But I knelt at his side without needing to be told, biting in on the corner of my plump lower lip.
“I am, Sir,” I said like the obedient lap dog I apparently was.
“Good,” he said, and he served me up a neatly pre-cut square of waffle with fruit and syrup, feeding me once more as he pet my hair this time. Luxuriating in the long, blonde strands.
“You can claim the satin cushion from my office for this from now on. No need to risk bruising your precious little knees,” he said, half-amused, but half pleasant, as if some part of him wanted to be nice to me despite how cruel his nature was.
This was weird. I knew it was weird.
My mind must have been fucked up, because he was doing messed up things to my body and brain. I swallowed, and it tasted so good.
But his hand felt better.
As the meal went on, a tiny bit of syrup spilled from a bite of waffle onto my chin, and he took up his fancy napkin and gently dabbed it away.
“Hold still,” he cautioned as he cleaned me up, removing all trace of that sweet syrup. “Very good girl,” he remarked with a smile, a certain glint in his eyes that made me both worried and pleased.
That was how our days went for a while, me setting up his things, cleaning up his home — though little actual cleaning was necessary since he lived alone! — and then kneeling upon a satin cushion at his feet as he fed me for each meal he was home. He bizarrely never made any move to push things further, just his strong hand stroking my hair and my back, on down to my rear.
I just chalked it up to some weird power play. He just liked feeling in control.
I had no idea how to deal with it all, I was lost. My feelings were in turmoil and I nearly stormed off several times, until the end of the week… when I saw my pay deposit.
Not only did he pay me double as he’d said, but he’d tripled it. And I was paid not only for the typical work hours, but every hour I spent at his place. If I put up with his strange behaviour for just a while, I could quit and leave a wealthy woman, I told myself!
Though as time went on, it became clear, he had no guests, not even his assistant would come by. It was just him and I. I grew so used to the quiet and loneliness, that I was cleaning his room one day and became completely startled by his presence!
There he was, sat down on the balcony, bottle of wine beside him as he stared off out over the city scape.
I gasped — and maybe even squealed a little — and he calmly spoke to me.
“Bring me a bowl of fruit, Miss Tish,” he said.
“Sorry S-Sir! Right away Sir,” I said, and I hustled off, the ruffled plaits of my skirt bobbing as I went downstairs to get him that.
When I returned, he was just as I left him, and I placed the fruit before him.
“Sorry Sir, I had no idea you were home,” I explained about my earlier fright, and he looked at me, studying me quietly.
“Getting used to the quiet, are you?” he asked in his gravelly voice.
“I suppose,” I said, though honestly, I never quite got used to it. Just expected it. Even when he was home, he wasn’t a big talker.
It was hard to hate a man that looked as good as he did and played things so close to his vest.
I stood just a few feet from him, the warm summer breeze loosening my hair from its barrette. Blonde tresses tickled my cheek and I swept them behind my ear.
“Are you feeling well?” I asked.
He looked out over the city and only glanced back at me, not answering my question, at least not right away. The pause lingered a while, and I wet my lips anxiously.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked me.
I reached across my stomach, suddenly feeling uncertain. What was on my mind? I felt like I’d disconnected, become so invested in just work and money and...
And desiring those soft strokes of affection, and his kind words.
I looked out at the city and shrugged my shoulders before looking back at him.