Beg Me-Sold to My Dad's Boss

I sat back for a moment, looking at the brunette contemplatively.

“Honey, you’re so good with food. Where did you learn all this? It’s amazing, you’re a real gourmand,” I complimented.

Lindy blushed a little.

“Well, I do like to eat,” she said with a shy smile. “I mean, look at me, can’t you tell?”

I nodded again approvingly, my eyes sweeping over that generous bosom, the fleshy ass. On my watch, Lindy had put on a couple pounds already, and the extra heft, extra bounce was gorgeous, I planned on tasting her as soon as we got back. But she hadn’t answered my question.

“But where did you pick up your interest in food?” I asked casually, leaning back in my chair, forcing myself to focus on her face and not be distracted by that delectable body. “From your parents? I never knew Jim and Brenda were into fine dining and culinary experimentation.”

The brunette threw her head back then and laughed, the peals melodic in our private room.

“Oh, my mom and dad would never come to a place like this,” she admitted. “There’s no way you would ever find them here, it’s way too fancy and we could never afford it, we…” her voice came to a halt suddenly. Because of course the Joneses couldn’t afford to dine here, Jim had stolen from me to help pay for his daughter’s tuition.

Obviously, Lindy had just had the same thought and colored, but despite the awkwardness, she went on.

“My parents are different from me,” she said slowly. “Jim and Brenda love me and adore me, I’m their daughter after all, but they’re different. You know I’m the first person in my family to go to a four-year college right?” she asked hesitantly.

I nodded. Jim was a fantastic accountant but he only had an associate’s degree. The fuck I cared. One thing I’ve learned from being the boss over the years is that school is well and good but common sense and experience isn’t taught in the classroom.

But I was curious, pressing on.

“But is that what you want?” I asked. “Are you finding that you like college? Are your classes stimulating, helping you figure out what you want to do, who you want to be as a person?”

And the brunette sighed then.

“I guess that’s one of the tough things,” she admitted. “My parents have wanted me to go to college since I was a little girl, I always studied so hard, tried my best in school, and now I’m here. But Chris,” she sighed, “it’s not all that. I don’t love my classes, I feel like I’m twenty years older than my friends sometimes, the stuff they want to do, the stuff they’re interested in, I’m just not into it, you know?”

I nodded understandingly.

“You mean like smoke weed and get drunk every weekend?” I asked wryly.

And she sighed again, her hand playing with the table cloth.

“Not just every weekend,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “More like every day. I think my roommate’s an alcoholic, and she’s not the only one who has a serious drinking habit at school. But it’s other stuff too,” she continued. “I don’t feel like I’m in a groove, the friends I’ve made are interested in talking about boys, shopping and TV shows. Not that I don’t like that stuff,” she said quickly, making me frown slightly, “it’s just that it’s all the time with them. Plus, my professors are in their own worlds, stuck in an ivory tower that makes no sense to me, and sometimes I just don’t know,” she said with another helpless sigh. “I really don’t know.”

Holy shit, there was a lot to unpack there, but I was interested, curious about the beautiful brunette and her life.

“Let’s start with the friends,” I said slowly. “What don’t you like about them?”

“Well,” replied Lindy slowly. “Sometimes they’re so … so juvenile, you know? Everything’s about texting and hooking up, and while I realize I come across as a little conservative,” she flushed, biting her lip, “I dunno, the guys at school just seem so … so …” she hesitated.

“So what?” I pressed, my voice gentle yet rough at once. I wanted to hear her say it, wanted the brunette to voice what I was hoping.

“So amateur,” she said in a whisper, looking down, and then back up at me, her eyes catching mine with such meaning, such resonance, that my my heart jumped, my head spinning. “Next to you, Mr. Jones, they’re just amateurs.”

And I could feel myself staring at her, eating her up, devouring the goodness that was Lindy. Because the girl made me feel about ten feet tall, ready to conquer the world, and fuck but I loved it. I couldn’t believe that a nineteen year-old was doing this to me, making me shake in my shoes, harsh streaks of color staining my cheekbones, but yeah, Lindy knew exactly how to truss me up and leave me helpless.