“But nothing,” he cut off her protest with an angry bellow. “Don’t try to counterman the orders I give you, like you know better. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but your days as daddy’s sex slut are over. You’re my slut now. You answer to me! If I want you wearing an evening gown while you scrub toilets with your bare hands, that’s what you’ll do. From now on this is how you’ll dress. I’ll adjust the laces on your corsets and set the locks on the zipper skirts, but you can do the rest.”
Slapped back to submission with the pointed explanation, Alexa’s sexual self trembled. She wanted to come and come hard, again and again, until all the agitated energy within her subsided and the need was spent. Two minutes of private time was all she needed, but she didn’t dare risk Luke’s reprisal should he discover her. Just a day before she would have gone ahead and masturbated in secret. Today, she was reluctant. Today she’d been conquered by a boy and a snug fitting corset.
Chapter Eight
In the mornings he flogged her; at noon they fucked; at night he turned cruel and was filled with evil aims. Perhaps she enjoyed him most in the darker hours of the night when she was caught up in a dreamy consciousness, and too preoccupied with pleasure to worry about fear and the pain he’d wreak across the canvas of her flesh. But just when she felt the rhythm of a new routine set in, the young master changed his mind, his plans; his mood shifted and she came to fear another sudden alteration in her routine.
One morning, after already leaving to meet Bo at the winery, Luke returned to the house to find Alexa scrubbing toilets in the upstairs wing, naked from head to toe.
He scowled, annoyed. “Your clothes, where are your clothes? Didn’t I lay them out for you?”
“Not today,” she answered truthfully.
“But I shouldn’t have to, should I? You know what I want you to wear.” Angry now, he went for the closet, plucking from inside the nearest implement of punishment – a cane. Then he moved to her rapidly, snapping the long thin bamboo against her naked thighs ten times in rapid succession while he drove her toward the corner of the room. She held up her hands to shield her face from the erratic blows, but this angered him further, and he shouted, “Put your arms down now!”
She immediately obeyed, though she shivered before him anxiously. The trembling went too deep for her to stop.
“You insult me, Alexa! I would never strike your face. I’d never be so out of control – it’s an insult to me that you’d shield your face!” He fumed and paced about in front of her, while she tried to calm herself. “Now get dressed. Everything. Shoes, corset, skirt and blouse.” Another strike of the cane delivered against her left thigh sent her flying to his closet from which she hastily pulled out the items required. Returning to the room, she moved quickly to dress, aware the entire time how her mind was suddenly spiraling downward into subspace. Her lust responded to his imperious gaze and angry tone, making a sticky mess of juices between her upper thighs. “I think you need it hard like this. I don’t do it often enough,” he observed, as he approached. He reached out, grabbing the back of the corset and its laces, and cinched them up far more tightly than she could on her own. “You’re much more submissive when I’m cruel to you. It turns you on.”
He was right. Pain was her aphrodisiac and his domination of her was her private thrill.
Once dressed to please him, she saw how his eyes turned heavy with lust and a wide sweep of desire invaded her body. Her longing for him could become an obsession if scenes like this became routine. She hated that she was so obvious in her physical response to pain. Sometimes she greatly wished that it was roses and wine that turned her on, not these terrible things.
“Now you clean…” he tersely spat, “on your hands and knees, every square inch of my master bath. Toothbrush, soap and water.”
Unlike the dozens of times he’d issued an edict or command only to quickly walk away expecting her compliance, he stayed this time, hovering over her as she dropped to her knees and tried maneuvering her way around the bathroom in the tightly fitting clothes. Her blouse was too full and hung too low; the taut corset made turns and angles difficult; and the skirt was just plan lewd, riding up on her ass and exposing her nether regions for the boy’s view. Despite the discomfort, she worked her way around the bathroom, cleaning each tile with the inefficient toothbrush until the tedium of the task began to set in. Even worse was the sting of his eyes aimed unwaveringly at her. The intensity of his gaze caused her to smolder from within creating a strange, even volatile mix of desire and anger. She felt silly in the fancy clothes. Silly and diminished. Mocked by her own willingness to succumb to the boy.
The longer she worked the more she felt Luke’s eyes bearing down on her. She sweated from the effort, bit her lip in anger, and groaned beneath her breath every time Luke snapped the cane against her upturned ass. She wanted to beat him at this game, hold on and not cave in, but the cleaning dragged on and her spirit lagged and soon the she felt the force of his dominance take hold in her. It had before but never had it been such a struggle.
He laid on three cuts of the cane in a rapid staccato, the blows directed squarely on her exposed ass cheeks. He’d deliberately locked the zipper on her skirt just midway down her ass, so there was plenty of naked flesh, including two plumped up cheeks for a target. By the time that third blow landed, she’d been driven down so far that her mind and body no longer took cues from her sane self. She wanted more, and she wanted him. Her need to resist and any anger she once felt simply disappeared. Her one hope was that he’d use her body to slake their mounting need.
However, having accomplished his goal – having his nanny on her knees scrubbing the bath in pretty, sub-slut clothes – Luke was ready to bow out. More punishment was unnecessary, and the image of her humbled service would inspire him for the remainder of the day. As for any hope that he would fuck her now, the desire was dashed when he abruptly turned to leave.
“I’ll drive you down again and again until it sticks. Remember that. If I have to beat you into submission every day, I will. But after today, I think we’re well on the way to understanding each other.
She was afraid that was true.
***
“Can’t say I’d argue with his choice of clothes.”
Bo’s voice knocked her from her current reverie and she peered up from a mess of spilled eggs on the kitchen floor.
“A whole dozen?” he asked.
“’Fraid so,” she murmured, and she went back to sponging up the slimy soup of egg whites and scrambled yokes. She tried to be cool about Bo’s appearance in the kitchen, but she was suddenly a quivering mass of nerves.
Then as if he were deliberately trying to rattle her, he squatted down beside her and placed his hand on her bare ass, just below the zipper lock where her ass and thighs meet. She noticeably trembled feeling that warm, solid hand meeting her flesh. She was somewhat covered, but indecent enough to blush, and she quivered even more as his warm palm began to gently caress her flesh. This was a first such intimate contact with Bo since she returned to the winery; he had been living up to his promise and had not made one overt advance or sexual demand. Now this – the very last thing she needed muddling up a mind already too filled with the boy-wonder and his schemes. She wanted to shake him off, but the feeling he generated in her body from her ass to the tips of her fingers and toes was too intoxicating to ignore.
“That’s not very sporting of you,” she said.
“Sporting?”
“Touching me that way.” He caressed her ass more intensely and she moaned. There had always been something about Bo’s touch that fired her up – unlike any man could, in particular Luke. “I’d say it’s highly unfair.”
“You’re avoiding me, Alexa.”
“Sorry, but this place is different this time around.”
“Is it, really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Not noticed?” she was dumbfounded. “Not noticed that I’ve become the sex toy of the boy whose tears I
used to kiss away. I was his nanny, goddammit, now I’m this!”
Bo dropped his hand and dashed her secret hopes of something more. Though that hardly mattered; she’d been reduced to sobs, her chest heaving a glut of emotion as she cried out months’ worth of woe within a minute’s time. She finally turned to him as the sobbing tapered off, realizing that he had reached out to her again. Rather than suggestively caressing her naked ass, he stroked her back in a gesture so familiar that it hardly seemed unusual – even though it had been years since Bo last comforted her. Finally, she sat back on her heels and took a deep breath.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked.
“To be kind.” He pulled a blue bandana from his pocket and dabbed her face. “You’d better clean yourself. You don’t want to have to explain this to Luke.”
“My face a mess?”
He cracked a crooked smile and nodded. “Just remember, Alexa, I’m on your side. You need me…find me. I’m around, always around.”
She could have clung to her anger and resisted the offer, just as she’d done since she first arrived. Instead, she allowed herself to take comfort in Bo’s soothing words – but for just a moment. “I’m fine, really,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “You just caught me at a rough moment.” She gulped back more tears and forced a smile. “I’d better get this taken care of.” She picked up the washrag and vigorously began mopping up the mess of egg.
Bo rose to his feet and helped her up when she was ready to rinse out the dirty rag.
“You go on, go… I’ll finish the floor,” he said.
She didn’t balk but a second; then she hastily fled to the downstairs bath to wash her face.
By the time Alexa returned to the kitchen, Bo was gone and the kitchen was as spotless as it had been before she broke the dozen eggs.
She would have welcomed a little time to absorb the meaning of her last hour, but Luke barged in unexpectedly and sent her into a flurry of activity.
“I want a picnic lunch for six ready in an hour. Enough time?”
She stood back too dazed to answer. But apparently his question was merely rhetorical; he was out the door before she had a chance to speak.
***
The giggling females were her first clue that she was not alone in the house. Their musical laughter was followed by a few testosterone-laden guffaws and chortling jibes.
Curious, Alexa moved to the top of the stairs and looked down to the first floor. Seeing nothing, she tiptoed down the steps and followed the voices coming from the living room. In the hallway, she hid herself behind a tall potted plant and peeked in, seeing three women and two men, all strangers, collapsing into the couches, putting their feet up on the sofa and otherwise making themselves at home.
Back from the picnic, Alexa supposed. Two hours prior, Luke had taken off alone with the large picnic basket and a case of wine, meeting his friends somewhere along the route to the far end of the Tatum property. The intense heat of the day must have driven the party inside, and now they sat languidly about the living room, sighing and groaning over the miserable heat. None of Luke’s friends could have been older than twenty-one, and Alexa felt strange amongst them. Plus, the contrast in clothes made her feel terribly out of place, and embarrassed. The three women were informally dressed, two in short skirts and draping tank-tops; the third woman wore a short hot-pink floral dress. All three wore thin metallic flip-flops, accentuating their prettily pedicured toenails. The colors of polish were ghastly but perfectly in style, green, blue and an angry looking purple. City girls, all of them, perfectly dressed, coiffed, and made-up for a wine-country afternoon. In stark contrast to the giggling sluts’ designer chic, their guys looked like beach bums with rumpled hair, shabby shorts, t-shirts, and two day’s growth of beard.
“How about a swim?” The brunette female among them proposed in a lazy drawl, but no one picked up on the suggestion and the comment died for lack of interest. Perhaps they were as drunk as they were tired.
Luke was absent from the room, although Alexa had a strong premonition that he was somewhere close by, and the suspicion made her nervous and jittery. In living with Warren, she’d developed a keen sixth sense about the movements and moods of her master. Self-preservation. Five years in his house had fine tuned this skill. Six years later, that sixth sense returned, a little rusty, but still operating. As she suspected, her concerns about Luke’s whereabouts were soon confirmed, although a little more abruptly than she would have liked. He was on her before she realized that he was so near, and just behind her. A hand at her waist, his breath at her ear. She jumped, letting out a flustered, “What-what’s that…”
“Playing coy?” he whispered softly, as his fingers tightened on her waist. Her desire took a bounding leap, and she jerked around.
He smiled at her fondly, enough that she blushed from the surprisingly tender moment. He pushed a lock of hair from her brow and raised her chin with a single finger, a condescending but familiar gesture that seemed more than anything to depict the Dominant submissive dynamic that ran their relationship. Though it was her stained past that forced her to stay, compulsions even more urgent than self-preservation were at work between the two. He’d won her sexually. She was smitten with the boy, with his youth, his brash, swaggering charm, and a darkness more dreadful than his father ever demonstrated. Though disturbing for its erratic feral nature, that darkness became the one thing they utterly shared.
He fed off her same dark urges. Her age and maturity meant nothing to him. Repeatedly, he demeaned her for her age and dismissed maturity as an old crone’s only weapon, of no use to him. He valued a wet cunt, a warm mouth and a tight ass. She had all three, along with a fondness for being brutally punished in the pursuit of pleasure. “As long as your beauty doesn’t fade…” he would laugh in her face.
She might wince at the slights. But behind the wincing grimaces and her overt disgust, she found his treatment of her overwhelmingly arousing. From that the strange affection between them bloomed.
“Today you’re center stage,” he said, lightly stroking her face. “We’ll see how well you’ve been trained.”
Trained? She might have laughed if it hadn’t been so terribly inappropriate. There had been no systematic training like she’d had from Warren at the outset; just a jumble of weeks in Luke’s house, taking orders, answering to his whims, and enjoying the depravity of the sex they loved. Their savage orgies left them too breathless and exhausted to care about intimacy or those soft cuddly moments afterwards when the soul bares all.
Though there’d been no baring of souls – other than one brief candid reflection from Luke – something fiercely intimate had grown out of their dark sexuality, creating a bond they both felt.
“Don’t disappoint me, nanny. My friends want a show, and you’re going to give it to them.”
They both felt her body briefly clench, but before she could put words to her nervous fears, Luke nudged her from the hiding place and pushed her in the direction of the living room door. As they entered, he swept around in front of her, striding toward the sofas and his guests, leaving Alexa standing in the doorway looking lost.
“Time for drinks,” he announced to all, then he turned to Alexa. “Take care of them, will you? I assume you’ve stocked the drink cart?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. Still shaken, she waited too long before getting on with the task, long enough to be noticed by one of the men sitting across the room. He was as young as Luke, but was beefy and muscled, and solid as stone. He walked her way, smiling broadly as his big eyes surveyed her from head to toe with a lurid gleam.
“So, I’m Brendon. You must be the old lady Luke’s been talking about?” he remarked.
Old lady? She was too confounded to reply and Brendon wasn’t waiting for her answer. He seemed especially interested in her barely concealed breasts, and took some seconds to view the rosy nipples beneath the fabric of her sheer blouse. After strolling around her and admiring th
e view from all angles, he finally stopping directly in front of her with his eyes fixed on her jutting breasts.
“So, she’s the housekeeper,” one of the women chimed in. “I hadn’t thought you’d go in for the formality of servants, Luke. Sometimes you’re so old school!” She laughed, then rose from her chair and moseyed toward Alexa and her admiring friend.
“She’s much more than a servant, Miranda,” said Luke. “Certainly you can see that. Have a look.”
Miranda giggled girlishly. She could have been no taller than five foot two, but her taut, shapely figure made quite a sexual statement. Every curve seemed on display as she moved, and her clinging blouse left little to the imagination the way it outlined the shape of her generous chest, especially her nipples, which appeared as two small round bullets denting the knit. As her short blonde curls caught the afternoon sun, her body seemed to glow. Her eyes danced with mischief, and her expression was full of fun. However, on hearing Luke’s comment, she took on the task of inspecting his housekeeper in earnest, and circled her with a critical expression. She studied the older woman with red lips pursed, then her eyes narrowed from the concentrated effort. Having completed one orbit, she circled a second time.
“You know this is really freaky. She just stands there like she’s too afraid to move.” Alexa remained staring straight ahead. “You real? Or a doll?” Miranda cocked her head and tugged Alexa’s blouse to get a response.
Alexa winced, hoping no one would notice.
“I’m sure she’s afraid, wondering what I’m going to have you do to her,” Luke chimed in. He sat with a hip resting on the edge of his desk, looking proud and in his element as he watched the nervous nanny and his friends. To the sad, sorry look on Alexa’s worried face he smiled like a man much older than his years. He established his authority, communicating power, determination and, yes, a degree of ownership of her that nearly shocked her. Anyone watching might have seen what passed between them, but as far as Alexa knew, the young people in the room weren’t paying that much attention to subtleties, and the shared instant took place between them alone.
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