Stern Daddy

by Ava Sinclair

  “Y-yes…” I breathe the answer.

  “Push your bottom out.”

  The last four are delivered in steady succession. But they are controlled, and I realize that this isn’t about hurting me, but about his show of the raw power he’s already exercising over me less than twenty-four hours after I’ve arrived. Look how deeply I can touch you, is the message, and he’s right.

  If the pain in the wake of last night’s spanking was bad, the urgency in the wake of this one is worse. The tiny orgasm I had was a teaser that has left me wanting more. My lower belly is a ball of tension, my pussy throbbing hard with need of something I am terrified of revealing.

  “Stand up,” he says, and when I do I know my face is red hot with shame. I feel the tip of the pointer under my chin now as he tilts it up so that I’m looking at him. His eyes search my face, and the satisfaction I see in their depths reveals that he’s found what he’s looking for. He sees my dilated pupils, my parted lips, and despite the tear tracking down my cheeks, he’s well aware of the desire I’m trying to hide.

  He steps closer to me, close enough that I can smell the expensive aftershave, some kind of musk with a hint of amber and coriander. His lips part, too, and he leans in so slightly and my heart is thumping, thumping, thumping, because I think he is going to kiss me.

  He turns away and tosses the pointer on the desk.

  “I think that’s enough instruction for today, Lindsay. Now it’s time to hand you off to Mina, who will assist you in seeing to your chore list.” He pushes the intercom button on his desk and sits back down.

  His sudden withdrawal of attention is like being dashed with a bucket of cold water. I feel dejected, numb, left hanging like this. When the maid walks in and officiously directs me to follow her, I cast another glance in Silas’ direction. He does not look back, so I turn and exit the room, my bottom tingling under my dress.

  Chapter Four

  So much for being pampered.

  “Are you going to tell me there’s no dishwasher?”

  I’m staring in disbelief at a stack of dishes piled in the deep sink of the industrial kitchen more suited to a hotel than a house. Beside me, Mina assesses me coolly.

  “Per Mr. Stanton’s instructions, you are the dishwasher until further notice.”

  This, apparently, is the first thing on my chore list. Mina is dispassionate as she hands me an apron, which I resist from snatching from her hand in a show of peevish anger. I suspect he’s doing this—forcing me to take orders from a maid—to humble me, to remind me of my place. It’s working. Here I am, a college graduate, up to my elbows in dirty dishes obviously saved from at least two of the staff’s meals just so I could wash them.

  At least I don’t have to worry about a witness to my drudgery. Mina instructs me to ring the bell by the door when I’m finished so she can direct me to my next chore, which I fantasize is cleaning the ashes from all the fireplace, preferably with a retinue of singing mice.

  “Cinderelly, Cinderelly, we can do it, Cinderelly,” I sing in a high voice as I do the dishes. My words echo through the huge room, and my mind drifts from Disney fantasies to escape plots as I imagine how easy it would be to just leave and walk out while I’m unsupervised. But I know I won’t, just as surely as they know I won’t. While I don’t know what I’ll face during my stay here, I know what awaits there. And part of me is curious as to where this will lead. An unwitting young woman blackmailed into captivity by a tall, handsome stranger who keeps her as a child? It sounds like the imaginings of some kinky romance novelist. But this is my reality now, and I can’t help but replay how he made me bend over his desk, how he timed those wicked little whacks across my bottom. I fancy I could feel his gaze between my legs, watching as the patch of wetness grew to soak through my panties.

  My pussy ached. It still aches. I imagine Silas Stanton going further. I imagine the clink of his belt buckle as he unfastens it, imagine looking back to see him palming a thick, beautiful cock before…

  “Miss Clement…”

  I literally jump at the sound of Mina’s voice and turn to see her eying me quizzically.

  “What on Earth, girl?” she says, arching a brow. “You look like I just caught you stealing the silverware.”

  I blush, which is a feeling I’m starting to get used to. “No,” I mumble. “I was just finishing up, in fact.” And I am. The last water goblet is sparkling clean as I upend it onto a mat to the side of the sink. Mina walks over and inspects my line of clean dishes like a general inspecting troops.

  “Satisfactory,” she announces with a nod, and I realize that she’s going to be harder to please than her boss. “This way.”

  And here I go, toddling off after her again. As we head from the kitchen, I can’t help but notice how pretty she is with her tidy brunette bun, catlike eyes, pale skin, and fit body. I wonder if there’s a history between her and Silas Stanton. I wonder if he’s ever spanked her, and just the thought sends a stab of jealousy through my heart, which makes me feel ridiculous. I’m supposed to hate him, after all. Or, at the very least, resent the man who is forcing me to do his dishes.

  She leads me up the back stairs and it’s apparent now that we’re in the servants’ wing of the huge house. There’s a hallway with a row of rooms, and I’m reminded of Downton Abbey as she leads me to the doorway of the first one, which is tidy and comfortable but Spartan compared to the rest of the house.

  “Staff housing.” Mina turns to announce what I already guessed. She turns to open a closet across from the room. Inside is a bucket of supplies. “Each room has its own bath. You’ll need to scrub the sinks, the bathtubs, and the toilets.”

  “The… toilets?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Here, even menial servants are afforded such dignities.” She hands me the bucket. “Any questions?”

  “Yeah,” I say, snatching the bucket from her hand. “How’s your portfolio?”

  She smirks. “Impressive, Miss Clement,” she answers. “See you in an hour.”

  * * *

  I clean until lunchtime, which I do not share with my host-turned-captor. After I wash up, I’m placed in the kitchen where lunch is served with the rest of the staff. There’s Raj, the actual chauffeur, an Indian man with a hearty laugh. There’s Mina, of course, who I take it to be the below-stairs alpha by the way the others greet her. There’s Mrs. Kim, as jovial as ever. There are two gardeners—ruddy-faced men who insist on reminding everyone how lucky they are to be inside on such a cold day. And then there’s the butler, James Givens, who winks at me every time I look his way.

  Lunch, at least, is good. It’s salmon steak with asparagus and herbed cauliflower mash and buttery yeast rolls—fancy fare for a midday meal. But by their reaction, I suspect this is what they’re used to.

  They largely ignore me as they eat, except for the winking butler, whom I begin to aggressively ignore. It doesn’t surprise me that part of their conversation is about the rise in the stock market, and about the morning job numbers per the Wall Street Journal. The entire staff is a bunch of junior financial savants, it turns out, and soon they are arguing the merits of investing in tech versus energy futures and my head is starting to ache. And things don’t get much better after lunch when I’m informed that it is my job to collect the pots, pans, and dishes and wash them.

  It turns out to be my final chore of the day. Mina announces that I’m allowed free time in my quarters. It’s only when I’m back in my childish room that I discover there are some adult amenities. What I thought was a pastoral oil painting of a sheep meadow is a sliding panel that hides a television. I turn on the news long enough to ascertain that nothing major has happened I should know about, then switch over to Netflix, where I deliberately avoid romantic movies that could feed unrealistic fantasies.

  I consider Kingsman, but the last thing I need is a movie where sexy sartorial gentlemen are cast in leading roles. Terminator 2 seems a better choice, and I turn up the volume in hopes that the explosion
s and gunfire will reverberate throughout the house.

  And this is how I spend the rest of my day—bored to death, watching movies, and feeling sorry for myself. I even dine alone when Mrs. Kim comes up with a tray—tender roast beef, tomato bisque, salad, and a piece of lemon meringue pie.

  I speak to no one else until much later, when Mina breezes in to tell me it’s time for me to take a bath.

  “I’ll draw your water and lay out your gown,” she says, and just like that I’m back in the role of pampered houseguest.

  “What kind of bath oil do you prefer?” she calls from the en suite attached to my room. “Lily of the valley, gardenia, or lavender?”

  “Um… lily of the valley,” I say.

  “Excellent choice,” she calls. “That’s the boss’ favorite.”

  “How do you know?” I ask the question before I can stop myself. She’s standing in the doorway now.

  “Because he told me,” she said. “He keeps a variety of fragrances available. His girls usually like gardenia or lavender, but he likes lily of the valley the best.”

  “His… girls?”

  If I expected a follow-up, I don’t get one. Mina smiles enigmatically and goes back into the bathroom to shut off the water.

  “Your gown and underthings are on the bed. There’s a hamper for today’s clothes. Mr. Stanton will be up to see you at eight. Word of advice: don’t let him come in to find you out of bed. He’ll expect you to be tucked in.”

  I lock the door behind her when she leaves and strip down in front of the mirror.

  Silly thing. I chide myself as I survey the body I’d hoped to use to beguile and bewitch an older man. Now a younger man is using it against me, knowing where to stroke and smack to awake pleasure centers I never even knew existed. Can I possibly regain control?

  I gaze at my round breasts with their upturned nipples, my long waist and pleasantly flared hips, the smooth ‘v’ of my labia. I turn. Is it my imagination, or has my bottom retained just the hint of pink from last night’s spanking? I cup my lower cheeks, rubbing my palms across the barely visible lines left by the pointer. I fancy I can smell my own arousal. Could he?

  I turn and climb into the tub, sinking into the water as if that will somehow drown my shame. But just the thought of what he does to me has awakened the need, and my pussy is pulsing again. I slide my hands through the water, down my stomach, between my legs. My fingers find my inner labia, slick and swollen. My clit is hard. Just a few slow rubs while thinking about Silas Stanton’s hands and I’m bucking into my own as an orgasm ripples through my body.

  The fragrant water envelops me like a blanket and I allow myself to relax as the tension ebbs out of my body. But it returns as soon as I recall Mina’s words about the ‘other girls.’ Was she talking about girlfriends? Or has he played this game before?

  I sink under the water, come up, and wash my hair. The water is starting to cool and I need to get out before my skin goes pruny. I dry myself, dry my hair, and don my panties—white cotton, of course—and a cute nightgown with intricate smocking on the bodice.

  By eight I’m tucked in, and by 8:15 I tell myself that Silas is not going to show up, and that I don’t care if he does or not. And that’s when he does arrive, smiling at me from the doorway like we’re best of friends.

  “Hello, little one. Sorry I’m late.”

  He breezes in and walks to the bookshelf, where he picks up a large collection of fairy tales. I remain silent as he pulls a chair from the table, pulls it bedside, and sits down.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m going to read you a story.”

  “A story? For real? Is it about the little Equity Fund that could?”

  He chuckles. “And here I was thinking today would have dampened your sarcasm.” Then his smile fades and he turns serious. “I’m quite proud of you. Mina says you are a hard worker.”

  “My supervisor at Lindel could have told you that.”

  “Touché, my dear.” He grows quiet. “You think I’m being mean.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you think I am.”

  “Maybe.” I swallow, growing nervous. “Mina said something…”

  “What did she say?”

  “When she was running my bath. She mentioned other girls.” I force myself to ask the question I’m not sure I want him to answer. “You’ve done this before?”

  “Yes.” The response comes easily. He sighs. “You’re disappointed.”

  “No… no…” I pluck at the edge of the blanket and shrug. “I mean, I have no right to be. I don’t know you.”

  “I’m not like other men,” he says. “I don’t form conventional relationships. My needs, my tastes. They are rather specialized. I derive satisfaction from an intense sort of mentoring. It is my pleasure to help young ladies like you fulfill their potential.”

  “You don’t think that’s arrogant?” I ask. “Thinking you’re in a position to… regress someone into being better?”

  “Do you hate it?”

  I want to lie, but I’ve been told not to.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what I think,” I say.

  “If it makes it any easier, Lindsay, every time I take a young lady in—and I’m terribly careful in my choices—I learn just as much as she does. That’s how these things work. I need to take the paternal role, but I can’t without a partner who brings out the best in me.”

  I ponder this. “And how long do these… arrangements last?”

  “Until what I provide is no longer needed. Until she outgrows me.” There’s a hint of sadness to his voice. He sits back and crosses his legs, placing the book on his knee. “So, Lindsay, what fairy tale is your favorite?”

  “One with a happy ending,” I say. I peer over the top of the book. “Those are the original fairy tales, are they? A lot of them ended badly.”

  He grins. “So they did.”

  “The Little Mermaid turned to sea foam, and the wicked queen in Snow White was made to dance in red-hot shoes until she dropped dead.”

  “Do you like to dance?” he asks.

  “Not in red-hot shoes.”

  He laughs.

  “How about in bare feet.”

  I shrug. “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “Show me.” He rises and walks to the shelf, where there’s a record player. He puts on a record—Tchaikovsky’s ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.’

  I start to hum along with it.

  “You know it?” He arches a brow.

  “Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Who hasn’t seen Fantasia?”

  This seems to delight him. Silas laughs—actually laughs—and I start to dance around the room, utilizing the four years of ballet I took in my youth. I twirl and spin, and bow on my tippy toes as I bend to sweep past him. He puts the book aside and turns the chair so he can better watch me. I’m enjoying his reaction, enjoying myself. It’s the first time since I’ve arrived that I’ve been able to feel playful. When the record ends, I’m almost disappointed.

  “Come here,” he says. He’s not smiling. His expression is serious again, but not stern. When I don’t immediately move, he repeats the command. “Lindsay, come here.”

  I walk over. He reaches out and pulls me into his lap.

  “It was very difficult for me to take such a stern stance last night. You looked so scared. I wanted to hold you, just like this, but I knew I had to secure you first.”

  “You mean blackmail me.”

  “You’d have run otherwise. I didn’t want you to slip away. I wanted you to stay long enough to see how good it could be.”

  “How good what could be?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He doesn’t directly answer my question. “The way you bent over my desk, your pussy so wet… you’re a submissive, Lindsay. Your body invites control, begs for it. You need a man who can master you.”

  “Is that what this is about? Getting me into bed?”

 
“Not if you don’t want it to be.” He tilts his head. “Do you want me to fuck you, little one? Do you want me to spread those sweet thighs and shove my cock into your hot little pussy?” He pauses. “Because as much as I would bend you to my will, that is one thing I will not do unless you say two words.”

  “What two words?” I whisper.

  He lifts my hair and puts his lips an inch from my ear. “Please, Daddy,” he says, and those words, the heated breath that carries them, send a shudder through my body.

  Silas leans back and looks at me. For the first time he’s waiting for my permission. I should say no. This isn’t right. I don’t know him, and what I do know should warn me away. He tricked me, blackmailed me, spanked me. But he’s given me a taste of the forbidden and my body is screaming for more. He’s awakened me to the heady thrill of being dominated, and I want to know how far he can take me.

  “Please, Daddy.”

  He stands up and lays me down on the bed.

  “You’re trembling,” he says.

  “I am?” I realize he’s right. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s sweet. Are you afraid?”

  “I shouldn’t be. I’m not a virgin. But I am a little scared…”

  He kisses me on the lips, softly, chastely, and stands up. “You’re safe with me, Lindsay,” he says.

  I watch as he removes his jacket, his cufflinks. He winks at me as he puts them in his shirt pocket. He unbuttons his shirt. Damn. His body is perfect. He’s toned, his muscles beautifully defined from his strong arms to the perfect mounds of his pectorals to his chiseled abs. He sits and removes his socks and shoes then stands back up and I cannot control the boldness of my gaze, fixed now on the large hands unbuckling the leather belt. A tremor runs through my body at the sound of his zipper sliding down. As he steps out of his trousers, my eyes move to the bulge evident in his crisp white underwear. And when he slides those down, too, I stifle a gasp.

  His rapidly stiffening cock is as beautiful as the rest of him. Veins traverse its generous length. Like the rest of him, it looks powerful. I want it inside me.