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Sold to the Billionaire

Cherry Hampton

Copyright © 2016 Cherry Hampton Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or part, without the express written consent of the author.

It was a bright and sunny day outside, reflecting the complete opposite of my mood.

“What do you mean I have to go live with Mr. Blomquist?” I whined.

Mom and Dad exchanged strange looks as we sat on stools around the kitchen island. One second, they looked guilty. The next, secretive.

“It won’t be forever, Madison,” Mom said, her eyes still fixed carefully on Dad’s face.

“Just for a month. Two months, at most,” Dad said with a nod.

“But what I don’t understand is why,” I said.

Mr. Blomquist was my dad’s boss. He’d practically paid for our house, all the family cars including my own, our pool, and my mom’s designer shoe collection. I supposed he wasn’t too bad, but what kind of nineteen-year-old wanted to spend her summer with her dad’s boring old boss?

Mom fingered the pearls around her throat. It was a sign that she was starting to feel a little nervous. Dad coughed into his fist and furrowed his brow, which was what he did when he was thinking very carefully about what he was about to say.

“I did something very bad for the company,” Dad said. “It’s actually something illegal, and I did it without Mr. Blomquist’s knowledge.”

Bewildered, I looked to Mom for an explanation. Luckily, Mom was a little more straightforward.

“Your father embezzled money from Mr. Blomquist’s company,” she said flatly. “And simply put, Mr. Blomquist is willing to forgive your father and lend him his fancy, hot-shot legal team to boot if he does him just one favor.”

“Which is?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“Lend him you for a month,” Mom said.

“Or two,” Dad added.

My jaw fell open. So the reason Dad was pawning me off to Mr. Blomquist was because he’d done something illegal? So I was the one being punished for his sin? It was so outrageous that it left my speechless.

“Come on, Maddie,” Dad said, leaning forward. “You don’t want your father to lose his job, do you? Without my job, I wouldn’t be able to buy you all your pretty things!”

Still too dumbstruck to speak, all I could do was stare down at his hands. They were clasped on the counter in front of him, neatly manicured with a gold ring on each pinkie and a Rolex on one wrist. For some reason, the sight of his hands comforted me. Thinking about him being too broke to afford his manicures or having to pawn his jewelry was suddenly very distressing to me.

I didn’t want his hands to change. I wanted everything to stay the same.

I swallowed dryly. “Fine. I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll do it for the family.”

I’ll do it for you, Daddy.

Mom leaned back, clutching the front of her blouse, clearly relieved. Dad merely smiled.

“That’s my baby girl,” he said.

And he reached across the kitchen island to touch my hand with his.

* * *

I didn’t know what to pack, so I packed everything. My plaid miniskirt, my strappy heels, my hair straightening and curling irons, and even my magazines from the last two months. I’d never actually met Mr. Blomquist before, but I still wanted to make a good impression, so I decided to wear my black, knee-length dress. The last time I’d worn it was when I went to church.

Mom and Dad were silent as they helped me heft my bags down the stairs. I expected that they’d be driving me to wherever Mr. Blomquist lived, but to my surprise—

“The car should be here any minute now,” Dad said, checking his Rolex.

“Car?” I said.

“He’s sending a driver to pick you up,” Mom said.

I swayed dizzily, even though I was wearing ballet flats. Everything was moving too quickly, changing too fast. “Any minute now,” the car would be arriving to sweep me away to an unknown destination, to a man who had Dad by the back of the neck.

All I wanted was just one more day with my parents.

Tears began welling up in my eyes. My face began to feel very hot. Instinctively, I looked to my parents for support and protection, spurred on by a deep, primal need to seek the safety of my pack in a time of distress.

Dad looked sympathetic, but before he could even speak, Mom cut in.

“For goodness sake, Madison. You’re an adult. Act like one, or you’ll embarrass your father,” she snapped.

Something twitched loose inside of me. Instead of crying, I just felt numb.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Then, Dad raised his gaze to the window.

“Car’s here,” he said, his mouth a straight, emotionless line.

The driver walked up to the door and carried both of my heavy bags to the car. I gave Mom a dry kiss on her bony cheek and Dad a long hug. They wished me goodbye and good luck as I got into the back of the black Mercedes-Benz.

The tears didn’t spill until we pulled away from my childhood home.

* * *

The driver didn’t say a word as he navigated the highway to the north side of town. It didn’t exactly surprise me. The north side was where all the wealthiest people lived.

Although I was being ripped away from my family, I couldn’t help but feel a slight flutter of excitement, especially when the first mansions began to appear. I tried to make a game of it by picking out my favorite ones and guessing which one belonged to Mr. Blomquist. It was a little morbid, but it was the only way I could cope with what was happening to me.

I took a liking to a Tudor-style house with roses in the front yard. My second favorite was a mansion constructed entirely of brick, with Doric columns on the front porch. My favorite house of all, though, sat at the top of the hill. It was the biggest mansion in the neighborhood—

And incidentally, it was where Mr. Blomquist lived.

The driver pulled right up to the security gate, which displayed a fancy “V” and “B” in the iron scrollwork. He punched in a short, four-digit code, and the gates opened. The driveway was long. When we got close enough to the house, I could see two figures standing on the front steps…waiting for me.

Suddenly, I began to feel very nervous.

But once we reached the house, it became obvious that neither of the figures were Mr. Blomquist. First of all, both of them were women.

And both of them were old enough to be my grandmother.

They had identical hairstyles, pale hair rolled into buns at the nape of the neck. The shorter and rounder of the two stepped forward when the driver opened my door.

“Hello. Madison Pearson, I presume?” she said. “I’m Ms. Emery, this is Ms. Brown. We’re the head housekeepers. Welcome to Victor Blomquist’s estate.”

I got out of the car. The situation was so bizarre, all I could think of saying was, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. If you’ll follow us, we’d be happy to show you to your room,” Ms. Emery said.

I nodded while the driver dropped off my bags on the front steps. I wondered if more hired hands would be coming out of the house to take them. But in an unexpected display of strength, Ms. Brown grabbed the handles of both bags and lifted them as easily as if they were filled with paper.

Wordlessly, I followed the two housekeepers inside. Ms. Emery held the front door open for me, and I got a good look at the front atrium. The first thing that greeted me was a vast, crystal chandelier. I was sure that it weighed a ton, quite literally. Its lights glittered off of the polished marble floor, and it was flanked by two staircases on either side. One of them ended at the second story landing, while the other continued up to the third floor.

“Your room is right this way,” Ms. Brown chirped, stepping onto the right staircase, the one that went to the second floor.

I followed obediently, scanning my surroundings for any sort of clue as to what kind of man Mr. Blomquist was. But everything was bland and generically rich-looking without a stitch of personality. The long, Oriental rug carpeting the second floor was about the same as any other rug I’d seen. There was artwork on the walls, but they were mostly ordinary landscape paintings.

Although it was a beautiful house, it was boring.

My bedroom was halfway down the hallway. Once again, Ms. Emery opened the door and let Ms. Brown and me pass through first.

“I hope you like it,” Ms. Brown said as she dropped my bags.

I took a moment to absorb what would be my home for the next month or two. I had a queen size bed with a cushioned headboard, which sat underneath my own, miniature chandelier. There was a window dressed in white, gauzy curtains that faced the gardens, a little sitting area, and a bookcase.

“It’s great,” I said, surprised by my own honesty.

“Well, then!” Ms. Emery said with a brisk clap of her hands. “We will give you a moment to get settled. Then, we’ll come back to help you get ready for dinner. Perhaps in an hour. Is that all right, Madison?”

I nodded mutely.

Ms. Emery and Ms. Brown smiled and exited the room.

Now that I was alone, I let myself take a closer look at the room. I drifted from corner to corner, touching the furniture and the little feminine embellishments. There was a framed picture of a white horse on my nightstand, scented candles on top of the dresser, and a vase of flowers on the coffee table. A door that I mistook for a closet actually led to an en-suite bathroom. Instead of a shower, it had a claw-footed tub.

After taking in the bathroom, I went back into the bedroom. The bookcase was crowded with books ranging from contemporary romance to classics like Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice. But what I noticed most of all was what sat in between those two titles. It was another framed picture, this time of a person.

A man.

In the picture, he was shaking hands with my dad. He was tall, blonde, smiling…attractive. I felt my heartbeat speed up a little bit as I studied the picture.

Is this Mr. Blomquist? I wondered, bending forward until my nose almost touched the glass of the frame.

The whole time Dad had worked at the company, I’d imagined Mr. Blomquist as a fat, old man with a head of gray hair.

The man in the picture looked like he was forty, at the most. His hair was neat, his teeth were straight and white, and he was impeccably dressed in a blazer and crisp, blue-striped shirt.

I picked up the picture frame so I could hold it in my hands as I studied it.

This whole time, I still had no idea why Mr. Blomquist needed me to stay with him for a month.

But now that I finally saw what he looked like, my mind went wild with all the possibilities.

* * *

Almost exactly an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Ms. Emery and Ms. Brown had returned.

“Are you ready for your bath?” Ms. Brown asked.

I felt myself raising my eyebrows. “Yes, but…”

I can draw my own bath, I thought as I watched them make their way into the bathroom. I trailed in after them just as Ms. Emery turned on the water to fill the tub.

“Take your clothes off, please,” she chirped as she tested the water’s temperature.

“What?” I sputtered.

“Oh, don’t be shy. We do this all the time for Mr. Blomquist’s guests,” Ms. Brown said.

Confused, all I could do was follow their directions.

I watched the scene unfolding in the mirror as I undressed. Ms. Emery and Ms. Brown were bent over either side of the bathtub, mixing thick, fragrant fluids from various bottles into the water with their hands. I looked pale and scared, my face a sheet-white mask under my straight, black hair. Trembling slightly, I pulled my arms out of my dress and pushed it down over my hips.

I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Ms. Brown made a double take when she saw my body. “Oh, child, you are so thin! Mr. Blomquist will have to fatten you up while you’re here,” she said teasingly. Her eyes were focused especially on my modest chest area. Trying to seem like a full-grown woman, I resisted the urge to cross my arms.

Now or never, I thought. I slid my thumbs into my panties and finally slipped them off, too.

What subsequently ensued was dually one of the most bizarre and, at the same time, luxurious experiences I’d ever had in my life.

Ms. Emery and Ms. Brown each took an arm as I stepped into the water. The moment my feet plunged in, I almost melted. It was the perfect temperature. I slid down into the bubbles and rested my back against the curved edge of the tub.

Once I was situated, the women got straight to work.

Ms. Brown, with her thin, quick fingers, massaged a sage and mint scented shampoo into my hair. Meanwhile, Ms. Emery worked a soft sponge around my body. After only a few seconds of that, I started feeling less awkward and more like royalty.

“Should we shave her?” Ms. Emery murmured as she dunked the sponge into soapy water.

I already shaved, I thought to myself. My eyes were closed as rivulets of shampoo-y water ran down my face. Well, all except for down there. Surely, though, she wasn’t talking about shaving that part of me.

The bath lasted about ten more minutes. Once I was scrubbed and rinsed clean, I stepped out of the tub and into a plush bathrobe, which Ms. Emery held open for me. Then, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror while I was patted dry with fluffy towels.

I thought they were done with me by then, but they weren’t. Ms. Brown removed a tray of lotions and creams out of a cabinet. Both women squirted ribbons of the stuff into their hands and began lathering up my skin.

The smell was wonderful, but I couldn’t help but shiver at their touch. Not because their hands were cold. Their hands were actually very warm and soft.

No, it was because they were…they were touching parts of me that were rarely touched by another person. Ms. Emery slid her fingers up the insides of my thighs, and Ms. Brown reached into my bathrobe to rub lotion into my breasts with her strong hands. Goosepimples rose on my skin, which were immediately erased as the women smoothed more lotion onto my skin.

Then, Ms. Emery did something I didn’t expect.

She wielded a tiny comb, which resembled the comb I used to separate my eyelashes. She dipped it into a crystal dish of lavender-scented oil—

And she began combing my pubic hair.

I watched my face turn an unflattering shade of red in the mirror. Luckily, both women were too preoccupied with grooming me to notice. I felt simply too awkward to speak up, so I merely endured it.

After I was moisturized and oiled to their liking, Ms. Brown exited the bathroom.

“You can put on makeup if you want, but honestly, you don’t need it,” Ms. Emery said as she began patting my hair with a dry towel. Then, she brushed it with a boar-bristle brush until it hung sleek and straight down my back. “Ms. Brown is putting your outfit out on the bed. Once you get dressed, you can go downstairs and meet Mr. Blomquist in the formal dining room.” When I didn’t answer, she put her hands on my shoulders and stared at me in the mirror. “Do you understand?”

I nodded.

Ms. Emery smiled, accentuating the wrinkles by her eyes. “Good.” She gave my back a few soft pats. “Well, you’re all done. I’ll leave you to finish getting ready.”

She left me there in front of the mirror and began making her way toward the exit. I turned to watch her wide back retreating through the door, and I cleared my throat.

“Thank you,” I called after her.

She paused, hesitating in the doorway for a moment. Then, she turned halfway around so I could see her face.

Her expression was conflicted. “You seem like such a nice girl, Madison,” she said. She threw a quick glance at the floor, as if she didn’t know what to say next. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Then, she was gone, leaving me in a puddle of my own confusion.

What just happened? I wondered. But I didn’t have the time to dwell on it for long.

I had to get ready for dinner with Mr. Blomquist.

* * *

Just as Ms. Emery had said, there was an outfit waiting for me on the bed. Ms. Brown had thought of everything, right down to the bra and panties.

I hesitated to study the ensemble.

“What in the world?” I murmured as I picked up the black lace panties. Although thin and delicate in appearance, they were strangely heavy. After investigating, I found a battery pack and some sort of contraption in the gusset. “…the hell?”

The bra looked a bit small, too. When I tried it on, the cups were so low that the tops of my areola peeked through. Although everything was in my size, they seemed way too small. Still, wanting to make a good first impression, I put it all on anyway.

The black dress was a tiny whisper of a thing, practically a slip. The straps were thin, and the satin fabric, though solid, skimmed the very edge of my skin, barely leaving anything to the imagination. When I put it on, the hem barely even covered my ass.

The final piece of the outfit was a pair of black suede heels.

At least I was clean and smelled nice. I took Ms. Emery’s advice about not needing makeup, opting for a simple swipe of mascara and lip gloss.

Okay, I thought after one last look in the mirror. It’s showtime.

The heels were higher than I was used to, but I had a good sense of balance. I was moderately proud of myself for being able to walk down the grand staircase without falling on my face.

A butler in white gloves and coattails offered to show me to the dining room. Silently, I followed him through a wide, marble-floored hallway into a grand room with a table that could seat twenty guests.

It currently had one occupant, sitting at the head of the table. I felt a brief flicker of recognition as I studied him from afar. It was the same man from the photo back in my bedroom.

Mr. Blomquist.

With a start, I realized that the butler had slipped out without me noticing, leaving me alone with the master of the house. I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move or even smile…

Although, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Mr. Blomquist.

He rose from the table, and he was much taller than I ever expected. He was like a statue come to life, all hard planes and sculpted muscle. Unlike me, he didn’t appear nervous at all.

“Hello, Madison. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Come have a seat.” He gestured to the chair at his right.

Feeling suddenly very naked in my barely-there outfit, I silently made my way to the chair. Mr. Blomquist waited for me to sit down before he lowered himself back into his own seat. I was too shy to meet his eyes, so I just looked at my empty plate.

“Look at me,” he said suddenly. His voice was deep and authoritative, like a gunshot.

I couldn’t help but obey. I looked at him.

Mr. Blomquist was staring back at me with ice-blue eyes. Up close, he had the weathered look of a healthy, middle-aged man. The skin on his cheekbones were smooth, but there were some fine lines around his eyes. I noticed a few strands of silver in his blonde hair. I got the sense that we were both studying each other, taking each other in.

He didn’t smile, so I didn’t, either.

Mr. Blomquist drew back, pressing himself against the back of the chair. “You understand why you’re here, don’t you? Your father made a terrible mistake. He should’ve been fired, but I spared him the humiliation.”

He spoke with an educated diction, and it made me even more nervous.

“Y-yes,” I stammered out. “And I appreciate that. We all do. Thank you.”

Mr. Blomquist smiled with his eyes narrowed, the way a cat might smile before devouring its kill. “I suppose you must be curious why I’ve invited you to stay here with me.”

I nodded.

“I will be honest with you, Madison. I can tell you are a mature young woman. I’m currently in need of a submissive female to serve me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Submissive female. Honestly, I didn’t purely understand. But by the way he tongued those words and let his gaze drift down to my cleavage, I had a good idea. A cool shiver fell down my spine, and I pressed my knees together under the table.

I nodded again.

“Of course, I will be needing you to sign a contract before we begin our arrangement. It will detail all the duties I will be expecting of you. Are you fine with that?”

My mind was spinning. I was so confused. At first, it sounded like he’d been talking about some sort of sexual thing. But the mention of contracts and duties threw me off. What exactly was happening?

Still, Mr. Blomquist had called me “mature,” and I didn’t want to ruin that impression he had of me so early on, so I nodded again.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine with that,” I said in a small voice.

Mr. Blomquist smiled again. “Good. Now, then. It’s dinnertime.”

I straightened up in my seat and glanced around, expecting servants to walk through a door somewhere, carrying trays of food. But nothing happened.

Well, something happened.

Mr. Blomquist stood up. I put my hands on my armrests, wondering if I should stand up, too.

“No, stay there,” he instructed, touching my shoulder.

I put my hands back in my lap and watched, in wonder, as Mr. Blomquist came to stand beside me and began unbuckling his belt.

His crotch was exactly at eye level, and even though he was fully clothed, I could tell he was hard.

“This is your dinner, Madison,” he said, slowly lowering his zipper. He slipped his hand into his pants and grasped his cock, pulling it out through the opening.

My heart began racing. Somehow, of all the scenarios I’d imagined on my way over here, this was far from what I expected.

Mr. Blomquist’s cock was…the biggest cock I’d ever seen. It had to be eight inches, at least. It was slightly pink, swollen with blood. The shaft was laced with veins and thick enough to fill my whole hand. Looking at it, I wasn’t even sure if I could fit half of him into my mouth.

“Well, are you going to stare at it, or are you going to eat it?” Mr. Blomquist suddenly snapped. He put his hand on the back of my head, digging his fingers into my hair. It felt like a threat.

Immediately, I leaned forward and put him into my mouth. Mr. Blomquist didn’t even make a noise as I struggled to push his length down my throat.

His fingers tightened on my hair. “Hm. This isn’t your first time sucking a cock. I can tell,” he whispered.

It certainly wasn’t. I’d had two boyfriends in high school, but neither of them were as big as Mr. Blomquist. Still, despite his size, I knew my way around a cock, and I was suddenly in the mood to impress him.

I pressed my tongue to the underside of his shaft, forming a tight little pocket with my mouth. I wrapped my right hand around his base, pumping with my fist while I pleasured his tip with my mouth. When he groaned, I knew I’d struck the right rhythm.

His hand covered my shoulder, smoothed down my arm, and cupped my right breast.

“Bill told me what a spoiled brat you were,” he whispered, speaking of my father. He made slight jerking movements with his hips, jabbing me in the back of the throat. “I had no idea what a slut you really were, though.”

I moaned, making the fleshy part of my throat vibrate against the tip of his cock. He shuddered, and he pulled on my hair some more. His other hand tightened on my breast. His thumb slid inside of my dress, brushing up against the edge of my bra.

“I’ll teach you how to be a good little girl,” he whispered.

My mouth dripped saliva down his cock, and I used my hand to lubricate his shaft with it. He shuddered some more.

“God, you are a little whore, aren’t you?”

Mr. Blomquist finally let go of my hair. For a few seconds, I wondered what he was doing with that hand.

Then, I felt it.

Something began vibrating between my thighs, against my pussy.

My eyes flew open. The panties!

“You like that, don’t you?” Mr. Blomquist whispered when he heard me moan. “They’re vibrating panties. The remote control is hidden right here, in my tie.”

I heard the click of a button somewhere above my head. Immediately, the vibrations intensified.

“Mmmm,” I intoned, my voice muffled by Mr. Blomquist’s cock. I spread my legs, opening my pussy lips so I could feel the vibrations even more.

Mr. Blomquist brushed the strap of my dress off my shoulder so it fell down my arm, exposing my right bra cup. I could feel the air touching the top of my exposed nipple.

“Little slut,” he whispered. With a rough hand, he pulled my right breast out of my bra and stroked my nipple with his thumb until it puckered and hardened. “Bill Pearson’s no longer your daddy. I’m your daddy. Say it.”

I continued sucking on his cock, tasting the salt of his precum. Then, he pinched my nipple—hard. I pulled my mouth off of him. But I continued stroking him with my wet hand.

“You’re my daddy,” I whispered. I looked up at his face. My mouth was wet and shining with saliva.

He grabbed me by the throat with his free hand, holding me in place with a loose grip. His eyes searched my face.

“Again,” he commanded.

“You’re my daddy.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. I put my mouth back on his cock and kept working, bobbing my head up and down while my fist twisted around his shaft. Eventually, his cock became extremely stiff, and his breaths grew short.

I knew that he was getting close.

Meanwhile, the panties buzzed up against my pussy. I was surprised they were still working, because I was drenched. I bucked my hips in my chair as I sucked off Mr. Blomquist, riding the vibrations, wishing there was something inside of my pulsating, dripping hole.

I wanted to come. But Mr. Blomquist wanted to come first. I could tell by the way he tightened his grip around my throat.

“You’re going to swallow my cum. Do you understand?” he said.

All I could do was moan. I still had his cock stuffed down my throat.

I kept up my rhythm, twisting my fist, bobbing my head, drooling all over his massive cock. Eventually, he released an anguished cry, and his cock pulsed between my lips.

At the same exact time, Mr. Blomquist pressed the button in his tie. My vibrating panties went up one more level. They buzzed against my clit, and I went wild, dripping and coming. Mr. Blomquist released his load into my mouth, and I got an entire mouthful of his warm, bitter cum.

“Show me,” he whispered, gently pulling his cock out of my mouth.

I was dizzy, and my skin was still tingling from climaxing. I tilted my head back and opened my mouth, showing him the puddle of his cum on my tongue. His expression remained stoic, impassive, as he took in the sight of me holding his essence in my mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his thumb still stroking my right nipple. “Now swallow it like the slut you really are.”

I closed my mouth around his load and swallowed.

Mercifully, Mr. Blomquist finally turned off my panties. I slumped down in my chair, exhausted from working his cock and from the forced orgasm.

“That’s just a taste of what your time here will be like,” Mr. Blomquist said matter-of-factly as he zipped himself back into his pants. “If you don’t wish to stay here, you will be free to leave. I will give you tonight to think about it.”

When I didn’t say anything, he roughly grasped my chin and yanked my face up to look at him. “Tell me you heard me.”

I bit my lip. “I heard you.”

Mr. Blomquist ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “What are you supposed to call me?” he asked.

“I heard you…Daddy,” I whispered.

He pressed his thumb into my lip until I thought it would burst. “Good girl,” he whispered.

* * *

I slept fitfully that night. My back arched as I dreamt about Mr. Blomquist’s cat-like smirk, his fingers pinching my nipples, those vibrating panties…

My legs were shaking when I opened my eyes the next morning. Someone was knocking at my door, and it had woken me up.

“Come in,” I called out.

The door opened, and Ms. Emery poked her head in. “Are you decent?” she asked.

I sat up. “Yes,” I said, a little confused that she’d even ask. She’d already seen me naked.

She pushed the door open with her shoulder and let herself in. There was a tray in her hands with a cup of tea and a piece of paper. When she placed it on the bed, I saw that it was the contract Mr. Blomquist had mentioned.

“I suppose he’s told you what’s expected of you?” Ms. Emery said. She folded her hands across her apron-covered front and gazed serenely at me.

I smoothed my hair down over my shoulders. “Yes. He said I was free to leave today if I wanted to.”

Ms. Emery nodded. “That’s true. But once you sign this contract, you are obligated to stay. So please read it thoroughly.”

“I will.”

Ms. Emery stared at me for a second longer than I thought was comfortable. Just as I expected her to say something else, she simply nodded her head.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you at it. Once you’re ready, you can push that button on the wall there.” She pointed to an intercom on the wall beside the bed.

As she turned her back, I picked up the contract and read the first line. Then, I was seized with a sudden need to ask her something.

“Wait!” I said.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Her eyebrows rose. “Yes?”

I set the contract back down. I had the essence of a question in my mind, but my feelings were complicated. I had no idea how to put them into words. “Do you have any advice for me?” I finally asked.

Ms. Emery tilted her head. “Oh, child. I can’t tell you what to do. You have to make that decision for yourself.” She opened the door and set one foot out into the hallway. Then, she stopped and pivoted, coming back into my bedroom. “Although…”

I sat up, hopeful. “Yeah?”

Ms. Emery’s thin lips scrunched together. It looked like she might have been grinding her teeth. After a while, she finally continued, “You’re the third young woman Mr. Blomquist has brought into this house. But if you sign that contract, you’d be the first to stay past the first night.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in.

“Thank you, Ms. Emery,” I finally said.

Ms. Emery nodded. Without saying another word, she slipped out the door and closed it behind herself.

With a sigh, I collapsed back onto my pillow. My mind was racing. Although Ms. Emery had given me a lot to think about, I still had no idea what to do with this contract.

I’m the third girl? I thought.

According to Ms. Emery, the other girls hadn’t signed the contract. Why not? I wondered.

Then, I began reading the contract, and it was all starting to make sense.

Mr. Blomquist’s expectations were…well, they were high expectations, to say the least. The contract stated that he wanted me to call him “Daddy” at all times. I already knew that. It also stated that if he were to give me an order, I was to follow it no matter what.

No matter what.

It said Daddy’s cum was precious, that it wasn’t to be wasted. I was supposed to swallow every last drop, even if it landed on the floor.

It said I wasn’t to speak to Daddy unless I was spoken to. I wasn’t to touch Daddy unless he allowed it. Sometimes, Daddy would be in the mood to tie me up. If Daddy thought I was bad, I would get a spanking.

Of course, the other girls hadn’t signed the contract. I could see why they would’ve been scared. But me?

I wasn’t scared at all.

The more I read, the more excited I became. I didn’t understand why. Every time I saw the word “Daddy” printed on the page, I imagined Mr. Blomquist grabbing my chin, jerking my face up to meet his eyes. Claiming me. Dominating me. And my pussy got a little wetter.


I still wasn’t sure if I should sign the contract, though, until I read the very last clause.

Daddy will sometimes hurt me, but he will never push me too far. Daddy will always stop if I say the safe word. Daddy will always protect me and keep me safe, no matter what.

Evidently, I was allowed to choose the safe word. There was a little space where I could write it down. Underneath that space was where I was supposed to sign my name.

I picked up the pen that had been left on the tray, and I twirled it between my fingers. Finally, I decided on a safe word.


Then, underneath that, I wrote:

Madison Pearson.

Although I was the third girl to visit Mr. Blomquist, I was the first to sign the contract.

I was his.

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