A Daddy for Christmas, CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF THE DD/lg (D*DDY DOM, LITTLE GIRL) LIFESTYLE. NO CHARACTERS ENGAGED IN SEXUAL ACTS ARE RELATED, BIOLOGICALLY OR LEGALLY. The story includes lots of playful submission and other BDSM games. Anal play, spankings, and other forms of sexual discipline fill these pages. If any of these subjects, make you uncomfortable please stop here.
I’m a self-serving, conniving, manipulating brat, and I’m proud of it. Grayson Berk is the opposite of me in every way. He’s driven, respectful, firm, and relentless. However, I needed a place to live and he needed a roommate.
Living with him has been unsettling as I try to come up with the funds to stay in his perfect dream home simply because I want to continue pushing all of his buttons.
I couldn’t have imagined what would happen when he started pushing back.
Is it possible for me to play the little girl that Grayson aches to discipline, or will he kick my lying ass to the curb?
“How could I have let this happen?” My head dropped into my hands and my stomach rolled with nausea. I let the heels of my hands stab into my swollen, over tired eyes. “Again.” An annoying pinging sound was bouncing around my brain and growing louder and louder by the second.
“When will you learn, Brook? Seriously? You can’t go out drinking all night, spending your rent money, and expect me to still let you live here. I let it slide when you missed July’s rent and gave you leeway with August, but I can’t do it again this month. I just can’t. I’m sorry, but you’ve forced me to do this.” Rose began rubbing my back in a motion that should have been soothing, but it was having the opposite effect on me right now. I swiped my hand backward to push her away.
“You’re already kicking me out. I don’t need you to give me a guilt trip too, okay?” I pushed myself off the ugly couch covered in a faded flower pattern and looked back at my soon to be ex-roommate.
“Look, it’s not my fault you can’t keep a job or remember to pay your half of the rent. I’ve done all I can do for you. I’m not trying to guilt trip you or whatever but I need a roommate to help me with the bills. If I could do it by myself, I wouldn’t have posted an ad looking for someone in the first place.” I rolled my eyes as she leaned back into the ugly couch and crossed her perfect legs. “I’ll give you till the end of the week, September 1st at the latest, but then you have to go, so I can get someone in here who will actually pay their half of the rent.”
“The end of the week?” I scoffed. Today was already Wednesday, which meant she expected me to find a new place to live and move out of here in four fucking days. “Generous of you, Rose. Really.” I watched as she picked an invisible piece of lint off her gray skirt.
“You’re welcome to leave now if you’d like.” She snarked at me with a straight face, making me turn on my heels to avoid screaming at her. I bit into my cheek as I stomped down the hallway to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. “Seriously?” Her yell was muffled by the door, but that didn’t stop me from flicking off the solid wood door and making a face that she couldn’t see.
Yeah, so I hadn’t paid my rent on time since I moved in, but I did pay it. Except for the last three months. I’d meant to, honestly, but my dumb ass had gone shopping with my friends from college and then out to lunch and next thing I knew we were at a club and I had spent all my rent money. Again.
All my friends were married now with careers, not just jobs, and starting little perfect families that they rubbed in my face and forced me to whisper faked “ooh’s” and “ahh’s”. They didn’t live paycheck to paycheck anymore like I did, and when I’m with them, I get so swept up in all the lies I’ve told them that I end up spending money like the version of me I invented can afford. Then the real me, the broke twenty-eight-year-old who gets fired from every job she gets, pays the price.
I don’t blame Rose for kicking me out, not really. She isn’t the first and probably won’t be the last roommate to drop me on my ass. My parents had started the domino effect by spoiling me as a child and then apologizing for doing so while they shoved the notion of growing up in my face. They had pulled the comfort cushion right out from under me and watched me flounder in a sea of unheard of responsibilities. I’d been drowning ever since, and no one would throw me a lifesaver.
It’s not that I’m stupid because I’m not. I’m very well educated. It’s just that I don’t “apply myself.” Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. My parents paid for me to go to a very prestigious school, where I partied like an animal and still passed all my classes with high marks. I graduated and found that school was kind of where I wanted to stay. I wasn’t ready to let go of being young and having fun just to exchange it for hours and hours of doing something I hated to save money for when I was planning to die. I tried to convince my Mother and Father that I needed to go back to school and pick another major but they made it clear they wouldn’t pay for me to make being a student my career.
It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but I just want to be a trophy wife for some rich doctor or lawyer, someone like that, you know? I needed someone in my life who would just be happy with me lounging around the pool looking pretty or prancing around our twenty-five thousand square foot mansion without actually having to do anything other than blow him a couple of times a week and tell him he is the only king of my universe. Maybe not a husband but a sugar daddy, at least. I’m not a gold digger, though; I’m just lazy. Clinically lazy, like it was a real problem that I didn’t know how to fix.
I laid across my bed on my belly and opened my laptop. There are always people looking for roommates, but not everyone is someone you’d want to live with. I’ve gotten superb at finding the weirdos. Not finding and avoiding them, mind you, they are usually the ones I end up living with. Like Rose for example. Her house had been left to her by her grandmother, and when the old bat died, Rose didn’t bother to buy new furniture or update the place. The kitchen was covered in that dingy yellow tile and rooster wallpaper that everyone had in the seventies, while the bathroom was a sick Pepto-Bismol pink. Honestly, I’m shocked she didn’t have plastic covering the couches in the living room.
I scrolled through the new listings and so far, it was more of the same ol’ same ol’. Coo-key stoner looking for a bunk mate, med student undergrad looking for someone to cook for them in the rare chance they’d be home for dinner. This time I needed something that stood out, something a little different than what I usually looked for. I didn’t want to live with another Rose. Ms. Prime and Proper, always on my ass about how I dress like a hooker and reminding me all the time that cussing isn’t very lady like. Well, when I give a shit, I’ll stop cussing, but until then, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
I should have probably been looking for a new job before I searched for a new apartment but for me jobs came as easily as they went, living quarters were a bit trickier. My resume kicked ass, lots of experience in many subjects, and I always nail all my interviews. That is never the problem. If getting jobs were a Guinness book world record category, you’d be looking at the title holder.
I bit on the tip of my acrylic nail and continued to skim through the rest of the classifieds. One jumped out at me; normally I live with females, and that has always ended up badly. This one read,
“Single, middle-aged man seeking a Single, open minded female housemate who is capable of moving in immediately. I often travel for business and am looking for someone who’s capable of taking care of the place while I’m away and who’ll allow me to take care of them when I am home. If interested, call 569-2929 for more details.”
Short and sweet, kind of. It seemed simple enough; I wondered if I could talk him into paying me to live there while “taking care of the place”. That would be the mega-jackpot. I pulled myself up to crisscross my legs on the mattress and yanked my cell phone from the cup of my bra to dial the number given.