Domesticated (2 page)

Turning to my stomach like I always did, I retrieved my trusty little bullet. I had other toys that would do a better job, but I’d already had two other orgasms that day. The little bullet would do the trick. I moaned in gratification as soon as the vibration touched my clitoris. It wouldn’t take long at all. Sliding the cool mechanism down my slit, I spread the wetness evenly around my pussy. Aahh. There was no better feeling in the world.

“Sorry, I was going to call,” Garrison spoke, entering our room. My finger pushed the little rubber button, halting the pleasurable feelings stirring between my legs. “I’m sorry. Were you asleep?”

“No, not yet. You coming to bed?” I asked hopeful, wanting to feel him inside of me.

“I was going to work awhile. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I replied. I had never told Garrison what it was I wanted. My status-conscious mother and father hadn’t wired me that way. Garrison was the head of the household. I was conditioned to believe that since I was four. I was a subordinate to Garrison. 

Maybe had I not had a mother who cared more about the almighty dollar than me, things would have been different. She, too, convinced me that I was better off to be like Adriana. Her theory being that her life was so hectic and chaotic. My mother actually told me to follow in Adriana’s footsteps and not her own professional ones. 

“Are you coming to the beach with me?”

“I’ll pop in and out. I’m pretty busy this month with this oil case.”

“Okay.”

“Are you taking Ophelia with you?” Garrison asked, removing his tie and then his shiny black shoes.

“Olivia,” I corrected. “No, I don’t need her there. I hired someone to clean one day a week and I have someone to navigate the yacht when I want to go out.”

“That’s good. I’ll shower in the other room so you can sleep,” Garrison politely offered.

I didn’t want him to shower in the spare bedroom. I wanted him to take his clothes off right there, tell me to suck him off, and force his tongue between my legs.

“Okay, goodnight,” I said, rolling back to my side. I knew Garrison was never going to be that man, and I was never going to be that wife, the one that told him what I wanted. Adriana had instilled that into my head many times as well, way before I was even old enough to hear it.

I can remember what I thought were lectures at the time starting immediately following the marriage to my father. Being a four-year-old, I wasn’t the quietest little girl, not at first anyway. I remember being four that day like the back of my hand. It was my stepmother’s first attempt at her new manipulation game. My father was in his office and I was playing with a plastic car I had gotten from Milo. He was the son of our illegal immigrant maid from Cuba. 

“What are you doing, child?”
Adriana scolded, jerking me from the floor where I was sitting, pushing the car back and forth to Milo. “You don’t show boys your panties. Go away little boy,” she demanded. Milo practically ran from the hall afraid of her.

I didn’t speak, either. I was always afraid of Adriana. Her small frame and beautiful black shiny hair did nothing to soften the way she looked at me. I used to imagine I was Cinderella and she was the wicked stepmother. She
was
the wicked stepmother.

“I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”

“I was playing with Milo.”

“You don’t play with Milo. Milo is beneath you. We don’t want you exposed to nasty children like him.”
I didn’t understand at the time why she thought Milo was nasty. I was four and he was six. We were just two bored little kids, playing. I now know after a few more Milo’s, I wasn’t to associate with any of the revolting kids that didn’t go to the same private schools, or who weren’t beautiful and well-appointed like me. They were transmissible and my stepmother was in fear of infecting their precious offspring.

I ate my supper in a corner alone that night, not understanding what I had done to deserve it. I knew as soon as my father came to the table, I would be in my normal place, sitting in the pink booster seat to the right of my dad. He wouldn’t let Adriana put me in a corner.

“What’s she doing over there?”
my father sternly asked, routinely picking up the
USA Today
newspaper.

“She’s in trouble for showing the gardener’s boy her panties today.”

What?! That’s not what happened at all. It would be my first lesson in the control Adriana held over me.

“Did you fire the parent?”

“Yes, the boy won’t be around anymore.”

That was his response to his only child being singled out. He didn’t stand up for me that day, or any day after that. My father was never the bounce-on-Daddy’s-knee type, but even barely past the toddler stage, I thought he should have said something in my defense. He never did.

Closing my eyes to rid my horrid upbringing, I continued without the vibration to bring myself to compulsory orgasm before closing my eyes to sleep.

“Good morning, can you call Rob? I’d like him to come and get my things loaded on the plane for tomorrow,” I asked, ordering Olivia to take care of the trivial things I could have done myself.

“Yes, ma’am, would you like coffee brought up?”

“That would be fine. Just leave it on the gallery table,” I replied. I didn’t want Olivia to walk in, not yet. Retrieving my little trustworthy bullet from my nightstand drawer, I rolled back to my stomach and moved it between my legs. After pressing the rubber button and angling my right leg a little, I instantly felt the wetness. I never did have a problem with that. The littlest thing could trigger my ability to become vastly wet. My little vibrating ammunition initiated that to transpire. Immediately.

I closed my eyes, trying to prolong the inevitable orgasm my pulsating mechanism would claim precociously. Being with an extraordinary libido such as myself, this would go on at least two, maybe three more times before I crawled back into the same bed hours later. I heard the two light taps on my door at precisely the same moment I felt the percussions of my clitoris giving way for the predicted sensitivity overtaking my pelvic region. I was still riding the waves when Olivia entered.

“Good morning,” Olivia smiled with the shiny silver tray in hand.

“You can go,” I snapped, moving myself to an upright position.

After pouring a fresh cup of Columbian coffee, I crinkled my nose. Did I not tell Olivia I wanted Mi Esperanza Coffee? Deciding not to complain about it, I walked out to the verandah. Mi Esperanza Coffee was my favorite, imported from Honduras—java for the rich.

Hearing a mower just down the street and a dog barking next door, I groaned. Why the hell anyone would want an animal like that was incomprehensible to me. They smelled like beasts and they shed nasty hair all over the place. I looked over, seeing the neighbor’s young son in the yard, playing with the dreadful creature.

Christian must have been home from college, I noted, letting my morning robe drop to the side and baring my naked shoulder for him. He couldn’t really see me, I knew that, but it turned me on, nonetheless. I sat in my comfortable padded chair, letting my robe fall to the side, all the way to my hip. After crossing one leg over the other, showing the young lad my bare pussy, I sipped my coffee.

Christian never saw a thing. He didn’t even look up, not that he could have seen anything anyway. We were at least half an acre apart. The fact that the boy was barely legal didn’t stop me from fantasizing, imagining him on his knees in front of me while I had my morning coffee.

“Would you like some help packing your things? Rob will be here at noon. Will that work for you?” I turned to see Olivia, standing in my door. My fantasy went from the Mason’s young son to her. I knew I was showing partial breasts due to my fallen robe over my shoulder and I know for a fact she looked. I studied her briefly before answering.

“Yes, that will be fine. You can lay everything out on my bed. I’ll be in shortly. Did I not ask for Mi Esperanza?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, I should have known. Would you like me to get you some? I won’t let it happen again. Sorry.”

“Indubitably Olivia? Don’t grovel, it’s not ambrosial—at all,” I disdainfully replied. I thought about Adriana, my stepmother. She would have fired Olivia her first day. I would have, too, except for the fact that I did trust her, with not only my lavish luxuries but other things as well. Sometimes, I would like to fire her, though. It was so hard to find a good personal assistant these days. I often wondered why I kept her around.

“I’ll start on your packing.”

Fidgeting in my seat, I could tell I was wet. Was it the thought of Olivia being between my legs or the neighbor boy? Hell, I didn’t care. Either of them would do.

“Olivia, is my husband still here?” I asked, joining her in my room. “I don’t want that. Put that away,” I pointed, wondering why I just did that. I did want that shirt. I just bought it. Blaming it on Adriana and the way she used to order me to do things just to control me, I attributed her for the ridiculous outburst. I would retrieve the shirt later.

“No, ma’am. He left hours ago.”

It didn’t really matter. I would have never thrown myself on him anyway. Instead, I played the robe game with Olivia, letting my naked body accidentally on purpose become exposed while she and I packed my things. I even turned the thermostat down once, wanting to see if her nipples would harden through her uniform, a white button up shirt. They did, as did mine. 

It wasn’t the first time I wondered what Olivia looked like naked. Maybe that was why I kept her longer than I kept any other assistant. She was younger and prettier than most the women who had come to me from the agency. They usually came older than me, and not near as attractive as Olivia. Her tanned skin was a product of genetics. Her dark hair reminded me a lot of Adriana’s. Olivia was born in the states, her parents migrated here from Pakistan years before she was born. Her mother was full Pakistani and her father was a white man. He owned a landscaping crew, although I had never hired him to do anything for me. I never met Olivia’s family. Garrison took care of the outside upkeep. I imagine he just had a monthly check sent to the company. 

Olivia’s beauty was different than mine. She was so shallow and submissive. I never understood why she followed in her mother’s maid footsteps. She could have been so much more if she had her own backbone. It was her fault she was treated the way she was. She let it happen. I would have stood up to me long ago. If she was willing to take it, I was willing to give it. Plain and simple.

I can say that now, but I spent many years under the authority of Adriana, never once standing up to her. If Olivia wanted to be a poor, beautiful girl under my power, then that was on her, not me. At least I wasn’t fake like Adriana was. I didn’t treat her any different around people than I did behind closed doors. Olivia probably knew me better than my husband and I’d been married to him for almost five years. Add the four years we dated and you would think he knew me better than anyone. He didn’t.

Garrison let me know the very first time I suggested anything kinky that it was abnormal. He suggested that I talk to a therapist about it. Pffft, if he only knew. Of course, I never spoke to anyone about it. I had enough people in my life to make me feel anomalous. I didn’t need any more. It was after that instance of requesting a spanking from my fairly new husband that I branched out into the world of pornography.

One might even say I held an addiction to the realm. I would argue that and say it wasn’t the pornography I was addicted to. It was my pussy and the way it felt almost hourly. There wasn’t an hour that passed when I didn’t think about my girly parts—or someone else’s girly or manly parts.

Wondering what Olivia’s pussy looked like, I nonchalantly dropped my robe and took my time with finding something to wear. I stood exceptionally long in front of my closet, letting her see my toned ass while I decided on my attire for the day. “You can pack my panties if you want,” I offered from my position. I could have said undergarments. I didn’t want to say it that way. I wanted to say panties, desiring her to handle my personal garments, touch my panties, and hold them in her hands. Olivia of all people should know about my panties. I often wondered if she could see the discoloration from me soaking them with my overactive juices on a daily basis. She didn’t do the laundry, but she did retrieve my clothes from wherever I left them. I often made sure my panties were on top of a pile of clothes for her.

Turning back to her with my naked self, I smiled in success, catching her eyes on my unclothed body. “I’m going to shower. You can pack my bathroom stuff, too, when you’re done here.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod, moving her eyes from me to the task in front of her.

Opening my phone, I went to my favorites. André McPherson. He was so yummy, yet serious in a dominating sort of way. I longed to have that, to have a man tell me to what to do while I submitted like a bad little girl. Garrison would never be that person.

Bringing my foot to the seat of the toilet, I played with myself for the second time that day. It wasn’t even noon yet. I watched André slide down the girl’s panties and bend her over his knee. I closed my eyes, dragging my fingers through my wet slit, right to my overzealous clitoris. This was going to take two point seven seconds.

I watched André spank the girl’s bare ass, marking her cheeks with red handprints. Olivia came to mind again, only this time, I was André and she was bent over my legs while I spanked her panty-less bottom. I stopped that thought right quick, feeling dirty or abnormal as my husband and stepmother would’ve told me. Instead, I visualized her walking in and catching me with my fingers twirling on my clit.

Thinking about her standing at the door, watching, I spread my lips with my fingers, giving her a better view of my pulsating clitoris and wet pussy. I continued to watch André’s hand come down, smacking the girl’s ass while I turned and sat on the seat, spreading myself for my imaginary Olivia to watch me come. I was overly excited today for some reason, rarely was it ever this intense. I was sure that the real Olivia heard the amazing after-effects of my orgasm. Feeling a paramount explosion, I delightfully moaned. Cries of my ecstatic release filled the quiet room. Aahh. Just what I needed—again.

Olivia and I had all my things settled into the private jet, ready for my departure by two in the afternoon. We ate a late lunch at Augusta’s and then set out on the forty-five minute drive to New Haven with her things.

“Do you think I can work for you again when you come back?” Olivia asked.

“Of course, unless you have another job by then,” I replied, zipping in and out of traffic in my little sports car. I should have already had it sent to the beach house. It would take a few days for it to catch up with me. Fighting the urge to yell at Olivia for not thinking of it sooner, I forgot about it. I walked most places there anyway.

“I’m going to work with my father for the summer.”

“Cutting grass? Why would you do that?”

“I need to work.”

“Do you have an education at all?” I asked the judgmental question.

“I was taking some secretarial classes, but I quit.”

“Why?”

“I’m too much like my parents. I like to be hands on, stay busy. I don’t think I would like sitting behind a desk all day. Plus I really like to cook,” she added. I ignored her last statement, thinking about that. I suppose one is successful if they’re doing what they enjoy doing. Olivia was successful doing what she did. My stepmother would never have let me be a maid or a secretary, other than hers anyway.

Adriana used to make me do many things for her, like come to my room and make me brush out her beautiful long hair every night after her shower. Even after Katie and Paris were old enough to do it, she still came to me. Again, I know it was a control thing.

I remember talking to one of the cooks one day. I can’t remember her name, but I was practicing my piano lesson and she was politely telling me how pretty it was. I explained the piece to her, telling her I had just learned it. I guess I was about eight; Adriana was carrying Paris and holding Katie’s hand.

“Take them,”
Adriana ordered one of the maids. She jerked the celery stick from my hand and pulled my arm to my father’s office. He wasn’t there, of course. I think he was out of town for a couple weeks that time.

“What did I do?”
I asked, not understanding.

“You want to be like them? Is that what you want? If you want to act like a sewer rat, I can treat you like one.”