Mastering Inga (Service & Submission Book 2)
Page 2
He had about an hour before Madalyn would be awake. It wouldn't be enough time to get the dishes done and clean up the kitchen though. It was just like every other day — too much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it.
That night, while the children watched a movie, he‘d gathered the laundry and vacuumed, bone tired in both body and soul.
He hoped that the nanny service would bring help quickly.
* * *
Inga sat on her bed brushing her hair. The agency had sent her an ad from a widowed surgeon in the States who had been looking for a nanny, preferably a European nanny to live in his house, care for his two toddlers, and take care of the running of the house. She picked up the pictures of him with the children, the property, and her living quarters. Mr. Anderson with his brown curly hair and green eyes, appeared younger than his thirty-six years.. He had laugh lines, which was always a good sign. But upon closer inspection, she could see the vertical lines between his eyebrows, something that made her picture a man concentrating, studying, being serious.
She focused on his laugh lines. She liked to laugh and play, and she needed someone who would appreciate that. He appeared to be around six feet tall, slender, but muscular. The paper said he was a hand surgeon. He appeared to be laughing in the picture, and looking at the warmth in his gaze, she wondered if he was the type of man where his children were the center of his world. She hoped so, anyway.
His little girl — what was her name? She pulled the paper up again — Madalyn. She closed her eyes and said it out loud.
“Madalyn.”
The girl had dark hair and eyes. She must have taken after her mother. She had delicate features on ivory skin, long, dark eyelashes framing her eyes. But her smile was definitely her father’s.
The little boy — Liam — took much more after his dad. He looked like a younger, fairer version of his handsome father. Liam had blond hair and blue eyes that would probably turn a pretty green by the time he was a teenager. He had deep dimples as he smiled in his picture, and again she wondered if those might have came from his mother. He still had the pudginess of a baby moving into toddlerhood. She imagined him, waiting for the picture to be taken, bouncing on his feet , with all the vigor of a child who couldn’t wait to explore life.
When she looked at the picture Mr. Anderson had sent, they looked like a normal family. She would have never guessed the pain and heartache they’d suffered in such a short time. What an awful situation to be in. This family would require extra care and sensitivity. She was pretty sure that the house would be a mess and that the children would need to re-establish routines again.
Inga had decided she would take the job as soon as she’d read his letter, and saw the pictures. This would be a perfect home for her. She loved serving... in every sense of the word.
Don't get ahead of yourself, Inga. You have no idea what he's like – or what he likes.
Still, a part of her wondered — and longed.
Inga looked at his hands. They were the hands of a white-collar worker, and definitely matched how she’d imagined a surgeon’s hands might look. Long, slender fingers, smooth but strong. How would those fingers feel sliding into her pussy, squeezing and caressing her breasts? She visualized sucking those fingers, their smoothness gliding upon her tongue. How would those hands feel spanking her bottom? With those long fingers, she knew his hand would cover a large area, if not all of her bottom.
Inga moved her hand into her panties, the other slipping inside her bra, massaging her nipples. She brought the juices from her pussy up to her clit, lightly circling it with feathery touches. She imagined his hand was the one in her panties. She focused on his long, slender fingers in the picture, imagining how smooth and soft they would feel, wet with her juices as they slid over her smooth labia. He would bring his finger to her clit, while his other hand would knead her breast, pulling and pinching her nipple. Inga rolled onto her stomach on the bed, imagining that she was over his knee getting a spanking.
What would he be like as a disciplinarian? Would he scold? Would he be the stern and silent type?
She continued stroking her clit, reaching over and grabbing her rabbit vibrator, flipping the switch to turn it on. She pressed the cold latex into her pussy, initially feeling resistance until it was coated with her juices, her sex adjusting to the length and girth. She twisted the rabbit until the vibrating ears hugged her clit. Grinding and humping the toy in a slow, steady rhythm, she imagined herself moving the very same way on his muscular thigh, as those soft hands of steel rained down smarting spanks onto her naughty bottom. She imagined the feel of his denim pants brushing roughly against her bare pussy, her juices soaking the denim to his thigh, the sticky wet spot rubbing on her labia as she ground her pussy into hard, unyielding muscle.
Her sex squeezed the vibrating length. She flicked a button on the handle and the Rabbit twisted in a circle, the vibrating head brushing her cervix. Grasping the handle, she pressed it against her vagina. When she twisted the rabbit, it would slide over her g-spot. Alternating between thrusting against her cervix, gliding the spinning, hard rubber along the wall of her pussy. Each time it gently stroked over her g-spot, the muscles of her womb clenched, her hips thrusting in response to the spasms.
She lifted her hips, slowly rotating them, then pressed down hard and fast onto the dildo, her thighs shaking as her arousal climbed. She moved her hips in short, quick motions to the left and right, the ears of the rabbit stroking her clit, making the juices in her sex seep down onto the hard rubber. Again, she pressed down onto the mattress and the rabbit, imagining that she was clenching her bottom in pain. The tightening of her ass and thighs made her clit strain for release, escaping from the little hood exposing the bundle of nerves to the increased vibrations.
She took quick intakes of breath saying quietly, “Oh God, oh, God!” until her orgasm hit. Blinding white stars burst behind her closed eyelids and she groaned, thrusting her hips. Her sex clenched around the slick, vibrating length, her body shivering and convulsing with the final spasms. She continued to grind slowly as she came down from the orgasmic high, until her sensitive clit begged her to shut the vibrations off.
She let the rotating rubber cock continue stroking her sex until her breathing was back to normal, and she fell asleep on her belly, the rabbit still in place, comforting and caressing her, filling the void she wanted filled by a man. And hopefully soon.
Yes indeed, Garrett Anderson, you’ve just acquired your very own Swedish, live-in nanny, cook, cleaner, and maybe even more. I hope you’re ready.
Chapter Two
Garrett looked around the house, feeling pleased with his progress. It wasn’t as clean as Anne would have made it, but it was clean enough. His mother, sister, and mother-in-law had come to the house with pails, cloths, and cleaning supplies, and they’d done their best to get it in order. The last thing he wanted would be for Inga to turn right back around as soon as she saw the state of his house.
He’d received a letter back from Inga, and she’d seemed very anxious to meet them all. She’d sent a picture, and he’d completed the necessary background check and finger print checks. She came out clean for the background check and fingerprints, and she had excellent references. They’d Skyped one evening… and her voice was the hottest thing he had heard in ages.
Perhaps his reaction had been due to the fact it has been more than eight months since he’d had any sexual activity that wasn’t self-initiated — and self-fulfilled — but whatever the reason, merely talking to her had him hard as a rock by the end of the conversation. He hoped that didn’t continue. It could prove to be a very difficult situation indeed in the Anderson household.
He’d dressed Madalyn in a cute little pink dress, and Liam in a cute set of overalls with a red shirt. He initially worried about their appearance, then had decided he was being an idiot. They were babies, they’d be fine. She knew children and knew that he had absolutely no control over their reaction to her at this
They missed her just as much as he did, but it was sometimes difficult to answer their questions.
Just recently, Madalyn had been confused about where Mommy was and she’d asked him, “Daddy, why did Mommy look like she was sleeping in that box at that building?”
Garrett had paused. “What box, sweetie? At what building?”
Madalyn had sighed in exasperation. “The building that had all the pretty flowers in it. Everyone stood in line to stare at Mommy. Was that Heaven? Grandma says Heaven is real pretty and she says Mommy is in Heaven. So that building was full of flowers and was real pretty, and it must be Heaven. Mommy looked like she was sleeping. How do we know she wasn’t sleeping, Daddy?”
God, here we go. How do I answer these questions?
Garrett had taken a deep breath. “Well, first that building wasn’t Heaven. I know it was pretty, and it had a lot of flowers, but that building is what we call a funeral home.”
She’d questioned further. “But Mommy is in Heaven, right?”
Garrett had been raised to believe this, and underneath it all, he probably still believed Anne was in Heaven. But with the sadness and anger he’d been feeling, it was difficult for him to acknowledge there was even a God anymore.
What God takes away a woman at thirty-four years old — suddenly — and leaves two small children without a mother?
“Yes, sweetie. Grandma is right. Mommy’s in Heaven and it’s very pretty.” He’d fallen back on his upbringing, and repeated the phrases he’d often heard as a child.
Madalyn had scrunched up her eyebrows. “Does she live in that box they had her in at that funnel house?”
Garrett had chuckled. “Funeral home. No, she doesn’t live in that box. That’s just so people could see her.”
Madalyn had nodded. She’d seemed satisfied with the answer, at least for the time being. Madalyn wasn’t quite done though. “But, Daddy, she looked like she was sleeping. She looked like that in bed when it was early in the morning. How do we know she wasn’t just sleeping? Maybe she’s in Heaven by mistake?”
Garrett had pulled Madalyn into his lap. “Mommy wasn’t sleeping, sweetie. Mommy’s dead. She’s not coming back.” Garrett had fixed her pony tail while they were talking, letting the task give him time to formulate his response. “You know how your toys stop working, and we say that the batteries are dead?”
Madalyn had nodded.
“It’s like that, except nobody can put batteries back in. Once the batteries die, there aren’t any more left. Mommy’s batteries stopped working.”
Madalyn had sat staring into space for a while. Finally, she’d nodded, tears in her eyes. “Just like my CD player. When the batteries died, it didn’t play music anymore. Mommy’s music is gone.” She’d nodded again, as if to confirm her conclusion. “And she can’t laugh or talk anymore, right, Daddy?”
The tears had burned his eyes then, and he’d swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yes, sweetie, Mommy’s music is gone. She can’t laugh or talk.” He’d wiped the tears off her little face, looking her in the eyes. “I miss her too, Madalyn.”
He couldn’t hold his own tears back anymore, and before he could swipe at them, Madalyn threw her arms around his neck, and they’d just held one another, crying and rocking back and forth.
And that’s how the questions usually happened. Sporadic and impromptu, coming when he’d least expected them. He found it difficult to know what to say, and when the discussions were over, as painful as they were, the one thing he’d worried about most… was simply saying the right thing.
* * *
Inga had flown into the States at dawn after taking a red-eye flight from Sweden. The international nanny company came to pick her up from the airport, and put her up at a local hotel until her visit at Garrett’s house the next day.
Garrett was very thorough. She liked that. He had meticulously checked her background and had a private agency do a background check at his expense. He had written, emailed, and Skyped with her several times before the trip. He had areas of his life that were obviously very organized, but overall during their conversations and correspondence, he’d seemed a little… scattered.
He was professional in all his contacts with her. He explained that they were recovering from losing Anne, but still had many days that were more than difficult in their house — grief was something they dealt with often.
Once when they’d Skyped, he was in a t-shirt that had food stains on it with a wisp of what looked like red paint on the shoulder — in the shape of a little finger. He was a good Daddy. She saw it when the kids interrupted their session,, heard it when he talked about his babies. He was actively involved with any and all issues relating to their safety, health and happiness. It was wonderful to see.
When he smiled, his eyes twinkled, the laugh lines at the corners hinting at a sense of humor he’d only let her see glimpses of so far. She wondered if she would be able to help him revive that humor fully. Sometimes death changed a person, forever.
He had told her it would be better to introduce her to the children when she came to the house. He didn’t want to take a chance on something going wrong, and the children ending up disappointed. He was very sensitive and protective of them. She liked that about him.
Now, she was on her way to his house to meet him in person — and live there. It all seemed so strange. She’d worked in America before, so she had all the Visas and required documents to work here. It wasn’t the adjustment to the culture that had her nervous, nor was it the language — she spoke fluent English. What concerned her was whether or not she’d be able to help them. She wanted to help the family transition through their grief, bring some happiness into their lives.
Her driver exited off the freeway, and she looked out her window at the neighborhood. They lived in one of the housing tracts that Americans seemed to love. They all looked the same.
Then he car turned into a driveway, her driver informing her that this was it. He got out and popped the trunk, pulling her bags out and setting them on the concrete next to the car.
The home’s landscaping was dominated by trees and bushes, a small lawn tucked underneath the foliage — all very neat and orderly. From the outside, the house looked well-manicured and neat with a minivan in the driveway. But she knew that inside that house, sadness and anxiety prevailed.
She fixed her jeans and sweater as she stepped out of the car, hoping she appeared casual, but ready to work. She’d asked the driver to stay, just in case this was not for her. She didn’t relish the possibility of having to inform the agency she’d rejected the assignment. It would’ve made for a long, depressing flight back to Sweden.
But she had to be careful, nonetheless.
Garrett stepped out of the front door with Liam in his arms, and Madalyn following right behind him with her little arm clinging to his thigh.
For a moment, he paused on the porch, so she went to him rather than make him drag Madalyn all the way out to the driveway. Garret shook Inga’s hand, his grip not too firm, but not too gentle either. He was tall and muscled, his picture not doing his physique justice. She didn’t have heels on, and had to look at him. When Inga squatted down to meet the children, he knelt also.
He put a hand up, saying quietly to Inga, “Let me speak to them first.” He turned back to the kids. “Madalyn. Liam. This is Miss Inga. She’s going to live with us for a while. You won’t have to go to the daycare anymore, and she’s going to take care of you. She’ll be cooking and cleaning too.”
Madalyn brightened. “Just like Mommy.”
Garrett and Inga said in unison. “No.”
They looked at each other in surprise, nodding in amused commiseration.
He was about to say something to her, when Inga put her own hand up. He quirked an eyebrow at her, but stayed silent.
“Not like Mommy,” Inga said, in the gentlest voice she could muster. “What Mommy did was special. I’ll do my best to make you happy, feed you, and play games — but I’ll never be your Mommy. I’m going to be doing some of the things your Mommy used to do for you, but I’ll be your Nanny. I hope we can be great friends.”
Liam leaned forward taking her hand in his, gently stroking the back of her hand as he smiled at her. He was flirting, and for some reason Garrett seemed embarrassed and proud at the same time. Garrett’s reaction made her smile. Men loved watching their sons — even at that age — flirting with a woman. A primal response, a continuing of the species, she supposed.
Madalyn was careful though, more reticent than her brother. Inga watched Madalyn staring at her for a moment, processing what’d been said. “I miss my Mommy. Daddy and Liam are sad too. I want to be happy. I’m glad you aren’t Mommy, Miss Inga, but I’m glad there’s gonna be another girl again.”
And that was it. Inga had been accepted because she was “a girl.” Madalyn appeared concerned that there had been an unbalance in the house. Madalyn apparently felt life would be back to normal with a woman in the house. Someone who would do the things her mother did, but someone who had a female touch. Someone feminine.
Garrett seemed a little embarrassed but reluctantly confirmed by nodding. “We definitely need a girl in the house again. A grown-up girl.”
Inga laughed. “Well after my first prank, or the day I make my first mess in the house, you may not be glad there’s another girl in the house, Mr. Anderson.”
Garrett’s eyebrows furrowed. “Garrett. Please call me Garrett, Miss Inga. I’m not sure I’m into pranks, and I’m hiring you to prevent messes. Neither of those behaviors will be well-received, unless you have a good reason.”
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