The deal which has consumed Daddy for weeks appears to be imploding for real. In the last seventy-two hours, the other side has dug in its heels on several key issues and delivered a nonnegotiable ultimatum. Daddy believes it is a bluff to extract further concessions and is counseling his client to hold firm, but the client, far from convinced, is debating internally whether to walk away entirely. The deal is incredibly complex involving five different companies in eleven different countries and would be the culmination of two years of Daddy's work. He is incredibly frustrated because as lead attorney, the blame will fall on him if things fall apart at the eleventh hour. The pressure is immense, and I can see the exhaustion behind his eyes. He works late every night and goes straight up to his office when he finally does get home.
Chloe and I have shifted into caretaking mode. After work, we both come directly to the house, so we can look after him, which feels good because he does so much for us. On the third day, we arrive at the same time. I defer to Chloe and let her unlock the front door, which pains me because it is secretly one of my favorite things. Daddy recently gave us each keys and having access to his home feels like a hugely symbolic gesture. Not so long ago, I stood on his front steps begging to be let inside. Now I can come and go as I please. I feel like a little kid who has been granted a great big adult responsibility and get emotional just knowing Daddy trusts me that much.
Chloe greets me with a wary smile and lets us inside. It's been a couple weeks since I fucked up with her, and she still doesn't trust me. Especially when we're alone, and the way she dances on eggshells makes me want to scream. I mean, I'm on my last strike. I have to be on my best behavior whether I want to be or not. She's safe, so just relax already. But I suppose I can see it from her side, too. Being civil because I'm afraid of the consequences isn't the same as actually being kind. She's trying to peer behind my court-ordered neutrality to know what awful things I must be thinking. She's right though - they're awful.
Back in the kitchen we undress and store our clothes neatly in our cubbyholes. A minor adjustment to our rules requires that if we are in the house while he is out then our phones stay on so he can reach us. We put them side by side on the kitchen counter with the ringers all the way up. Between the two of us, Chloe is by far the better cook, so she prepares his dinner while I get the house in order. Ordinarily, Daddy is fastidious and it's a sign of how hard he is working that anything is out of place. I bring in the mail, sort out the junk and leave the rest in a neat pile on the counter. Next I head upstairs to the bedroom and pick up a lost sock that didn't quite reach the dirty clothes. I make the bed and tidy his bedside table the way he likes. I wipe down the vanity in the bathroom and desperate to make a difference, clean the dried toothpaste off his electric toothbrush. That in turn leads me to getting out the Windex to clean a solitary smudge off the mirror and from there I am down on my hands and knees picking up stray hairs from the floor. What I secretly wish is that Daddy was a slob, so there'd be more for me to do. It's ironic when I stop to think about it - I loathe cleaning, but there is something about cleaning for Daddy that makes me feel content. It's a way to show my devotion that doesn't involve sex, which doesn't really count because I am a slut and am desperate to be used by him. But willingly doing something I hate for him? Somehow that feels like real submission.
I make a sweep through his office, which I'm not foolish enough to tidy. It looks like chaos, but there is a method and meaning behind the papers Daddy has laid out on the carpet. I confine myself to picking up a dirty plate and a cup of tea that Chloe served him last night but that he never touched. Poor Daddy, I think and take it all down to the kitchen just as he comes in the house. This is really early for him, and from Chloe's expression I know she's thinking the same as me: the deal has fallen through. We both hurry over to him and slip to our knees.
"Welcome home, Sir."
"Welcome home, Daddy."
"Hello girls," he says and pets both our hair. "I have news."
We brace for the worst but as it turns out, the deal is not completely dead. Daddy has persuaded his client to stand firm and is flying to Paris tonight with two associates for face-to-face negotiations. The team has a 10:55pm flight out of Dulles, so he needs to leave for the airport almost immediately. Shooing me upstairs to help him pack, he leaves Chloe to clean the kitchen. As it happens, one of my superpowers is packing, and I can Tetris almost anything into a suitcase. Daddy isn't sure how long he'll be gone, so we pack two suits and enough clothes for ten days. I will be crushed if he is gone that long.
When we get downstairs, Chloe is just finishing putting everything away. Daddy checks the time and does some quick clock arithmetic that doesn't add up the way he wants.
"Can either of you drive a car?" he asks.
I can. Chloe cannot.
"Alright both of you are coming to the airport with me. Mackenzie, you will drive the car back."
Without being told, I cede the front seat to Chloe and then sit behind her watching his hand run idly up and down her thigh, wondering why the hell I did something so stupid. I sink back into my seat and fantasize about being taken on his trip, caged up in the hotel room all week to relax Daddy however he needs. My thighs could start a forest fire from the way they are rubbing together.
"Still with us?" Daddy asks me with a knowing frown.
I realize he's been giving us instruction and admit that I wasn't paying attention.
"You're a bad girl," he says, which makes my heart sink. "Get out your phone and write this down."
"Yes Daddy," I answer, knowing I'm getting off easy because he's on the clock.
Daddy begins again, giving us instructions to check on the house every day. There are plants to water, mail and packages to be brought in, chores to be done. He didn't have time to cancel the newspaper and doesn't want them piling up on the front steps.
"I'm going to leave it to the two of you to divide those tasks up equitably," he says, his eyes finding mine in the rearview mirror. "Understood?"
"Yes Sir."
"Yes Daddy."
"Exchange numbers," he says. "I don't know exactly what I'm walking into in Paris, but there is a lot riding on the outcome. It will be long days and even longer nights. All hands on deck, so if there is an emergency I expect you to coordinate and take care of it. That being said, I will do my absolute best to email every morning before my day begins, but I will be five hours ahead so that will be the middle of the night for you. I expect a written report of your day waiting for me when I wake up."
"Yes Sir."
"Yes Daddy."
Traffic slows to a crawl on 66, but the GPS claims we will still be there in plenty of time.
"Alright sluts, enough lounging around. Time for a challenge," Daddy announces. "If you succeed, you get a reward. Failure comes with a consequence. I call this the masturbate-until-you-cum game."
"Yes Sir," Chloe says happily.
"Yes Daddy," I say thinking what a piece of cake this will be in my present state even without a vibrator. I undo my work pants and shimmy them down to my ankles. Up front, Chloe is doing the same.
"But," Daddy continues, holding up a cautioning finger. "I know that's too easy for whores like you. So to earn your reward, you must cum together at the same time. To up the level of difficulty, there will be no talking or eye contact. Any questions?"
"No Sir."
"No Daddy." Yeah actually, one: how are we supposed to do that? Sub telepathy isn't actually a thing is it?
"Good. Get started," he says and catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. He watches me, predatory and intense. I scooch my bottom forward in the seat and spread my legs, bracing one foot on the side of his seat, so he can see my exploring fingers. With my other hand, I unbutton my shirt and slip it into my bra. I don't need the extra stimulation, but I want to put on a good show for Daddy. Chloe must be putting on one of her own, because his attention shifts to the passenger seat. The jealousy I feel anytime his focus is on Chloe rears its ugly head, and my competitiveness nearly gets the better of me. But then I ask myself what good will that do? I can't thwart Chloe without also thwarting myself. Instead, I think about how I'm just a dumb slut alone and ignored in the backseat. Why would anyone pay attention to a girl like me? Something clicks in my brain like a new neural connection being formed, and my back arches involuntarily. I have to pull hard on my mental reins to keep from cuming. Daddy's eyes are back on me now, but he's watching me like a prison guard who suspects there might have been a jailbreak. My teeth clench, and I slow my fingers on my clit trying to hug the curve of my nearing orgasm without spinning out. Are you close, I ask Chloe silently, because I am dying here. What are we going to do? I can't hear her over the ambient noise of the car, and I can't see her apart from her neck through the gap between headrest and seat.
