Daddy’s Housekeeper

by Lena Little

  “You mean rules after the probationary period ends?” she asks, getting visibly excited that her job isn’t in jeopardy. The tips of her toes turn up as she rocks back and forth on her heels.

  “These are different kinds of rules. For instance, you won’t refer to yourself as clumsy, or belittle yourself in any way.”

  “But I am.”

  “Only if you think you are, and being that this is the first time anything other than absolute perfection has happened while you’ve been working here, it’s clear that you’re not clumsy.”

  She opens her mouth to protest, and I quickly raise a finger.

  “You’ve worked thirty days here so far. Thirty times eight hours a day is two hundred and forty hours. One mishap in that time period is well over a ninety-nine percent success rate. That’s higher than any endeavor in the business world that I’m aware of.”

  Her shoulders relax, and it’s only then I realize just how much tension she was holding. “Thank you,” she says. “When you put it that way—“

  “Put your hands on my desk,” I interrupt.

  “What?”

  “The way you look at me, little one. Those immaculate manners. Your dimples. Your innocence. Your shining record of stellar work here…it’s all going to cause me to forget that you still do, yes you do, need to be punished for the statue mishap.”

  She swallows hard and I extend my hand, motioning with four fingers toward me and then pointing to the desk. “Hands on the desk, and once they’re there they stay like they’re glued down.”

  She moves past me, and as she does her arm brushes against me and I swear I feel a shock of electricity shoot through me, and it’s not static electricity either. This is something more, something perfect, something that only she could do to me.

  Arriving at my desk, her eyes narrow and slowly she lowers her hands to the polished oak as if she’s putting her hands in wet cement in Hollywood at the Walk of Fame.

  “Are your hands firmly in place?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “There’s a time to dish out praise and a time to dish out punishment. I started with the former and now it’s time for the latter.”

  I watch as her tiny little arms shake slightly and damn it if her fear doesn’t turn me on. I’d never hurt her, never, even when she thinks that might be exactly what’s happening. Her best interests are always at the front of my mind. And with her bent over in front of me, right now, something else is also in front of mind…and it involves sliding in behind her, breeding her, and making her mine forever.

  But not yet, not here. One thing at a time.

  “Do you understand?” I ask, as I move in closer, my eyes raking across her rounded bottom.

  “Yes,” she says on a gulp.

  “The correct response is, yes…Daddy.”

  3

  Camila

  I feel my hands trembling on the desk, my palms sliding across the expensive oak due to my suddenly sweaty palms. I bounce on my toes as they try to will their way to cross my legs as I know what’s coming, I just can’t believe it or mentally accept it yet.

  My eyes squeeze shut in anticipation as I feel the warmth from Carter’s body close to mine. I bite down on my lower lip and brace myself for what I know is coming…but doesn’t.

  Looking back over my shoulder I feel a fluttery, empty feeling in my stomach. There’s a breathlessness I can’t quite overcome, like all the air has been sucked out of the room, when in reality it’s just my pounding heart, demanding more oxygen to send throughout my nervous system, which explains the tingling sensation I feel from head to toe.

  It’s like I’m floating in a daydream as I grow impatient at being punished? What’s wrong with me? Or more accurately why does this feel more right than anything ever has in my life. It’s as if I’ve always needed this, but never quite knew it until it was about to happen. Until the words, daddy spilled from my lips, and his.

  My eyelids blink uncontrollably as I try and control my jumpiness, but fail. I clear my throat audibly, but it does nothing to take Carter’s focus from my bottom, his pupils clearly dilated and a tic in his cheek suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

  He brings his hand within an inch of being flush with my backside before pulling it back and then bringing it forward in a pendulum motion, stopping just where he started. I brace for the impact that doesn’t come, the impact that I desire. The feel of his big, meaty mitt on my globes.

  “Uh,” I whimper, lurching forward despite not being touched. Confusions hoots thorough me and I grimace. My body posture loosens slightly and then tightens again, readying myself for what’s sure to come. Carter isn’t the kind of man not to follow through on what he starts, and I know any delay is only temporary, his narrowed eyes telegraphing I won’t need to wait much longer either.

  My lips part in desire and I find my confidence, despite all the power in the room belonging to him. Lowering my voice and finding my backbone a glimpse of who I can be shoots through me, and directly out of my mouth with no filter. “Are you going to spank me, or just stand there staring at my bottom.”

  “Everything you are and feisty too,” he tsks. “You’ve just earned yourself another spanking.”

  “I keep hearing about this discipline, but I’ve yet to see it,” I torment him, pressing him to end this anticipation and show me what his hand on my ass is going to feel like…what else it’s going to wake up inside of me.

  “I decide when and where to discipline,” he begins. “But if you’re looking forward to seeing it, then keep your eyes glued where they are, although you might feel it before you see it.”

  “How is that—?” I begin, but like one of those martial arts one-inch punches I’ve seen on YouTube, his hand moves forward the final inch, slapping my ass so firmly that my hips buck into the edge of the desk.

  “Oh yeah,” I cry out through gritted teeth, and just as I push my butt back and away from his desk his hand raises and comes down on my backside yet again, only this time with reckless abandon, cracking across my housekeeping uniform and setting my skin ablaze.

  My tongue darts out and licks my lips in approval as his hand stays attached to my glutes, massaging the sting in even deeper, or away, I’m not sure really. I push my chest forward and bolt my feet to the floor, reading myself for spanking number three, and I don’t have to wait long.

  His calloused hand finds my backside yet again, and his touch lingers again just as I feel his other hand slide around my throat as he maneuvers my head back to face him as he squeezes my jaw, controlling my movements and snapping my mouth shut.

  “A mistake in cleaning the house is one thing. Demanding things is another. You will learn to behave and not to ever question me. Do you understand?”

  A moment passes before his grip on my jaw loosens enough for me to force out, “It’s my life. I don’t need permission from anyone to do anything. I’ve made it this far on my own, thank you very much.”

  A smirk covers his face. “You’re the horse that refuses to be ridden. Breaking you is going to be the biggest pleasure, and thrill, of my life. Of our lives.”

  He grips me hard again, spanking me hard again, and then shocks me by yanking my body away from the desk and to his so his lips can come diving down to claim my mouth.

  I pull my face away, or at least as much as he allows, as I drown in his power. His grin widens in amusement as he pinches my cheek playfully and then nudges my body away from his, his eyes staying focused on mine.

  I gasp for air and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, not wanting him to know that I secretly want him to kiss me again, or that that was my first kiss ever. I don’t want him to know he has something special, he took something sacred from me, and that I want him to do it all over again.

  As an orphan, I’m used to older men thinking they can come into my life and exert power over me as if I’m some lost soul. Maybe I am, but I don’t want help from them or anyone.

  But with Carter, it’s different i
n a way I can’t describe. It doesn’t have that temporary air of a man desperate for sex with a young girl. Although I may not know anything about sex itself, I know about people. Studying them and analyzing them has kept me alive and safe for all of my eighteen years. I know what I know and I know even better what I don’t know, and I know I’m no dummy.

  I stagger on my feet, feeling drunk from his lips and lightheaded from my still increasing body temperature.

  Needing to sit down, but not in here where he can bask in whatever this is that just happened, I stumble toward the door. I try my hardest to retain my strong posture as I widen my steps, making sure I have a big foundation for balance, which is totally lacking at the moment.

  The thought of being clumsy comes into my mind as I think I might just tip over, but strangely it just floats away, not sticking. It’s almost as if Carter’s ‘rule’ has made me consider a preconceived belief I had about myself. And as I feel my back straighten and my posture firm, I have to wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s been right all along as a matter of fact. Maybe this was just a mental construct, a false belief, that I was harboring all these years.

  Maybe he was giving me a rule, when in fact he was actually giving me self-belief.

  A second ago I was considering kneeing him in the testicles, but now I wonder if I should extend my hand in a show of appreciation for his Jedi mind trick. A genuine smile builds on my face and I feel a small tear form in the corner of my eye.

  ‘Never show weakness,’ echoes in my mind and I decide the best course of action is to escape, regroup and figure out what the heck just happened.

  Pushing through the door, I take a step back into the house and flick my arm inward so I don’t have to run to watch the door shut.

  Just before it does, Carter decides he has to get in one last word. “Remember your manners, young lady.”

  Oh, I remember all right. I remember everything about this. And I know this won’t be the last time this housekeeper tests her billionaire boss.

  Not by a long shot.

  4

  Carter

  The next morning

  “You’re early,” I say from just inches behind her and she jumps so high she practically comes out of her shoes.

  “You scared me,” she protests, bringing her hands to her chest before crossing them and shooting me an annoyed look as she swats at the air in front of me.

  “Likewise,” I counter.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “And I find it hard to believe you showed up here at six in the morning, a full two hours before your shift was to begin, for no reason.”

  I’ve been up since five if you count five as the time I woke up since I never really went to sleep last night. I spent all of yesterday and into today thinking about her. Reimagining how my hand felt on her backside and how tempted I was since yesterday to take my dick out and pleasure myself until I released. But that’s the oxymoron of it all. A Phallic victory wouldn’t bring me pleasure, it would be admitting defeat…admitting she can’t be mine. And that’s not going to happen.

  I swore to myself I’m going to save this special batch of seed just for her. Something inside me is telling me that I’m going to get her pregnant the first time I claim her. It sounds crazy, but I know her fertile little untouched body is going to suck up every last bit of my offering and start a family right away, and for that reason, this has to be perfect, special, a moment she’ll never forget. Because I know I’ll never forget, just like I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on her.

  And right now, just like the first time, I can’t help but keep my eyes from drifting across her tiny frame. Even in a housecleaning uniform, she looks better than any woman who’s ever worn a bunny suit for Playboy or any of those other men’s magazines I have no time or interest in.

  I’m only interested in the real thing. Her. No Instagram models or the like. Nobody trying to use sex to sell any number of products. The sexiest thing in the world is commitment, and that starts with giving someone your innocence, forever, and that’s exactly what I want from her…her innocence and forever.

  “I have a habit of being early or more accurately never being late. I usually get to places so early I wind up walking around for an hour or two before the actual meeting time.”

  “And the guard let you in this early?”

  “I told him I was here to get an early start on paying back a debt to you. He didn’t ask any more questions.”

  I grit my teeth and ask the question I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the answer to at any hour of the day, especially this one.

  “Did he…act inappropriately or hit on you in any way?”

  “No. You’re the only one who’s done that.”

  Touche. “And I’m the only one who will.”

  “If I permit it…boss.”

  “I think we agreed on Daddy, little girl.”

  “I signed a contract to work, not a contract to be your wife, and even then I’m my own person. I don’t belong to anyone.”

  Her stance is tough, but as a top negotiator, I can see right through it. I know what she wants because I wanted it too when I was equal to her eighteen years. Respect.

  But now that I’m thirty-nine I demand it, not ask for it. I tried the same back then because, like her, I didn’t have parents either. As crazy as it sounds I’m going to guide her through all the emotions and troubles I had. There’s no reason for her to make the same mistakes, like trying to be a bull in a China shop like she’s being now when my business experience has constantly shown me that you can indeed attract more flies with honey than vinegar. Granted, you never want to be a pushover, but you don’t need to rush or force things either.

  The best negotiation tactic is walking away from the bargaining table, and I’ve used it numerous times. But when it comes to her I’ll never turn my back, leave her unprotected out in the cold on her own, or do anything that doesn’t put her interests first.

  “Yes you did sign a contract…and it expired yesterday when you left the premises. So technically, right now you’re trespassing.”

  “I should go then,” she says calling my bluff and spinning on a heel, but no way am I allowing it. My arm shoots out and I grab her by the arm just above the elbow, spinning her right back to me, her body into mine and kissing her hard. “You’re not going anywhere on my watch,” I say as I pull my lips from hers. “And as the captain of this proverbial ship, my watch is 24 / 7 / 365.”

  “You don’t want me to leave then show me the money.”

  “What happened to the little girl yesterday who was talking about working for free to pay back the priceless statue she destroyed?”

  “As you said, that contract ended yesterday, as did my offer.”

  Damn, she’s good. No wonder she’s the best housekeeper I have even though she’s only been here a month. She takes pride in everything, just like I’m going to take pride in showing her off everywhere and letting the whole world know she’s mine.

  “Then it’s time to make you a new offer, princess,” I offer and she doesn’t seem to flinch or show any signs of reacting to the word I chose to address her. “And that offer starts with new job responsibilities.” She cocks an eyebrow, but before she has time to question my motives I keep the upper hand. “Right this way.”

  5

  Camila

  That evening

  After finding a different gear inside myself, and a newfound sense of feistiness, there’s just something about being in this house, being around him, that makes me want to break the rules.

  And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  After getting me acquainted with the upstairs portion of his home, Carter left for a business trip, and left only one rule…don’t enter his personal room until he gets back. Apparently there are special, very detailed and specific, cleaning rules for the room where he sleeps each night, and I need to show I can handle the guest bedrooms before I get a shot at taking the responsib
ility of cleaning his away from whoever does it currently. It’s strange because not even Sandy knows who cleans up there, and she’s been in the house for two decades.

  I tiptoe from my guest bedroom, down to his. Fortunately, as part of my new arrangement, I negotiated a room in the house for myself. I’m on probation, of course, but once that ends I can break my lease and actually start saving money each month by living here, instead of scraping by each week living paycheck to paycheck.

  Placing my hand gently on his doorknob, I ease the door open. I’m not too concerned with being found out considering he’s too anal retentive to allow anyone else upstairs, and also because he’s thousands of miles away at the moment.

  Stepping inside the first thing I notice is the amazing view out of the floor to ceiling windows and the oversized bed that sits square in the middle of the room. There’s also what appears to be a sauna off to one side of the room and a hyperbaric chamber. This man takes his sleep seriously.

  What I don’t see, and what I’m most curious about, is any feminine touches or presences.

  Moving over to his wall I start to press on random spots, wondering if some sort of James Bondesque closet will appear out of nowhere. A solid five minutes later I give up and then notice a plain as day door off to a corner of the room, hiding in plain sight, which causes me to smile.

  Opening the door I’m immediately greeted with the smell of cedar shoe trees and some cologne that smells like fresh sawdust and the dryness of the desert mixed together. To say it’s masculine is an understatement. And to say his wardrobe is understated is beyond an understatement.

  Sliding the oak hangers along the brass rod I notice all Italian names and the personal engraving of his initials in each suit. I didn’t even know Armani, Brioni, and Gucci offered haute couture, which, by the way, is a word I just learned after working here.