by Nikki Chase
As he orders, I wrap my hands around his shaft harder, hold on to it tighter, while my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. With my hair in his fist, Caine keeps my head still and fucks my mouth, pumping in and out of me. I feel it twitch a few times. Each time, it sends a thrill into my system that makes my clit throb with need.
“Fuck.” Caine pulls my hair painfully to get me out of the car. With his hand on the back of my head, he ravishes my lips with his, caressing and crushing me with his desire. “I’m going to fuck you now, and you’re going to like it. I’ll fill you up until your pussy remembers the shape of my cock, until your body craves me. I’m going to turn you into a slut for my cock.”
His dirty words, spoken between breathless kisses, spread heat across my cheeks, my ears, and my neck. Caine takes one look at my shame, smirks with satisfaction, and turns me around.
“Hands back on the seat, kitten,” he says with authority, like he owns my body.
I do as he says.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Caine’s cock pushes inside me, stretching my pussy walls, filling me up deeper than anything ever has. He grabs my hips and pulls me back as he slams into me.
His cock enters at a different angle compared to last night. Between shudders of ecstasy, my body notes how much deeper he goes. With the way he moves both his hips and mine, slamming them together, he’s also fucking me harder.
Caine grabs my head and pushes my face into the cushy seat. I bounce on the seat with every thrust. I squeeze my eyes shut as my arousal builds up. My body starts to shiver, and I let out a loud cry.
Then, the fucking stops.
“Fuck yourself with my cock. Slide up and down my shaft like the dirty girl you are,” Caine says.
Again, my body seems to know what to do. I want him inside me, and my hips rock back and forth to impale myself on him. Like Caine wants, I’m showing him how much I want him, how dirty I’ll be for him.
“Fuck, you’re such a dirty little thing.” Caine pulls me by the hair until my back is arching and my shoulders are touching his hard chest. He whispers in my ears, “I’m going to fuck you and fill you up. Your body will know that I own you, that your pussy belongs to me.”
Caine puts his hand on my throat and plunges in and out of me, grunting from the effort by my ear. The vulnerability of having my neck exposed to the strength of this man, who’s much bigger than I am, drives me over the edge. I explode with Caine’s thick, rock-hard cock inside me, pumping my pussy full of every drop of his hot come. I wail, my voice lost in the woods, my body convulsing and my pussy clenching, milking Caine’s pulsing cock.
We stand still and catch our breaths, Caine holding on to my hips and me holding on to the top of the car for balance. My legs are noodles. I’d crumple onto the dirt path if I didn’t hold on tight.
When Caine pulls his cock out of me, something warm dribbles out of me, a thick combination of his come and my wetness gliding down my inner thighs.
He kisses the back of my head gently, in contrast to his rough handling of my body only moments ago. He whispers, “My dirty fucking flower.”
Daisy
I look down as my ballet flats tread the marble floors carefully. I’ve already wiped them on the mat by the huge double doors at the entrance of this mansion, but I still feel too dirty to be here.
I hope I don’t leave any muddy footprints. A couple of women wearing black polo shirts and black pants turn toward us as we pass the giant antique vase they’re meticulously cleaning with rags.
Maybe they’re looking at Caine, but I can’t help feeling self-conscious. Are my shoes dirty? Am I leaving dirty shoe prints? Or am I the one who’s dirty?
Do they know what I’ve just done?
It’s impossible for them to tell that Caine has just fucked me in the woods while we were on our way here, but the mind is not always rational.
The truth is, this brings back some painfully vivid memories from my childhood, memories I’ve been trying to suppress, memories that have been plaguing me since I signed the contract with Caine.
I was nine, and my mom was with me, holding my hand as we walked down the school hallway. She didn’t always hold my hand. Looking back, maybe she was trying to draw strength from me.
I don’t even remember anymore why we were at school. All I remember is the other parents—the other mothers, especially. They were huddling together, whispering among themselves, their eyes flicking toward my mom accusingly, even when they knew she was looking.
It felt strange. The other kids had been avoiding me, but I had no idea the grown-ups were doing the same thing to my mom. What was wrong with us? Why did people shun us?
A few years after that, when I was a teenager, I made friends with a girl whose parents were at the same meeting. One day, I asked her about it.
“Oh yeah, I remember that day,” she said.
“I felt like people were staring at me and my mom. Maybe it was just my imagination.”
The girl, Anna I think her name was, went quiet.
“Did you feel like they were staring at us?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know why?”
She hesitated. After a pause, she said, “Back then, my mom told me to stay away from you, to just play with the other girls.”
“Why?” I asked, hurt but glad to finally get some answers.
“I didn’t know back then, and I didn’t ask. But now that she just found out we’re hanging out together a lot, she brought it up again, trying to tell me to avoid you. So I asked her why.”
“And?”
“She said you were a bad influence.”
“Why?” I frowned. I was a good student, and I always got good grades, despite the struggles we faced due to Mom’s inability to get her shit together.
“It wasn’t really about you,” Anna quickly added. Softly, she said, “It was your mom.”
“What about my mom?” I sigh. Of course she’d be the one behind this as well. Why wouldn’t she be?
“There were rumors about her. They were never confirmed. Nobody had any evidence.”
“What did the rumors say?” Knowing Mom, they were probably accurate. I knew she was capable of some messed up shit.
“They said one of the dads was having an affair with her. His wife wasn’t happy about that. She spread the news through the gossip mill. They called your mom a home wrecker.”
I winced. Of course. That’s exactly the kind of thing that she did. It had to be one of the married dads, too, when there were plenty of divorcees at school.
“Sorry,” Anna said. She was a sweet girl. “I tried to tell my mom she was being crazy. It wasn’t completely your mom’s fault. Nobody was blaming the man who actually cheated on his wife.”
I smile wryly at the memory. Of course nobody blamed the man. Nobody ever does.
That’s why, when I was growing up, I swore never to follow in my mother’s footsteps, never to let a man stain my reputation.
And yet, look at me now. Only hours ago, I was moaning and howling in ecstasy for a man who had bought my virginity. Not even my mom has ever sold her body—not as far as I know, at least.
I used to judge her for attaching herself like a parasite to her shitty boyfriends. I swore to be strong, to be independent, to be my own savior so I wouldn’t have to depend on any man’s pity to survive.
I’m realizing now that sometimes my own strength isn’t enough. Even when I try my best.
I tried so hard to leave that life, to separate myself from my mom, but maybe the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree after all.
Maybe I’ve just been dealt a bad hand in life, but so has she.
At least I don’t have her alcoholism, or chronic unemployment, so I’m making some kind of progress. Yay, I guess.
After these thirty days, though, I’ll go back to being a nurse. An upstanding, respectable member of society, instead of a wealthy man’s plaything.
Most importantly, I’
ll have enough money to pay off all my debts and put Jack through college, so he’ll have a better start in life. That apple better roll the hell away from the tree.
“Wait there,” Caine says, pointing at a cavernous room with an arrangement of giant couches around an oversized coffee table in the center.
I nod and, like a good lap dog, go sit on one of the couches. I pick the seat that gives me a view of the door through which Caine has just disappeared.
Seconds and minutes tick by on the big grandfather clock. I’m getting bored when I hear a familiar voice.
“Hey. Daisy, right?”
I turn around and see Todd, the cousin who came to Caine’s apartment yesterday. I guess now I know he’s actually related to Caine and not just a random stranger.
“Hi, Todd,” I say with a smile.
“Wow, I’m surprised to see you here.” He takes a seat beside me, making the couch cushion hiss from his weight.
“Oh?” I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows.
I don’t know how else to phrase a question without revealing how little I know about this place, given that Caine hasn’t told me anything about it.
I don’t even know if this place is a hotel or a private residence. It seems too quiet to be a hotel, but it seems too big to be anyone’s home.
I don’t like to ask Caine too many questions because I never know what would set him off. He let me use his phone to call home, but nobody picked up and I’m hoping he’ll let me try again later, so it’s best to keep him in a good mood.
“Yeah, Caine doesn’t ever bring a girl home,” Todd says. Okay, so this place isn’t too big to be a home after all.
“Do you live here?”
“Me? Oh, no. I came here with my dad. He’s in the office talking to Caine’s dad.”
I nod and give Todd a polite smile. So this is probably the Foster family home, then.
Strange how the same words can refer to completely different things. To me, the family home is an old, dilapidated house with leaky ceilings and broken tiles.
“You must be something special, Daisy.” Todd places his arm over the back of the couch so his hand is almost grazing my back. “First, Caine takes you to his apartment. And now, here.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, starting to get uncomfortable with how close Todd is, and with the general direction of this conversation. I don’t really want to tell Todd I’m only here because Caine bought my virginity and got a bonus of unlimited sex for a month.
It’s nice to interact with someone other than Caine, though. At least, when I’m talking to Todd, I don’t have to be anyone’s subservient sex doll.
“So, how long have you known each other?” Todd asks.
“Um, a few weeks.”
“Really?” Todd’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, making me wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. “I didn’t peg Caine as the type to move that fast.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track. It doesn’t feel like it has been a long time, but maybe it has.” I smile outwardly, while inside I’m worried about blowing my cover. I need to keep my mouth shut.
“Oh, I know what you mean. Sometimes time moves really fast when you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Exactly.” I’m glad he’s satisfied with the answer.
The door of what I assume is the office opens, and a man steps out. He’s older, with silver hair and silver eyes. He gives Todd a look and walks away without acknowledging me.
“That’s my dad. I have to go. See you around, Daisy.” Todd gets up.
“See you, Todd.” I heave a sigh of relief as he disappears down the hallway behind his dad.
After staring at the grandfather clock for exactly fourteen minutes, Caine emerges through the same door, looking annoyed.
That can’t be a good sign.
Caine
“Caine! Could it really be you?” The woman rushes with an agility that defies her size. She cups my face in her wrinkled hands. When she looks up at me, her eyes have filled with water.
What the fuck?
When I saw Pop and told him Bertha Jones was visiting relatives, he immediately knew where to find her.
He then insisted that I fly to Denver the very next day, which pissed me off because I’d just gotten home. Just because I travel a lot already doesn’t mean I like moving around so much in such a short time frame.
I literally told him, “We have her phone number. Why can’t you just call her yourself?”
Know what he said? “No, it has to be in person.”
That’s all. He didn’t even want to explain why, but put me through some bullshit to guilt-trip me into going. Which worked, annoyingly.
So, instead of going home for just one night, I decided to drive to the airport right away, with Daisy in the passenger seat.
I didn’t want to bother with unpacking and repacking my bag again. I thought I’d see Bertha Jones, have a short conversation, and fly back home. I finally have Daisy right where I want her, wrapped around my finger, and I’d like to enjoy it while it lasts.
Now, I don’t know if that was the right decision.
I’m sleep-deprived after the red-eye flight, but I can still handle a level-headed, light-hearted chat with my father’s old friend. Instead, I’m confronted by an emotional stranger who recognizes me as soon as she opens the front door.
“Bertha Jones?” I ask.
“Yes, dear. That’s me.” She pulls me into a hug and continues to cry into my chest, her tears soaking into my shirt.
“Can we sit down somewhere and talk?”
“Of course.” Bertha sniffles as she pulls away, her hands remaining on my arms. “You’re such a big, handsome man now.”
I give her a polite smile. I still have no idea what’s happening so it’s probably best to say nothing for now.
“And who’s this lovely young lady?” Bertha asks, shifting her attention to Daisy, who’s been standing awkwardly behind me on the porch.
“Hi, I’m Daisy.”
“Very nice to meet you, dear. Come in.”
The little bun of silver hair on Bertha’s head bobs up and down as she walks in front of me. A sweet smell fills the entire house. Laughter, shrieks, and conversation drifts out from the kitchen, where I see three adults and two kids making a mess on the stone counter.
“We’re baking,” Bertha says. “I would’ve made the cupcakes last night if I knew you were coming, so you could have some now.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The hallway opens into a living room with a couple of couches, where she tells us to sit.
“What brings you here?” Sitting beside me, Bertha fixes her sparkling blue eyes on me, her face excited and impassioned.
“My father wanted me to see you—”
“Oh!” Bertha raises her hands to cover her mouth and her eyes start to water again. “How is Robbie doing?”
Robbie? Just how close are they?
“He’s doing okay. He’s been having some minor health problems, but the doctors say that’s normal for his age.”
“Oh, I’m really glad to hear that.” She seems genuinely pleased by the news, which means they really haven’t connected with each other for a long time. So she’s not one of Pop’s recent lovers.
“He says he wants to see you, but he understands if you don’t.” I repeat my Pop’s message, word for word. It seems important to him that I relay this message accurately.
“Of course I want to see him,” Bertha replies quickly. “All this time I thought he didn’t want to see me.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. How do you know each other?” If Pop’s not going to tell me, I can at least find out from Bertha.
“He hasn’t told you?” Bertha furrows her brows.
“I don’t know what he’s supposed to have told me.”
“Oh, dear.”
“He said it’ll be clear when I see you.”
“Oh, dear,” she repeats. She takes my hand and
sandwiches it between both her hands. She scoots forward and angles her body to the side toward me. “I suppose that means he wants me to be the one to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Caine.” Bertha takes a big breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. She hesitates. Her eyes, which are still looking intensely at me, look troubled. “I don’t know how to say this, so I suppose I’ll just tell you the whole story from the beginning.”
“Please do,” I say, gripped by curiosity.
“Your father and I… We used to… We used to see each other,” she says.
So they were lovers, after all.
Bertha swallows, then continues, “That was thirty-six years ago.”
My heart starts to beat faster. No. She can’t mean…
I frown and look deep into her eyes, searching for truth. There’s no guile in those eyes. This is a good, honest woman. She’s not lying, and she knows exactly how I’d interpret her words.
“You mean…when my mother was still alive and married to him?”
“Yes,” she says with pain and regret in her voice.
I expected her answer, but I’m still taken aback. Maybe my parents didn’t have the best marriage, or the warmest relationship, but I never came across any indication that he’d cheated on her.
“I didn’t know he was married, though. Not in the beginning, at least. Not until it was too late,” she adds.
“What do you mean by ‘too late’?” I can already guess her answer. Deep down, I already know. I’ve had my suspicions for as long as I can remember.
“Well, it was too late when I got pregnant, dear. With you.”
She looks up at me with concern in her eyes, searching my face for signs of shock, or distress, or something. But I’ve trained myself to put on a good poker face.
“I’m your biological mother. I gave birth to you,” she says, making sure I understand.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” The words glide out of my mouth without even thinking.
I get up and quickly follow the path we took coming in, before this crazy revelation. Bertha calls my name from somewhere behind me, but her voice grows fainter and fainter.
