by Lucy Wild
I turned and scowled at him. He averted his eyes, looking down at the desk. “I’ll put it in two envelopes,” he muttered as I stormed off to the lifts, gripping the plans tighter.
Simon Green had backed me into a corner. He had no idea what he’d done. If you’re backed into a corner, there’s only one decision to make. Quit or fight.
Quitting wasn’t my style.
ELEVEN
DONNA
I didn’t feel like a cleaner as I walked up to his house. I felt like an imposter. Did he know I wanted far more than to clean for him? That I wanted to get on my knees for entirely different reasons?
Was he really going to pay me a grand a day? It felt too good to be true. Having seen the state of his house, I knew I was going to be working hard for the money. Was this a trick? I felt suddenly self conscious. I couldn’t work out how but something told me he wasn’t just doing this because he needed a cleaner. There was something more to it, something I didn’t understand yet.
I reached his house just before nine, taking a deep breath before knocking on the front door. Nothing happened for a long time and I was just beginning to think he wasn’t in when the door swung open and there he was, a grimace on his face as he looked out at me.
“Torn jeans and a white tee-shirt,” he said, running his eyes up and down me. “Interesting choice.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. For now. I will supply you with something more appropriate for tomorrow. What size are you?”
He asked me so directly, I just answered without stopping to think. “Eight, why?”
“Don’t keep asking questions. You’re here to work. Into the kitchen and get started.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, slapping a sarcastic salute to the side of my head.
He frowned at me. “You will not call me Sir. You will call me-” he paused as if thinking for a moment, “-Daddy. Understood?”
“For a grand a day, I’ll call you the grand high poobah of Ummigummiwoowah if you like?”
“Daddy will be fine. And I will call you my little princess.”
“Or Donna which is my name.”
“My little princess. Into the kitchen.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He smiled, the first smile I’d seen on his lips. What had felt strange about calling him Daddy was how natural it felt, like I really was his little princess. It was a feeling I didn’t understand but what was an eccentric playwright without some eccentricities? If he wanted me to call him that, well that was just fine with me. I could picture him as my Daddy too if I wanted. There was no harm in it, was there?
He led the way into the kitchen, pointing at the sink as he turned to face me again. “You can start by washing up.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, looking across at the mountain of pots that needed washing. I ran my finger into the flow of water. “It’s cold.”
“Is it? Hold on. Turn it off a second.”
He pulled open the cupboard door under the sink, getting down onto his knees and then twisting onto his side. I heard various noises from underneath me and then he said, “How’s that?”
I turned the tap on again but nothing came out at all this time. “It’s not coming out.”
“Right, hang on.”
More noises.
“Try it again.”
I twisted the tap to the right and a spray of water jetted out so fast it hit the sink and bounced upwards, splashing over my chest. I screamed and jumped backwards, the air pushed out of my lungs by the intense cold of the water soaking into my tee-shirt. In the time it took me to take a gasping breath, he was out from under the sink, turning the tap down before turning to face me. His eyes went straight to my chest, staring intensely at it. I looked down and saw the reason why. The water had turned my tee-shirt almost completely see through. My bra was visible through the fabric and the cold had hardened my nipples so they stuck aggressively forward, pressing against the wet cloth, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“It should be hot now,” he said, tearing his eyes from my chest. “You better get started.”
“In this? I’m soaked.”
“You’re welcome to take it off,” he said, a wicked grin on his face.
“No, thank you.”
“Then stop complaining and get to work. You want to get paid, don’t you?”
He headed out of the kitchen, leaving me to run my hands down my chest, scrunching up the fabric in my hands, trying my best to wring out at least some of the water that was soaking me. I tried to ignore the unpleasant wetness, filling the sink with hot water, wondering if he’d done that deliberately before telling myself I was being paranoid. There was no way he was that malicious. But my nipples continued to tingle for some time as I thought about the way he’d looked at me, like he was hungry for my body, so hungry he might not be able to resist eating me for much longer.
I distracted myself with the work, getting through the pots one after another, my top slowly drying as I worked. By the time I was done, my hands were wrinkled from the water and I’d used the entire bottle of washing up liquid that had been left by the sink. I placed the last plate on the draining board and sighed. Already the kitchen looked better.
The feeling felt so good I wanted to keep it so I got to work on the rest of the kitchen, piling up the boxes in one corner, sorting the rubbish into bags and dumping them in a heap outside the back door, ready for him to deal with when he was ready. I got the table cleared and cleaned, before washing my hands and then flicking on the kettle. While I waited for it to boil, I explored the cupboards, finding a still sealed fruitcake incongruously perched between teacups. In a couple of minutes I had everything I needed.
I walked through the house, listening for him. Behind a closed door I could hear the clack clack of a keyboard so I knocked on the door and waited. “Yes?” he shouted. “Is that my little princess?”
“It is, Daddy,” I replied, pushing open the door. “I’m all done.”
“Rubbish. You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Right, well we’ll soon see about that, won’t we?”
He stood up and marched past me, striding down the hallway into the kitchen, stopping dead in the doorway.
“Well?” I asked, catching up with him. “Are you going to sit down?”
He looked back at me and then at the table, the two places laid ready with tea and cake. “This is my kitchen?” He sounded bewildered.
I grinned. “That’s what cleaners are for. That and making tea.”
He sat down opposite me, the mug dwarfed in his enormous hand. “You’ve done a good job,” he said after a lengthy silence. “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
He lapsed into silence for a few more minutes. “So,” he said at last. “Why did you move here?”
“What?”
“To Scarton, what brought you here?”
“I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. Are you on the run from the law? Rob a couple of banks?”
“I…I had to get away from something. What do you want me to clean next?”
“That will do for today. You’ve worked very hard. You may go home. Be back at nine again tomorrow.”
I got up, carrying the pots to the sink.
“Leave them until tomorrow,” he said, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a can of oil. “Here, take this with you.”
“What on earth for?”
“To stop your front door squeaking.”
TWELVE
DONNA
I thought of him the next morning when I opened my front door. It didn’t make a sound, so much better than the scraping squeak of the last couple of days. I made my way up to his house in time for nine o’clock, knocking on the door once again. He appeared much quicker, a bag in his hand. “Go into the bathroom and change into this,” he said, thrusting the back i
nto my hand.
“What is it?”
“A more appropriate uniform for my little princess.”
I took the bag from him and headed upstairs, making the sure the bathroom door was closed before reaching into the bag and pulling out a maid’s uniform. Did he really expect me to wear it? I asked myself but then I thought of the money, and of the way he’d looked at me yesterday when my top was wet. Somewhere deep inside me, a tingling began to grow as I pulled off my tee-shirt. The tingling developed into butterflies as I slid down my jeans, standing in my underwear in his bathroom, in my Daddy’s house. I was his little princess and I was going to play dressing up for his amusement.
The only odd thing about it was how normal it felt to climb into the black dress. It fitted me perfectly but it was like no maid uniform I’d ever seen before. It was so low cut, my bra was visible at the bottom of my cleavage. The hem of it was as short as the dress he’d given me during the storm, and looking at myself in the mirror made the butterflies grow in my tummy. I felt nervous about what he’d think of me in it. Had he known it would look like this on me? Had he made a mistake when ordering it?
I stepped out of the bathroom to find him waiting at the top of the stairs. “That looks better,” he said, glancing down at the dress. “Much better.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I replied.
“You are to clean the stairs and then the bathroom. I want each step brushed and the skirting scrubbed. Understood?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I had to squeeze past him to head downstairs and as I did so, I felt his body brush against mine. Just the feel of him was enough to make my heart skip a beat as I descended to the hallway. I turned, picking up the spray and cloth he’d put on the bottom step for me. I began to scrub at the wall by the bottom step, feeling his eyes still on me. Glancing up, I saw he was still there, stood in silence at the top of the stairs, his arms folded across his chest.
I worked my way slowly upwards. By the time I reached the third step, I’d been shaking my body too much, my boobs beginning to fall out of my bra. I wanted to stop and rearrange myself but I didn’t know how best to do it when he was continuing to watch me. So I just hoped they’d stay in, trying not to move too much as I scrubbed, feeling my nipples almost on display, his eyes fixed on me, my chest heaving from side to side as I steadily worked my way up to him.
Just as I reached the very last step, my left breast won the battle for freedom, starting to slide from my bra. My nipple came into view but I caught it just in time, cramming my boob back inside and refusing to look up at him, hoping he wouldn’t mention it. “Onto the bathroom,” he said. “Be sure to dust round the window in there.”
He pushed his way past me, heading downstairs. I could have sworn there was a bulge visible in his trousers as he went by but he was too quick for me to see properly. I waited until he’d gone before getting to my feet, making my way to the bathroom. Once inside, I adjusted my boobs properly, blushing furiously at the thought of how much of me he’d just seen.
While wiping around the edge of the bath, I caught sight of something that had fallen underneath it, the panel having come loose at the corner. I reached in and got my fingers on paper, dragging up a magazine. I gasped as I looked at the cover. The picture was of a woman tied down, her ass pointing towards the camera as a cane whipped down onto her, held by someone out of shot. Flicking through the pages, I felt myself getting hotter as I looked at one act of corporal punishment after another. The middle pages were the most indecent, the models were actually fucking. So that was what he was into. BDSM.
There was a creak of a floorboard out on the landing and I dropped the magazine like it was on fire. Spinning around, my elbow caught the side of the toothbrush holder and it fell through the air, shattering on the tiles at my feet.
“What was that?” he asked, pushing the door open. “Did you break something?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said, wondering if my cheeks were as red as they felt. “I accidentally broke your toothbrush holder.”
His expression darkened. “That’s very bad of you. Be bad again and you will be punished. Now go make tea for us both.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I felt him watching me as I walked downstairs. I headed for the kitchen, trying to stop my hands from shaking. He’d sounded so angry with me but so cold at the same time. Why was I melting at the thought of him being cross? Was it because just maybe there was a chance he might actually spank me? How far was he willing to take this game?
I stood in front of the kettle, holding a mug in my hand. I looked at the mug and then let it slip through my fingers and fall to the floor with an ear splitting crash.
THIRTEEN
GEORGE
I was still at the top of the stairs when I heard the cup break in the kitchen. I had to resist running down and grabbing her, the little brat. Instead I took my time, knowing that by doing so it would let the fear build up inside her. I took each step slowly, descending towards her. She would be waiting, cowering, not knowing what I was going to do to punish her. She’d soon find out.
She’d already got my cock hard by agreeing to wear the maid uniform. The sight of her tits as she cleaned the stairs, the flash of her nipple, it had been enough to make me determined she would not leave until I’d seen her pussy. I thought about it as I stepped down into the hallway, my cock rock solid and throbbing as I walked into the kitchen and looked at her. She looked so contrite, I almost leapt on her and fucked her over the table there and then.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said softly. “It was an accident.”
“What did I warn you about being bad?”
“That you’d punish me.”
“Bend over the table.”
“But I said I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Are you disobeying me?”
“No, Daddy.”
“Then bend over the table.”
I watched as she fought with herself. The fight only lasted a few seconds. Then she walked over to the table, put her hands on the edge and bent forward, her dress sliding up the back of her legs, high enough to reveal a flash of her thong. My cock ached harder than ever as I walked over to stand behind her. “You’ve been a bad little princess, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
As soon as she spoke, I brought my hand down on her ass, as hard as I dared for a first spanking. “A very bad girl,” I growled, lifting my hand and bringing it down a second time, listening to the change in her breathing, the way her legs began to shake. Already a red patch was spreading across her ass, a sight that turned me on more than ever. I spanked her again, this time on the other buttock, lifting the dress with my free hand so I could stare freely at her. “You can go home,” I said, stepping away from her. “I’m done with you.”
I watched her stand up. She turned to look at me, her eyes wild, her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth and then closed it, spinning away from me. She was out the front door a few seconds later. I waited until I was sure she was gone before heading for the living room, getting a last glimpse of her out of the window as she walked home in that outfit, her fear of asking for her clothes too great. She would rather humiliate herself than ask. She really was perfect.
I was still thinking of her that evening. I’d got the fence sorted over the course of the day, this time without falling into the drainage ditch. Then I’d decided to make the most of the warm air and go for a walk. Without realising I was doing it, I meandered towards her house. By the time I noticed where I was, I could see her. She was emptying boxes. Why did she have the curtains open despite the dark? I glanced to the edge of the window and realised it was because she didn’t have any.
Even from this distance, she looked beautiful. She’d changed into a floaty summer dress but she looked as hot as she had done in the maid uniform. I wanted to fuck her so badly. I wanted to break into her house, ram down the front door and grab her. Before she knew what was happening, I’d have my hands on her, lift that
dress off her head, push those swollen nipples of hers into my mouth, push her onto her back, slam myself into her.
I walked away from the house, knowing what would happen if I watched her any longer. I was going to have to take her to the club. I’d vowed never to fuck anyone outside the club, I knew what would happen if I gave into my urges. I wouldn’t be able to control them and the last thing I wanted was to lose control. The thought of losing control was the only thing that scared me. I always had to be in control. Always.
I walked home whilst trying to think of the best way to broach the subject. Could I just come out and ask her? Was I better off telling her she was coming? That was probably the best way. Tomorrow I’d find another excuse to spank her then before she’d had time to recover, I’d give her a time and a date and tell her to be ready for the night of her life.
She’d shaken up my existence in the short time I’d known her. I had become so used to my routine, it was jarring to have it altered. I’d brought someone into my house for the first time in years. She’d come in and begun cleaning for me, she’d taken to calling me Daddy without complaining. All of the things I’d made her do, she’d done. She’d even let me spank her.
Did she know how much power she had over me? Had she any idea how many of the subs at the club would have killed to be in her position? All I wanted was to fuck her, to make her mine. Then I’d be able to get back into my routine, get back to my ordinary life of ignoring the world, of only letting steam off at the club. Of not spending my entire time thinking about her.
I’d have one night with her, one perfect night of doing whatever the hell I wanted, give her the best night she’d ever had, then…well then I didn’t really know what the hell was going to happen. I could deal with it when it did. All I knew as I walked back into the house was that the next time she came, she was going to say yes to coming with me to the club, no matter what it took to make the word form on her lips.
