I know I'm not a whore. I'm being paid for my time, not for sex. Right? The sex was natural, not in exchange for payment. I'm not a whore!
“Ah- you're squeezing my arm too hard!”
I look and then gasp in distress, pulling away. “I'm sorry! I just got caught up in my thoughts.”
“It's okay. Let's go sit down and have some wine. I have something I want to discuss with you.”
I gulp and jerk a short nod.
The main room of the building is empty, the lights dimmed. Every surface seems to sparkle as if gold were hidden in the wood. The room doesn't have a specific smell, except for maybe the smell of steak coming from the kitchen.
“It's beautiful,” I breathe, my eyes wide as I look around. “I can't believe it's so empty!”
“Ah, that's because I asked them to reserve the space for me today. I have a confession, actually. Would you sit down with me and have a chat?”
Joe helps me into a comfortable wooden chair, its material carves into ornate shapes on the back. Then he sits across from me, and with one motion of his hand we both have a glass of red wine in front of us.
“Melissa, I thought you might like to know that I actually planned all of this. Of course, I had no way of knowing that you might accept my invitation, but I'm glad you did. You should take a sip of wine.”
He watches me, waiting for me to do as he asks. My stomach is tied up in painful knots, but I take a sip and it helps. Still, some instinct within me is telling me to run, now. I don't want to know what his plan is.
“Good. Now, I don't quite know how to ask you this, so it's best to come right out and say it. My father died only a few months ago. He and my younger brother both committed suicide the same day. At least, that's what the police say.” His eyes lower, his thick eyelashes shading his face. “In my father's will, he left me everything. Billions of dollars. But there's one thing I have no access to, which is his library.”
“Why?” I ask, suddenly on the edge of my seat. I love a good mystery.
“I don't know. All I know is that I have to meet a certain condition before I can have access to the library and all the documents within it. His computer, his books, his files on his businesses... everything regarding the last ten years of his life is in that room. I need to get in there.”
I sit and think, nodding slowly. “I think I get it. So, what's the condition?”
“Well, that's where you come in. Melissa... I need to be married and have a child.”
I scoot back in my chair, my hair falling into my face. “What's that got to do with me?!”
“I was thinking-”
“Oh no, I'm not having another kid! One is enough, Amanda is a handful and I can barely pay for her needs!”
“No, listen to me. I'm not asking you to have another child, I had my lawyers look over the will. You're a loophole. I could marry a single mom. And if you agree to this, you and Amanda could have everything in the world. Anything you desire! She could go to a private school, have all the best clothes, and one day she could be a doctor! Or hell, she could be the President!”
I clutch my hand to my chest, leaning over with wide eyes. What am I supposed to do? This is impossible! I can't marry this random guy just so he can get into his dad's library!
But then again, I can't refuse either. Amanda could be something amazing, if given the opportunity. She would never have to go hungry again.
My stomach is well and truly aching now. I grab the wine and down it, all the way, hoping for some relief of the anxiety and pain, but it does nothing but make me dizzy. I start to hyperventilate.
“You have to calm down. Think of the possibilities, Melissa. Think of the benefits.”
“Shut up! Let me think!” I scream, slamming my hand onto the table. It hurts, but that pain temporarily numbs the stabbing and clenching in my stomach. “Can I have some time to think?”
“Unfortunately, you must decide now. We have to be married by tomorrow. The will has a time limit, and if I don't claim the library within 48 hours, I can never have it.”
That's it, then. I have to say no. There's no way I can say yes to marriage with less than a day to decide. What kind of message will I be sending Amanda, if I accept this?
Then an image of Amanda flashes before my eyes. Not as she is now, but as she might be ten years from now. Two versions of her. One thin, malnourished, working as a waitress much like I am. The other, beautiful and radiant. Tall and taken care of, maybe married. Or maybe working in her dream job, made possible through college without loans.
That vision makes the decision for me. I will sacrifice myself, my morals, for the sake of my daughter. Setting my jaw, I nod. “I'll do it. But I need my mother to be taken care of, as well. She owes so much on the house still, and-”
“Say no more. I'll do as my fiance wishes.”
And then he's on the floor before me, on one knee. As he has all day, he moves quickly to pull out a diamond ring. It's not huge, but I don't prefer overt displays of wealth anyway. The center stone is slightly pink, not totally clear.
“I have one question, before I put that on. Why did you choose me?”
Joe bows his head, thinking for a moment. “I've always watched you, from afar. I have always been impressed with how hard you work when I bring my dates to your old job. And with how beautiful you are, beneath the grime of your job.”
My face burns three shades of pink. How foolish I must look, being so taken by a man who bought my hand. Still, I think I can make this work. Maybe, one day, we could be married for real. Maybe, one day...
“Melissa, will you marry me?”
I nod my head, and allow him to place the ring on my finger. I admire it for a second, and finally whisper, “I will.”
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Ryan
I've got a past, but I don't know about any future.
The only thing that I have to worry about is keeping my brothers safe, and making sure that my guys don't get their asses shot off.
That is, until she walked in. She was built to break hearts, and with a hard edge that fits me just right.
Now I've got a lot to worry about, and whether I like it or not, she's catapulted herself to the top of the list.
Maguire
Ryan Beauchamp is hot as hell, sure. That's not all he is.
He's my ticket to the big leagues. He's my way in to the biggest gang there is. All he has to do is get their attention and get in with their leadership.
Once his usefulness is spent, I can get rid of him, but until then I have to keep him on a tight leash.
As time constraints get tighter, though, they pull that leash shorter and shorter, and now I don't know how long I can keep my control of the situation.
Especially with a man as dangerously attractive as Ryan Beauchamp.
I need to stay the hell away from him... but he makes me lose all control.
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Nanny Becomes a Bitch
Spanked By Her Boss
Dalia Daudelin
This afternoon, when I arrived, Barney’s parents were pretty clear on one thing. Barney had been asking to see the new horror film. The title hardly bears repeating, but it left very little to the imagination. I have never been mad about horror as a genre, personally, but Barney is absolutely fascinated by the stuff. And unlike so many kids, he’s really voracious, practically willing to watch anything as long as it gets his adrenaline up.
So what was the first thing I did? I took him to see it. Bought him a big basket of popcorn, too. The soda was a given, of course. Honestly, they probably shouldn’t have been so picky about the whole thing, then I probably wouldn’t have gone. It was hardly worth the effort overall, the movie was boring and even Barney was not especially wowed.
I empti
ed my pockets before we went to take the dogs out for their walk, except for the keys to the house and my can of mace. The neighborhood is certainly nice enough, but my safety is a serious concern, as is Barney’s. Hell, as is Gunther’s, and he’s just a dog. It was sunny out, and I silently jabbed at the weatherman, who’d predicted light rain throughout the day.
I got dinner in the kid, dinner in the dog, and got Barney into bed. He had finally graduated to sleeping with the door closed and that meant I had some ‘me’ time. I turned on the television and had a seat, watching as a TV chef demonstrated cooking some hoity-toity dish that made a lot more sense when she explained it than when she did it on screen. I suspected that trying to replicated either part of the exercise would demonstrate that both parts of the TV explanation were simpler than actually cooking it.
I let the TV run while I got up, stretched my legs by walking around the house. I brewed myself a cup of coffee and sat back down to watch the backlog of shows I’d missed since last time they called me over to watch the boy. I had more than one show I watched only so that I had something to do when I was waiting for Eric or Claire to let me go home. Tonight was Eric’s night, though, and that meant I wasn’t going home right away.
I can’t tell you why he’s interested. Claire seems like a nice enough woman, though to hear Eric tell it a fair bit of that is a front. She’s good looking. I can’t imagine that half of what he tells me is true--how little she wants sex, and how disinterested she is when it happens. I’ve been playing with her husband for six months now, since just after my 18th birthday, and if she thinks he’s not a tiger in the sack then she’s been missing something.
The door shuts and I can hear footsteps in the foyer, the heavy steps of a man. I snuggle into my blanket and wait for him to come in.
“Hey, Taylor, I see you guys went to the cinema?” Shit. Did I leave the ticket stubs on the table? I don’t want to get him mad at me. Christ!
“Taylor,” he calls, in his most disapproving tone, “You know we asked you not to take Barney to see this. It gives him nightmares!”
I got up and sauntered into the foyer, looking at him through my bangs. Trying to create a sex-pot image to get his mind off it as soon as possible.
“C’mon, Eric. It’s not a big deal. He’s a tough kid, and he wanted to.” He gave me a disapproving frown, but one that said that he was about to let the issue go. “He’ll be fine.”
Eric walked up to me, tie loose, and he pushed me gently backwards into the door-frame, then pressed his body against mine.
“You may be right about that, Taylor,” he said. The stern note in his voice suggested that he was about to add a ‘but.’ “Does that mean you get to be disobedient?”
His face was an inch from mine, and I could smell the cologne he wore faintly. I looked into his eyes. I pursed my lips. He stepped back away from me.
“Taylor, I want you to go bend over the back of the couch.”
I did as I was told. He walked over slowly, confidently. He pulled up my skirt, revealing my panties. I’d worn the lacy ones just for him, and he made a sound of approval. He rubbed my ass cheeks gently. And then he slapped them. I yelped, and he slapped them again.
“Now, are you going to be a bad girl again?”
“I don’t know, maybe I will.” I was almost glad I was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see the grin on my face. Talking back was enough, I didn’t need him to know how pleased I was with myself for it.
Another slap rained down on my ass, and I yelped again, and I moaned out my pleasure. Another slap. Then he turned me around, kissed me on the lips.
“Come on, Taylor. I need to show you what they do to bad girls where I’m from.” I purred and followed him to the bedroom. If I tried, I could almost imagine Claire lying on this same bed, sleeping beside a husband she hardly suspected at all.
He pushed me down onto the bed, pressing with his full weight. For a moment I felt almost afraid, cowed into submission, but then the old stubbornness rose in my chest and I pushed up against him. I rolled half out of his grasp, almost planted a kiss on his lips, before he got control of me again. Pinned my shoulders, flipped me over onto my stomach. He held me down by the back of my neck with one hand.
I scrambled to get my knees under me, but that presented my ass in a way I just hadn’t considered. Thwok! He swatted me hard and I gasped. My knees slipped and before I could get them under me again he struck again, with the full force of his arm.
“Bad girl!” he said. I purred and didn’t fight. I wanted to roll back over, present myself to him, but I thought that he might take that as disobedience. It might earn me another swat, but obedience could be a fun game, too.
He turned me over again, back onto my back, and he expertly undid the buttons in my blouse, one by one with the quiet skill of a tailor finishing a seam.
“You’re not going to tell my wife about this, Taylor.”
I smiled up at him, the brattiest look I could muster. I waited for him to look me right in the eye.
“I don’t know, Eric. You know she always brings home sweets. What do you bring home?”
He pushed my bra up. Gently, he rolled the nub between his soft fingers. I could feel it beginning to stiffen. And then he gave me a sidelong glance and pinched hard and twisted. My hips bucked involuntarily and he looked at me passively.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Could you repeat yourself?”
“I said, ‘No, sir, I won’t tell Claire.’”
“Good girl,” he said. He bent down and claimed the other nipple between his lips, tugging gently. I ran my fingers through his hair and he gave me a look that asked if I had forgotten myself, a game that we played quite regularly--he wants me to stay still, and I don’t give him what he wants. At least not right away.
He draws my nipple deeper into his mouth and sucks hard. I tug his hair lightly, trying to provoke him, and it works. He stops and slaps my face, not as hard as the spanking. I smile at him.
“I want to suck your big hard cock, sir.”
He weighs this for a moment. Does he ignore that I made a request well beyond my station, or does he punish me for ostensibly trying to please him? In the end he reaches down and I can hear his fly unzipping. He drops his heavy, half hard cock onto my thigh.
“Get off the bed and suck my cock,” he says. He knows what I did, knows I put him in this position on purpose, and he doesn’t like it one bit. I get on my knees and take him in my hands, feeling him getting harder by the moment. His cock is so close to my mouth that it radiates heat and I can almost taste it on my tongue. I purposefully hesitate there, almost fulfilling his demands.
He responds as quick as a rattlesnake, taking a fistful of hair and pushing me onto his cock. I can feel him pressing into the back of my throat and I let him, suppressing the gag reflex as best I can. I groan softly at the feeling of his fingers tugging my hair, stimulating and powerful. He pulls me off his cock and I gasp for air.
“More,” I pant.
He puts it back in, deeper still; I can almost feel my throat spreading to accommodate his girth. I look up at him and see his face is unfocused, indistinct. The pleasure has hazed over his ‘alpha’ expression. I try to pull off, to test the boundaries, and his hand holds my head still. He rocks his hips back and his cock almost spills out of my mouth. I take a breath before he pushes back in. I can feel him pressing into my tongue and I lick his cock, or what I can of it. He moans his encouragement.
“Good girl, Taylor.” He slides back out. “Let’s see how good you are.” He pushes in again, slowly. He goes deeper still, and my nose is pressed into his pubes. My throat burns just a bit, but the look on his face more than makes up for it. I moan to let him know I don’t mind. I’m glad I can be of service.
He pulls out of my mouth and I pull my face into a frown.
“Daddy,” I whine. He hates it when I call him that. He says that it makes him feel like a dirty old man, especially given our... liaisons. “Don’t sto
p.”
He grabs me by the arm, jerking me to my feet. I rise as quick as I can before he pushes me back onto the bed. My panties come off easily. I can feel his fingers gently running along the outer lips of my pussy, the moistness almost feels like too much to bear.
“Please, please, don’t. I want it.”
He stops altogether. I could almost scream, but I know it won’t get anywhere. The game is about disobeying the rules, except when following them is the most important part of all, and I know this time I have to follow them to get what I want.
I lay my head back and close my eyes. Surrender is the only option. I can feel him getting bolder now, more direct. His fingers slip in between my outer lips, rubbing and caressing without ever touching my clit, without ever dipping inside. I try to squirm my button into the way of his hand, but he expertly avoids it, over and over again.
“What’s the magic word, young lady?” I moan in frustrated arousal.
“Mm-please, sir.” It was the magic word. He presses his middle finger into me, as deep as it will go. At the same time, his thumb finds my clit and starts to tease it softly. I can’t deal with it for long, and I can feel the moan bubbling up in my throat.
I tried to fight it, but then he presses his finger against my spot and I just can’t. The moan is loud and I hope to God it doesn’t get us caught--hell, caught by the neighbors. I try to squirm away, to get away from the intense feelings in my pussy, but I can’t. Eric presses down on my chest, holding me down, holding me still. And he takes the orgasm from me whether or not I like it.
I can’t breathe. He’s taken his hand off my chest, but my chest, my breasts, the air, it all feels so heavy. I take a deep breath, and then another, but it all feels like gasping for air for a few seconds. When my vision focuses again, Eric is standing above me, cock in hand. It’s still as hard as it was, and I gasp for breath between words:
“Please fuck me, sir.”
He spreads my legs, putting my ankles on his powerful shoulders, and rubs the head of his cock against my opening. I make an effort not to moan. I know he’s waiting for me to make my move and I don’t want to give him what he wants.
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