be a lot easier than usual.

  I was so deep in my own internal realm that I almost didn’t hear the knock from outside. Hitting the pause button, I tucked my iPhone back into the front pocket of my hoodie and went to answer the door.

  “Yes, Mary?”

  “The, uh, first applicant is here, sir,” she said, staring at the ground as usual.

  “Send her in,” I replied, going to sit at my desk.

  And so began the long process. The first few were obviously wrong for the position. I felt bad rejecting them basically out of hand. They had perfectly solid academic backgrounds and work records. I really hoped they wouldn’t think that I was judging them negatively on t
hose grounds.

  The real issue came into play in terms of the “extra duties.” I suspected that more than one of them might have actually been virgins and inexperienced in regular “vanilla” sex, let alone what I had in mind.

  Despite the reputation people like me were starting to get, especially thanks to certain asshole posers in the media, doms really are capable of empathy. BDSM isn’t really about pain. It’s about connection and power exchange.

  It’s an oddity, to be sure, and so it takes a certain kind of strange and wonderful person to really understand that. Let alone to be able to do it with any kind of dedication or conviction. There were dabblers and trenders, of course, but they didn’t tend to last very long.

  I tried to let them down gently, saying I would keep their information on file. Implying that I would contact them if they were chosen without giving the false hope of actually saying it, while also making sure they knew exactly how many applications I had gotten and how stiff the competition was.

  The next group was more promising. Sturdy, steely, and seemingly ready for anything, in both business and the bedroom. I made note of the ones that seemed like the best candidates. None of them was exactly what I was looking for but, as Freddie Mercury once said, “you can’t always get what you want.”

  I was about ready to pack it in and pick from the most optimistic prospects when the first of the last group came in. Normally I probably wouldn’t have looked twice. To be fair, I rarely did. She was pretty, in a gentle way.

  A large portion of her face was obscured by dark bangs and black, rectangular glasses. Even through them, though, I could tell she was quite attractive underneath. I tried to imagine what she would be like with her glasses off and hair swept to the side, and really liked what my mind showed me.

  She was more petite than the others, maybe 5’2 tops. She was curvy, and her proportions were more than lovely. Nice big hips, which I’d always liked; and breasts that, while not very big, were certainly noticeable, firm and well-shaped.