by Ella Goode
The next morning my father was in a great mood when I came down for breakfast—Con had contacted him and agreed to retain my dad as his financial advisor. Dad called me his good luck charm—he was sure I had something to do with Con’s decision, which I highly doubted.
Now that I’m older I’m equally sure I had no influence whatsoever—Con is too intelligent to base any financial dealings on emotions, much less a short meeting with a bratty kid, which most likely tested his patience. But Dad was convinced I was his secret weapon and he continued to use me in his meetings. As I grew up and out the attention I received was not suitable for a kid.
I quickly learned how to handle the leers without being groped. Dad was no help—he turned a blind eye if it meant more business for him. Basically, Dad wasn’t much of a father beyond providing for me financially, not if it meant taking his attention away from the two B’s: business and bimbos. So I had to fend for myself as well as take care of him and the house.
The irony is that Con was never one of the men who treated me either as a pretty airhead or as a piece of meat. uuntil that memorable night at the Yuletide Ball when I was fifteen, he’d always treated me with kindness and unlike some other jerks, never crossed the line.
I wonder if that’s one of the reasons—well, beyond the obvious physical ones, which are tremendous—that I’m so drawn to Con. Con will fight for and protect his own—being around him gives me a sense of security and safety. I desperately want to belong to him, and for him to belong to me. More than anything I want to be his little girl, Daddy’s girl. Just thinking about him makes me feel equal parts horny and safe—but there’s also that edge, that danger to Con and what he needs and desires that calls to the wildness in me. I know I can give him what he wants—because I want it, too.
I step out of the shower and am drying off when my dad yells, “Willow! Can you get down here? There’s a delivery guy here and he says he has our food order. Where did you put the cash? Also, what did you think of Grant Pharmaceuticals?”
“Give me a moment, I’m coming!” I sigh, quickly pulling on sweats. So much for hoping he can for once take care of things himself. I grab my bag and fish out the necessary cash before heading downstairs. I can’t wait for tomorrow to come and for the next step in my campaign. Con won’t know what hit him.
5
Con
I raise an eyebrow when I find Tim already waiting for me at the office the next morning. Tim gets in early, but I’m usually the first one there. I mutter, “Good morning,” although it’s not—I barely got any sleep last night, and what little sleep I did get was only after jacking off to salacious thoughts of Willow, this time adorned in nipple clamps and a sheer baby-doll dress as I pound her against the windows facing Central Park. Of course, that meant I dreamt of her, which meant when I woke my morning hard-on was even harder than normal, which meant another jacking off session followed by a cold shower where I cursed Willow and my stupid prick to hell and back.
Needless to say, I’m in a foul mood.
He follows me into my office wearing a somber expression. We’ve worked together for years and he knows me better than anyone. While Willow might think I’m pissed at her, Tim recognizes thwarted, frustrated lust when he sees it. I brace myself for a lecture—even though I deserve it, I won’t like what he’s going to say. And I don’t, but it’s not what I’m expecting.
“I got bad news last night. My sister called—my grandfather had a stroke. The good news is that it was a minor one, but he’s asking to see me so I need to move up my holiday plans and leave early—this afternoon if possible.”
I break out in a cold sweat. I’m not prepared to be alone with Willow. My control is thinner than a strand of hair. It’s going to snap at any moment. I want to say no, but Tim’s normally happy face looks stressed. He’s not even wearing one of his festive ties.
“Go. And don’t worry about using more of your vacation days to cover the extra time.” Tim’s been planning his Christmas visit to his family for months, but I know he’s been uncertain of his welcome—his family, especially his grandfather, is more conservative and is not comfortable with Tim being out. Hopefully, this is a sign the grandfather is finally accepting of who Tim is.
“Thanks, Con, I appreciate that. I’ll see if I can change my flight to something leaving today.” He opens his mouth but then closes it and pauses before continuing, obviously choosing his words carefully. “I hate to leave you on such short notice, but Willow’s been great this past week. I don’t think she’ll have a problem keeping up…unless you would prefer to have someone else filling in while I’m out?”
I suppress a shudder. Once Tim is gone, I will be alone with her and her seduction games. When I think about the torment ahead of me…
I remind myself again of the reasons I’m holding out against her—she’s just an innocent kid who doesn’t really know her own mind yet. She may be young, but she’s legal now, my libido whispers. And is she really that innocent when she knows exactly the effect she has on you? For someone who doesn’t know her own mind she’s been pretty one-track for three years…
“Con?” Tim prompts. “Do you want me to find someone else?”
My temperature rises at the thought of her honing her skills on another man. “No. Willow will do just fine while you’re gone. Don’t worry about it.”
By the look on Tim’s face I know that he’s figured out that something serious is going on between us, and he’s not sure if he should say or do something to stop it. I appreciate Tim’s concern, but I don’t want him interfering in something that doesn’t involve him—he doesn’t deserve to be used by either me or Willow in our ongoing battle.
Just then, I hear the outer door open. “Good morning, I brought coffee!”
Willow appears in my office doorway, carrying three coffees cups. Sweet Mother of all holy things. I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s wearing a delicate white blouse that buttons up to her neck paired with a pleated plaid skirt. Instead of the stiletto heels she’s worn the previous three days, kitten-heeled Mary Janes with lacy white anklet socks adorn her feet. Her blonde hair is held back by a black velvet headband and tendrils have escaped to curl softly around her face. She should look demure but instead looks like the schoolgirl of my dirtiest fantasy, the one I want to thoroughly debauch and play teacher’s pet with. Even Tim seems speechless as he looks at her, and I’m immediately filled with jealousy again.
“I thought you needed to get to the airport,” I remind him in a way sharper tone that he deserves, but if he doesn't put his eyeballs back into his head and roll up his tongue, I'm going to treat him like I'd treat any heterosexual dude who looked too long at my woman.
Fuck. When did Willow become my woman? I need to get those thoughts out of my head right away.
"Forget it. Willow, call Tim a car. He's leaving on vacation a few days early.”
“Don’t forget the Christmas list,” Tim reminds my slyly.
I glare at him before turning to Willow. “You're in charge of the office. Don't fuck up."
"Yessir."
The brat has the audacity to salute me. I slam the door so I don't give in to the urge to drape her over my knee and give her the punishment she's been asking for since she showed up in my office yesterday.
Through the door, I hear Tim say, "Thanks for the coffee. Nice socks, but not entirely office appropriate."
I growl. No one gets to tell Willow what she can and cannot wear, not even Tim. My fingers reach for the doorknob when Willow speaks up.
"I know you think I'm going to ruin this place and take Con down with me, but you couldn't be further from the truth. I only want to make Con happy, so if these kinds of socks in the office are the wrong thing I won't wear them again here. I don't ever want to bring embarrassment or shame to Con."
My heart lurches. This little slip of a thing is baring her kitten claws to Tim in a way that is both deferential and protective. The thing is that I should be the one protecting her.
She should never have to apologize for wanting to dress a certain way or be a certain person. Someone should stand by her side, sword and shield at the ready so that this precious being can enjoy living. Suddenly, I’ve made up my mind. I’m not fighting Willow anymore. I’m going to be that person. She’s not going to be alone any longer.
I swing the door open. "You could wear a Santa costume every day to work and you wouldn't bring anything but beauty here," I tell her.
She presses her lips together trying to restrain a huge smile. It doesn't work. Thank Christ. The glory breaks through, bathing me in pure joy.
"Do you want me to wear a Santa suit, because I can?" She beams at me.
"You wear whatever you damn want to wear." I look over her head. "Go on, Tim. We'll be okay by ourselves. Have a good holiday with your family."
"Thanks, Con." He gives me a chin nod and then reaches over to pat Willow on the arm. "Go easy on him. He's not as spry as he looks."
"Bullshit!" I burst out. "I whipped your ass in racquetball two nights ago."
"Or I let you win," Tim laughingly taunts as he dances over to his desk. He grabs his jacket and sprints out of there before I can collar him.
"I like Tim. He’s good for you," Willow says, leaning her plaid-covered ass against Tim’s desk. I close the outer door and study her.
“Do you need help with your Christmas shopping?” she asks.
“No.” The only Christmas present I need is standing in front of me.
There's about twenty feet between us, but it's not big enough to keep me from her. Not this time. She's given me the clearest signal possible and at this point, to ignore it would be more insulting than taking her up on it.
She's only eighteen, yes, but I can't treat her as if she doesn't know her own mind. The woman has been running her dad's life for years. I feel slightly guilty for making her run around for the past few days, but I told myself she was doing the same tasks asked of any intern.
Still…I don't like thinking about my baby girl tottering around the city in her beautiful clothes and her pencil-thin stilts without me by her side. I think we need to have a talk about what she wants out of life, beyond being in my bed.
My cock thickens immediately at the thought of Willow and my bed together. She runs a hand over her honey-colored hair. Her fingers shake lightly at the tips. My girl's not as confident as she wants others to think. I get that, though. When I was young and hungry, I put forth the most baller image I could conjure so that no one would see how fresh the dirt was under my nails.
She doesn't need to pretend with me. Nor does she need to make decisions on where to go, what to eat, how much to save or spend. She doesn't need to be in charge, worrying about how everything is going to come together. Not while she has me. I straighten and turn to lock the door.
"Go to my office, baby girl," I order over my shoulder. She moves immediately, without an ounce of hesitation. My blood pounds in anticipation. She’s so responsive that I suspect she could have an orgasm simply at my order. "Don't touch yourself. Not one ribbon or button or zipper," I add, detouring to Tim's desk.
She halts at the doorway, a hand at her throat. "But I can prepare myself for you."
I give her a stern shake of my head. "No, Willow, you won't. It's my privilege to both dress and undress you. If you truly want me, then you will wear the clothes I buy. You will eat only food from my hand. You will do as I tell you at all times or suffer the punishment."
Her cheeks heat up and her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips. I slam my palm on the desk. "Did I tell you to taste yourself?"
"What?" Her mouth opens in a surprised circle.
In my pants, my cock lurches in excitement. It wants inside that circle so fucking bad. "Did I stutter? You don't do a thing until I tell you to, got it?"
The minx lifts her chin. "You mean even touching myself here?"
She raises a hand to cup her pert breast through the fabric of her shirt and bra. Her other hand drifts down and pauses at the top of her skirt.
“I’d stop there or you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
My hand tingles in anticipation. Hers disappears behind her waistband, her knuckles poking out against the plaid. The fit is too tight for her to delve any further. I grin evilly as her dilemma gives me an idea.
Watching her struggle to touch herself, I pick up the phone and ring the receptionist. “Hold all my calls for the rest of the day.”
“Of course, Mr. Romano. Anything else?”
“Yes, make sure I’m not disturbed—cancel all my meetings.”
I disconnect the call and tug at my tie as I stalk toward the naughty brat wrestling her hand out of her skirt. I snap the loosened tie around one wrist and spin her around to face the wall.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” I whisper into her ear. She trembles beneath me. “And now you’re going to get your punishment.”
6
Willow
My mouth goes dry at Con’s words. After three long years, is it finally going to happen?
He secures both wrists with the tie behind my back—tight enough I can’t free myself. I test the bonds and he slaps my fingers lightly. My pussy convulses at that light admonishment.
He stays behind me. His fingers grip the closure to my skirt, first unbuttoning and then unzipping. Rough hands push my skirt down over my hips and legs until it falls to my feet. I make a move to step free of the fabric but he stops me.
I still immediately, listening to the sound of his harsh, deep breaths. His knees make a thud when he hits the floor. I quiver, biting the side of my lip as evidence of my arousal drips down one thigh.
He jerks one leg of my panties aside. His teeth closing on my skin. I cry out with shock—the bite on my ass is hard enough to bruise. I jerk in reaction, but he holds my hips securely and I can’t break free. He sucks me into his mouth, his tongue flicking over my delicate flesh. I lock my knees and whimper—a sound of pleasure not pain. It hurts so good. I could come from this blatant act of possession alone.
Too soon he releases my throbbing flesh. I give a cry of dismay—I’m not ready for this to be over.
Con chuckles. “Don’t worry, little girl, that was for me—we haven’t gotten to your real punishment yet.”
Carefully, he guides one leg out from the circle of my skirt and then the other. He rises until his large frame once more blankets my back. With his hand around my tied wrists, he guides me to his desk. Gently he pushes me forward until I’m bent in half, my cheek and torso resting between his telephone and a stack of manila file folders. Cool air skims across my bare thighs. My blood throbs under the bite mark.
He kicks my feet apart and I know what’s coming next. I want it so much I can hardly stand. It’s a good thing I’m lying on the desk because otherwise I’d collapse, my legs are trembling so much.
“You’ve been a bad girl, darling, and Daddy’s going to punish you now.” I barely have time to brace myself before SMACK! He hits my butt hard, right on the tender wound he’d inflicted.
“Ow!” Even knowing it’s coming, it still surprises me. Despite my cry, he strikes that spot again before moving to the other cheek. He begins to alternate his slaps—never settling into a rhythm so that each time his palm lands against me it’s a surprise. Sometimes his hand hits the underside of my ass, below the lace band of my panties. Other times, it’s higher, finding the fleshy part with more force. The sound of each slap is hypnotic.
My skin tingles and my toes curl. My sex throbs in need. I can’t believe how good this feels. I imagined what it would be like, but dreams are nothing like reality. He’s taking me beyond this realm into one that I didn’t know existed.
“You fucking deserve this,” Con rasps, “prancing around my office in sheer white shirts unbuttoned to your waist.” He jerks my torso off the desk and reaches around to roughly grasp a breast, crushing the delicate fabric of my shirt in his grip. “This is mine. You don’t show this to anyone but me.” He smacks me hard
as if to emphasize his point.
“What do you have to say to me, little girl?” Con says, pausing. His hand gently rubs over my hot and throbbing ass.
I arch into his touch like a feral cat and moan, not wanting this to be over yet. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry what?” he demands, pulling his hand away.
I whimper in distress. He wants me to say something, but what? The sensations he’s stirring are overwhelming. I’ve never been spanked before and I had no idea that I’d adore the slap of his big palm on my skin, the sting of his strikes. I barely know how to separate the burning pain from the pleasure that throbs between my legs. I scramble to put two thoughts together. “I’m sorry…Daddy?”
“That’s right. I’m your Daddy. I own this ass.” He gives my reddened bottom a light tap. “I own these tits.” He reaches around to roughly caress my breasts. “I own this cunt.” He smacks his fingers hard against my swollen lips and then, with a flick of his wrist, he tears those panties from me. His knuckles graze my pussy and my knees buckle.
“Daddy, please punish your naughty girl. I deserve to be spanked and punished so please don’t stop!” I want him inside of me. My sex is throbbing and empty.
“Do you promise to obey Daddy in everything and accept that Daddy knows best?” His voice is so rough he’s practically grunting.