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 explosions 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.
“On your knees, little girl.”
I obey as if hypnotized by his deep voice. He reaches for the hem of my nightgown and lifts it over my head.
“Exquisite,” he says. “But I expected no less.”
Silas joins me on the bed, laying me on my back. He puts a fingertip between my breasts and drags it lightly down my midsection, and just this touch is enough to make my nipples rock hard. He notices this, and smiles. His finger stops at the top of my panties. He moves his hand away, then reaches for me again, this time pulling the panties down and off. And now there is nothing between me and this gorgeous man who stretches the length of his muscular body beside mine.
“Where to begin…” he muses, his eyes caressing my naked body so boldly that I blush. “I suppose we should begin with Daddy’s Rule.”
“Daddy’s Rule?” I’m at a loss.
“Yes. My little girl doesn’t come until I give her permission. If she does, she gets her little bottom spanked very, very hard.”
Lord, is he for real? Just the threat has my pussy throbbing. But I can see the seriousness in his eyes, and when he drops his head and closes his mouth around my nipple, I realize just how hard it’s going to be to follow this rule. He worries the little bud of flesh with his teeth, then soothes it with his tongue before suckling so hard my upper back rises off the bed as I cry out with pleasure.
His hands roam my body, sliding down my back, my hips, moving under me to cup my bottom cheeks, which he squeezes possessively.
I’m aquiver, alight. I have never felt like this with any man. My past lovers were either uncertain or fumbling, asking me what I wanted and then failing to deliver. Silas’ dominance is like an aphrodisiac.
“Spread your legs,” he says, and I whimper when he slides his fingers inside me. “So hot. So wet. You’re on the verge of coming, aren’t you, little girl.” He begins to work first one finger and then two into my quivering pussy. “Don’t you dare. I’ll spank you if you do.”
I’m so close to failing, and suddenly this feels like work, like trying to pull the brake on a runaway train. I can feel the pleasure mounting, and when he drops his lips to lay a line of tender kisses from the middle of my heaving ribcage to the top of my cleft, I’m fisting the covers from sheer frustration.
“Don’t,” I say, knowing that if his tongue goes where I think it’s going, I’m going to just lose it completely.
“Oh, no,” he says. “You aren’t calling the shots.” He speaks the word right over the mound of my pussy, and his hot breath… oh, god. I start to come. I try to stop myself but I can’t. My orgasm starts just as he parts the seam of my labia with his tongue, and the sensation is so powerful I scream.
He’s holding me fast with his one hand on my hip as the other spreads the outer lips of my pussy like a butterfly, pinning them as he laps and laves and swirls his tongue around the bud of my clitoris.
I’ve heard women say they see stars during an orgasm. I never believed it. I believe it now. Tiny fireworks explode behind my closed eyelids and the room fills with my cries. In the back of my mind, I am vaguely aware that I’m not the first woman to cry out in this room, under this man. There’s a brief sting of pain at this realization, but the pleasure he’s giving me overwhelms it. My body is buffeted by the waves of my stolen climax, and only when it comes to rest do I see his stern face looming over me.
“Bad girl,” he says. “You were told not to come.”
He sits up, dragging me over his lap and the room is now filled with cries of pain. He was not exaggerating. He is spanking me hard. Too hard. I feel betrayed, angry, and I kick and scream and wail as he levels blow after unrelenting blow onto my upturned nates. Pain turns to near agony as I twist and writhe and beg. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be! He tilts me forward, targeting the soft under curve of my buttocks where the skin is the most sensitive. He sears it with his precise smacks, and only when my bottom is a throbbing mound of stinging heat does he stop and move me off his lap onto my belly.
“Let’s try that again,” he says. “And this time, no coming until I tell you to.”
He pulls me up and back so that my upper body rests on the mattress and my ass is in the air. He’s rubbing my buttocks, telling me how hot and red my ass is.
“That pussy is even wetter now,” he says, and wraps his arm around my waist as his fingers begin to play with my inner labia, stroking the slick folds like a kitten. “Such a good pussy.”
He’s teasing, and despite the fiery throb of my bottom, I’m moaning again.
“You’re perfect, Lindsay,” he says. “My perfect little doll.” He dips his finger in my pussy. “I have so many things planned for you… here…” He drags the finger up to the tight asterisk of my bottom hole. “And here.” He pauses. “Are you a virgin here?”
I look back. “Yes,” I whisper.
He moves behind me, leans down, crowns each of my burning buttocks with a soft kiss. He tells me I’m beautiful, special. I let myself believe him, let his words soothe me like a balm. My pussy is clenching with need and when he rises suddenly and pushes into me without warning, the shock is so blissful that I momentarily forget to breathe.
He begins to move.
“Oh, baby,” he says. “Enjoy it with me. But slowly. Let your body relax. Let the pleasure build. When you come, I’ll be right there with you, understand?”
Idle. It’s a good analogy. My body is a humming engine and Silas Stanton is the driver that has me purring, then shifting me into overdrive as he grasps my hips and begins to fuck me with slow, steady strokes.
“Ohhhhh,” I say when he pulls me back against him, thrusting upward into my pussy as the fingers of one hand roll my nipple in his hand as his other hand massages my clit. This time I control myself, and see the pleasure in the slow build, the steady burn of pleasure that heats and heats. I know when it comes it’s going to be nothing short of incredible, and his mounting excitement feeds mine. Behind me, he’s groaning, too, his mouth in my hair.
“Oh, baby,” he says. “Baby. Baby. Baby… Come for me, baby. Come for me… now!”
And I do, the pleasure exploding from my core, burning away every memory of every other man and stamping me with Silas’ fiery brand. I move with him as he spends, taking his hot tribute into my body, my pussy clenching on his cock, hungry for every drop of his essence.
And when we lie down I realize it’s another lesson he’s taught me today about pleasure, about pain, about how the two sensations can mingle and separate and come together in a powerful tsunami of something that defies description.
“Such a sweet, sweet girl,” he says, nuzzling my neck. And he holds me there until sleep starts to overtake my well-fucked, exhausted body at last.
“You didn’t read me my bedtime story,” I say drowsily.
He kisses me gently. “There will be other nights,” he says.