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“I said watch,” he growls. “You stand there and let them look at you while we tidy up all the mess you’ve made. You stand there with three lots of cum drying on your used and broken body until Don is ready to take pity on you and clean you up.Think about what you’ve done tonight…you should be so fucking proud of yourself, Bambi.”
CHRISTMAS DAY
‘STORM’ - RUELLE
‘WE’RE GOING HOME’ - VANCE JOY
CANDY
Christmas morning in my bosses’ household is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
For starters, it’s afternoon by the time I drag my ass up from my bed, having had one of the best nights’ sleep of my life. There’s something about being totally and utterly satisfied that allows you to relax completely and just switch off.
I head straight for the shower. Don cleaned me up as best he could last night – enough that he could get me out of there without carrying me past crowds of people covered in cum – but by the time we got home I was too exhausted to shower.
This morning though – or I guess afternoon – I’m regretting it. My skin feels tight and dry. Itchy. And when I look down at my naked body there are flaky patches of dried cum still on me.
I don’t regret last night. But I burn with embarrassment and shame, even as my core clenches.
I take my time in the shower, confident that none of the others are up yet because of how quiet the place is, and on account of the fact that they all worked late.
When I finally feel clean, I shut off the water and climb out. My body still aches from yesterday but it is in the best possible way. It’s been a long time since I’ve bent and stretched likethat. If I thought it was going to continue I’d need to look up gym membership or at the very least some Pilates classes or something.
I dry off and get dressed in some leggings and the soft cashmere sweater I stole from Elle.
I grab my phone and call her.
“Merry Christmas, bitch!” She sings down the phone as a way of greeting. “It’snota naughty word! It’s a female dog, Genevieve…Yes I’m talking to a dog… Which one? The one from Lady and the Tramp… No, she’s the tramp… Ask your mum. You’ll understand when you’re older…” There’s a scuffle and then Elle’s back on the line, laughing. “Sorry about that. She’s nine and nosey as fuck.”
“Is that Aiden’s oldest?”
“Christ no. His are practically babas. Still at that cute age where they adore me. Gen is Harold’s granddaughter and she’s with us for Christmas. And I’LL KILL HER IF SHE TOUCHES MY MAKEUP AGAIN!” she bellows, more for the kid’s benefit than mine.
“Harold being…?” I prompt.
“The butler.”
“I thought that was Wilfred.” I frown. I mean, they have a lot of staff.
“Wilheim.”
“Whatever.”
“He died. Or retired. I don’t fucking know. Now tell me, where the fuck have you been? Because it sure as shit hasn’t been at my flat!”
I gulp.How does she know?
“Switch to video,” she barks and my phone beeps the request, which I accept. There’s no telling Elle no.
“Hey,” I say again like it’s a brand new call, and she frowns at me. I’m flustered.
“That’s not my guest room.”
“Ha. Yeah, you’re right. How did you know I’m not at your place?”
“My neighbour called to say the cat died.”
“You don’t have a cat, bitch.”
