Bossy Daddy: A steamy older man office romance

by Mia Madison

  “He's not a machine. One of the only ones in my employ. But I have other cars that don't require a human driver.”

  “Yeah I've heard about self-driving cars. We'll all have them soon. But assistants aren't self driving machines.”

  “You'll find out about everything in the morning.”

  “There won't be a morning. Not at your business anyway. I quit.”

  “You can't quit. And you'll be glad you didn't when you find out what we're working on.”

  “What world peace? Water for Africa? Or some new cellphone no one needs, in order to network and troll even more than they already do?”

  We pull up at the store so I don't have to get into it with her yet. It'll be easier for Carly to understand the project and her place in it once we're back in the office. After hours, I'm determined to focus on real life for once. It's been too long since I had a woman to share stuff with. And although it seems tempestuous between Carly and I right now, I have no doubt that she's going to be the woman I've been waiting for. I'll do whatever necessary to make that happen.

  It's eight and the store has just closed but as soon as the assistant sees me, she rushes over to unlock again.

  “Mr, Kennedy, how good to see you again,” she purrs at me, with that flickering of eyelashes that indicates interest.

  Sorry babe, I'm off the market now. For good.

  I feel Carly's eyes delving into me, wondering whether this girl's another Rachel. So I make sure to give the assistant zero attention so as to keep my little girl feeling secure.

  “I'd like to fit my new assistant,” I say. “Some business attire.”

  “Like always? Tight and sexy.”

  I can't control a spreading grin, picturing Carly's unbelievable curves dressed that way. I'd also love to see her flesh trussed into the straps of a bondage suit. The multiple restraining bonds cupping her tits so the flesh spilled between. Two straps running between her thighs, pulling her pussy lips permanently open for me. A man can have his forbidden fantasies. Until then a fitted skirt and business blouse would have to do. “Yeah.”

  Carly glares at me and looks over her shoulder like she's planning to make a run for the door. Then she huffs louder to let me know how annoyed she is at once again being locked in.

  “Baby, what is it? Why don't you relax with me?”

  “I can't. There's so much I don't know. Like why you brought me to work for you in a non-job.”

  “It's not a non-job. It's a vital position. Don't make that face, I don't mean that kind of position.”

  “Really,” she snaps, disbelieving every word.

  “Well it wasn't before, but that's gonna be part of it now. And I didn't see you putting up much resistance.”

  I grin, but she's not backing down. I need to fill her in on everything, but not out here in public. Not until we're safely back in the office and the deal's done.

  “Look just come back to work tomorrow. I promise everything will be clear to you when you read your personal contract with me. And if it isn't, and you're not the happiest girl in the world, I'll even let you out of your iron clad work contract. Deal?”

  She gives me a small smile and nods her head.

  “Good girl.”

  I take her hand in mine and wonder why she has such a hard time trusting. Maybe I'd be the same if I was shunted back and forth between two parents completely absorbed in their own thing. Not that my life was much better, with a mother that was more interested in the pills in little brown bottles, lined up in her special cabinet that I was never to look in.

  Her lack of attention made me fight for what I have today, but maybe it's different for girls. Whatever Carly's been lacking 'til now, she's going to get everything she fucking well needs – from me.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Carly

  Smith dresses me up in variations of the same outfit – either a tight pencil skirt to the knee with some fitted blouses cut to sculpt out the curves of my body. Or a girlish dress, tight to the waist with crossover straps behind so my back is bared (and I can't wear a bra) and a very full skirt that he can throw up like a balloon. The clothes are amazing in their cut and fabric and, of course they cost a fortune. Although I feel like his doll, I'm amazed by my reflection in the mirror. I look different now. Suddenly all grown up.

  After making me his woman, I'm like a young girl again. Out shopping with her daddy who'll let her have anything she desires. That never actually happened with my own father, but I know he treats each of his wives in the same way. Until he's tired of them and they can't get enough money out of him to buy so much as a pot of nail polish.

  How long will it be before Smith is bored of me?

  The assistant who's barely looked at me and focused entirely on Smith as the only customer, rings up the small fortune total and states it without a flinch of sticker shock. Smith catches sight of something else on the rack and grabs that too, adding it to the stash of clothes. A beautiful winter coat, short and tight, of course. It's black, double-breasted with silver buttons and an asymmetrical white fur collar that drapes over the shoulders.

  “Just until I get you a proper fur,” he whispers and hands over his Amex without hesitation, which I guess shouldn't surprise me. Smith and I used to share the same house but this is the first time we've ever appeared together in public.

  I've always known he's rich as a prince and he never made me go without when he was my step-daddy. Oh shit, I shouldn't have allowed that particular memory of him into my head, because now the color floods my cheeks and I'm certain the shop manager is looking at me with a smug, knowing glance. She isn't of course and its just my imagination. Although she might be wondering about the relationship between Smith and I, because of the age difference. But he's so gorgeous, he's almost ageless. The slight lines around his eyes only render him more handsome.

  The girl's around my age and she's just about drooling on him. Smith could date any woman he wanted in the world and no one would think twice. Add in all the cash and he's a god. He actually is a god. I can't stop looking at him thinking just that. Every time he looks down at me and throws me that semi filthy grin, unique to him. The one that promises all kinds of naughty fantasies fulfilled. He certainly delivers on those and then some. The things he's done to my body today have elicited sensations of pleasure I'd never thought possible. How can I stay pissed at him when he does everything in his power to fulfill my needs?

  “Thank you so much for your business, Mr Kennedy,” the assistant gushes, touching his arm as she comes around the desk to hand him the packages, when she could easily have passed them across the counter.

  Oh hello, Jealousy. Not you again.

  But when I check Smith, he's absolutely not engaging with her and I can't help but be glad that he doesn't fall for her hair-tossing routine. I wouldn't say I'm normally insecure, not any more than any other hot-blooded woman. But my last boyfriend had to reel in every female in the room. If we were at a restaurant he had to make sure the hostess, the waitress, anything in a skirt, as they say, made eye contact with him. Attention seeking I guess.

  Smith doesn't bother with any of that. He's too confident and masculine to need primping. When I'm with him I feel like I'm the only woman in the room for him. It was like that when he lived with us too. He was rarely at home when my mother was out of her bed, but if three of us were inhabiting one space, all of Smith's attention was mine. And he's even more mine now.

  Or was, until the secretary ruined everything.

  Carlos moves swiftly to take the bags from Smith as we exit the store. Again, Smith guides me with his hand on my back to climb into the limo and he hands me another glass of champagne, which I notice is pink.

  “Amanda's going to be livid,” I say, just picturing the pouty fury on my stepmother's face when I come home with all these designer clothes.

  “Who's Amanda?” Smith asks.

  “My dad's wife.”

  “I thought that was Susan.”

  “You
missed two.”

  “Ah,” he says, nodding sagely, like he gets it.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing more than it makes sense to me.”

  “What does?”

  “Why you find it hard to let go.”

  “I can let go.”

  “Not without a fight.”

  “With some men you have to protect yourself,” I say, thinking I've proved a point.

  “Very true, but I'm not one of them.”

  “You don't recycle your wives?” I snip. “How many have you had in the last five years?”

  “None.”

  “How many girlfriends?”

  “None.”

  “I don't believe that.”

  “I know.”

  Smith climbs out and comes around to open my door.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  We've stopped outside some ritzy looking tower on Fifth. Maybe a hotel where we'll have dinner. I'm actually ravenous.

  “Home.”

  “That's not my home,” I tell him.

  “It is now,” he informs me.

  “Smith you're acting crazy. I don't live with you any more, remember?”

  “You didn't live with me for a few years and now you do.”

  He takes me by the hand while Carlos takes care of the parcels with one of the doormen. Another holds open the heavy glass entrance and when I try to yank my arm away from Smith, he reels me back in with a force I can't fight.

  I'm not even convinced I want to fight him. I feel safe with Smith in a way I've never felt with either of my real parents or any other man. I just don't have much experience with men, other than the guys at school that had only their own needs uppermost.

  I feel so mature and womanly all of a sudden but sometimes I'm still a little girl in a body too big for me. I hadn't been shown the way to mature all the way. At times I resort to childish actions and stupid pouting. I know when I'm doing it so that's good, right? Awareness brings change and I know Smith will steer me as I grow, so I'll never end up being a big brat, like every last one of my father's wives.

  “Oh.”

  I have to repress my urge to go all gaga when Smith leads me out of the elevator directly into a spacious duplex penthouse high above the city.

  “You like to be on top of the world,” I say, casually.

  Like I'm totally accustomed to wandering around sunken living rooms with priceless art and rugs that should be hanging, not stomped on. The view is the masterpiece though. Even the kitchen – all black and steel, has a view all the way to Canada.

  “I feel like I am, at last,” he agrees.

  “At last? Have you only just moved in?”

  “No, I've lived here five years but now I have you here with me. I've had to wait a very long time to get you.”

  “I'm not staying here.” I murmur.

  There I go again with the teenage resistance, for the sake of making a stand and asserting an independence I wouldn't really want if it came to it. But I don't have to worry because Smith has already made the decisions for us and there's no option.

  “Yes,” he states. His stare burrows into me, just daring me to resist him. “You are.”

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Smith

  She really doesn't get it.

  And why would she?

  Back then, she was just a girl with a heavy crush on some sweaty guy with ripped muscles. Maybe she even believed the sham marriage I had with her mother, not yet understanding that sometimes a wedding is the biggest fucking mistake a man can make.

  So I'm telling her the truth. I tried to move on. I tried dating women, because the best way to get over one is with another. I did everything I could to put Carly out of my fucking mind. So I dated and looked for the perfect woman. Outside, in restaurants and bars and hotels, but never in my home. No other woman has been inside this space I created for Carly. Knowing that one day, sooner or later she'd be living with me again.

  Now she's standing here I can't quite wrap my head around it. She seems too good to be here with me. My heart swells up against my chest wanting to hold her and caress her and, yeah, treat her like my little doll.

  “I left that house because of you. Because of the way I felt about you.”

  Her eyes grow wide – the usual disbelief and resistance to trusting. And something else. She comes to me and her little hands go around my tree-branch forearm. She tugs me toward the sunken living room, situated square on the floor to ceiling window that looks all the way downtown. I sink down onto the couch as she wants, then she climbs onto my thighs, curling herself up in a ball with her cheek on my chest.

  I wrap my heavy arm around her, making her safe. My other forearm shelves along the length of her thigh and my hand cups her round ass cheek.

  Immediately, the connection throws images into my mind. Of spanking that same luscious curve of flesh until it burned hot and pink. I wonder whether her skin under the fabric is still tender now. Whether the heat I feel is coming from her reddened cheek or my own burning palm. It's all I can do not to hike the material up her thighs and rest my hand on her bareness. Palming the length of her slit as we lay here chilling together would be everything I dream of.

  I wonder whether she's thinking the same. If she's imagining my fingers pushing inside her, because I notice Carly's breathing has picked up pace. Her swollen breasts are lifting up and down, the one side where she's lying rubbing across my hard chest. I glance down and I can see the tops of her tits heaving where the shirt buttons are lost. It's the most luscious sight and sets my dick unfurling against my will. She's simply too delicious too resist.

  She raises her head and looks me in the eye, her gaze filled with hunger and intent. Then she wriggles down through the gap in my thighs, spreading them apart so she's kneeling on the floor between my legs.

  “I'm your little girl but I'm not going to be a doll for you,” she says, looking up at me from under fluttering lashes that send my cock shooting at the heavens.

  “You don't understand,” I hitch out, as her little fingers tug on my belt.

  I look down on her between my legs, the tops of her breasts bare and quivering as she gasps. Her hand on my steel bolt is electrifying even through the wool of my pants. When she gets the big bastard out I'm gonna fucking explode.

  “You haven't explained it yet,” she whispers in a soft, not remotely challenging voice.

  She doesn't need to fight me now, she knows she has me completely under her thumb.

  “I know,” I groan as her fingertips inch my zipper down. “I've been a little preoccupied with more delectable offerings than work. And it's highly sensitive.”

  Her eyes flutter up at me with a look of shock horror. Like I'm asking her to model for smutty videos. I laugh because I get how secretive I'm being might make it seem that I'm some kind of new Hustler magazine mogul.

  “It's not like that, Baby. Would I ever expose you to that?”

  Maybe she won't come work for me in the end. If she adamantly refuses I'm not going to force her to do something that'll make her miserable. But she will stay here with me in this home I made for us. And after one night, the most spectacular night of lust-drenched loving she's ever known, she won't be able to live anywhere else, or with anyone else but me ever again.

  Her hand dips into my briefs and frees my diamond hard pinnacle that leaps out at her, making her startle.

  “My god, it really is that massive,” she whispers. “I thought it felt so huge because I was – you know. How did it ever go all the way inside me?”

  “You're made to take me inside you, baby.”

  “I want it again,” she mewls. “I want to feel you filling me.”

  “Fuck, I wanna be inside you more than I want anything in the world.”

  She plants a kiss on the underside of my head and then sticks out the tip of her tongue to lick along the length. Her little hands start working the shaft and she trails kisses all along the vein now thounding thr
ough the rough skin. Her full pouty lips meander across my heat, pressing and teasing at the tip until I think I might explode right there all over her face.

  I don't, of course. I manage to maintain some self control, even while I'm certain I'm losing my fucking mind. How the fuck did I manage to get though each day of the last five years without her?

  She wraps both hands around my solid pole and tips it toward her sensual lips. My eyes are glued to her, watching her mouth tempting at my tip. Then she opens wide and consumes half my length. The head hits the back of her throat and she gags slightly. Then she opens and slides me in a little further. Her tongue slides along the underside working a rhythm with her little hands and the bastard seems to expand against her pressure, swelling even bigger.

  She slides in and out, lapping at the length of me, licking and sucking. She's way better at this than I ever imagined she'd be. Maybe it's just because it's her and having Carly's lips wrapped around me is enough. I clasp the back of her head and hold her down on me, just relishing the sensation of being buried in her throat. Then I release her so she picks up the pace again, her hand cupping my full ball-sac, squeezing lightly, inciting me to explode.

  “You're so fucking beautiful,” I groan.

  She looks up.

  “I love sucking you, Daddy,” she whispers before consuming me up to the root again.

  “I am not your -” my voice coming out like a wild animal in pain, right before I let loose into her mouth, filling her.

  She swallows me down and licks her lips with relish. Then she laps along the length of me, licking up all the residue before planting another of her girly little kisses on the tip. I pull her back up onto my lap and she curls up like a kitten, back into her favorite pose.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Carly

  I never knew how delectable it could be to take a man in your mouth like that. When it's big and hard as rock, pulsating with lust for you, it's so exciting to feel a man lose control and to control his release of pleasure with your lips and tongue. I'd only ever known the kind of men, not much more than boys, who didn't have cocks like Smith's.