Dick walked toward the boyfriend after he was done with Janine, his cock still glistening with Janine's juices, completely unbothered by his nakedness. He stood over the man, whose face was drained of color, a mixture of disbelief and fear etched across it. The boyfriend's eyes darted nervously between Dick and the woman he'd just watched get utterly wrecked in front of him.
"You know what will happen if I see you again?" Dick's voice was low, steady, a quiet threat in the calm.
The boyfriend swallowed hard, his body shrinking into the couch as if he could disappear into the cushions. He didn't answer, couldn't.
Dick's smirk deepened. He knew the answer before it left the man's mouth, but he waited, reveling in the silence, in the suffocating helplessness hanging between them. When the boyfriend didn't speak, Dick's gaze sharpened, narrowing on him like a predator eyeing its prey.
"Good." Dick's growl broke the stillness, his presence towering over the cowering figure. "Because if I do…" He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "…you're not walking out of here next time."
The boyfriend's breath hitched, his wide eyes staring up at Dick in terror. The man scrambled to his feet, stumbling backward as he fumbled for the door handle, his hands shaking. He bolted out of the house like a frightened animal, not even bothering to grab the jacket he'd left draped over the couch. He didn't care—he just needed to get away, as far from Dick as possible. The door slammed shut behind him, the echo of his panicked footsteps fading into the night.
Dick stood there, watching him go, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The coward had run, just like he knew he would. Weak. Predictable.
He turned back to Janine, who was still standing where he'd left her, trembling slightly, her eyes following him reverently. She was like a puppy, waiting to be praised.
"Now, doll," Dick said, his voice low but firm, "from now on, I call the shots in this house. Got it?"
Janine swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Yes, Daddy," she whispered, her voice barely audible. There was no hesitation this time. No defiance. She knew her place now.
Dick stepped closer, his presence looming over her. He lifted her chin with a single finger, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You will leave Alice alone," he continued. "She'll do whatever she wants. No more controlling her, no more bullshit. Understand?"
Janine blinked, her eyes wide, but she nodded again. "Yes, Daddy," she repeated, her voice trembling. She was broken, and she knew it. Whatever illusion of control she'd once held over Alice, over this house, was gone. Dick had taken it all. But she didn't care. So long as her Daddy could give her that divine dicking, so long as he praised her.
Dick's fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. She was trembling beneath him, lost in the aftershocks of their encounter, but he could see the hunger still burning behind her eyes. She craved more.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice low. "Now, go clean yourself up. I expect you back here in five minutes, ready for whatever I decide next."
Janine shuddered at his words, her body still trembling with need, but she nodded quickly, her gaze dropping to the floor. Without another word, she hurried off, her legs unsteady as she made her way toward the bathroom.
Dick watched her go, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Alice had been right to reach out to him—Janine had been a problem for too long. Now, with her firmly under his control, Alice's life was about to change.
The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled his attention back to her. Janine stood in the doorway, her face freshly washed, her body wrapped in a towel. She was nervous, her hands clutching the fabric tightly around her chest.
Dick motioned for her to come closer, his gaze never leaving hers as she approached. "Drop the towel," he ordered, his voice soft but firm.
Janine hesitated for only a second before she obeyed, letting the towel slip from her trembling fingers. It fell to the floor in a soft heap, leaving her bare before him. She was exposed, vulnerable, but she didn't move to cover herself. She didn't need to—her Daddy was in control now.
Dick's eyes roamed over her body, taking in every inch of her. She was older, sure, but still beautiful in a way that made him feel thankful. Would he still fuck Alice mother if she was ugly? He doubted. She stood there, waiting, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she awaited his next move.
He reached out, his fingers trailing lightly over her bare skin, starting at her shoulder and moving slowly down to her waist. She shivered at the contact, her breath hitching as his touch sent a ripple of desire through her body. Her nipples hardened under his gaze, and a soft moan escaped her lips, but she didn't move. She was his to command.
He nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Good doll. Now, go get dressed. I'll bring Alice in so you two can talk. But don't explain what happened to her."
Janine's face fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. She wanted more—wanted him to fill her again, to make her feel alive the way he had moments ago. But she nodded obediently, swallowing her desires. "Yes, Daddy," she whispered, the words falling from her lips as naturally as breathing.
She stood there for a moment, as if waiting for him to change his mind, but when he didn't, she bent down to retrieve the towel and drape it around herself. With one last glance over her shoulder, she padded off toward the bedroom, leaving him alone in the living room.
Dick waited until she was out of sight. Alice had no idea what had just transpired, and she didn't need to. As long as her mother fell in line, Alice would be free from the suffocating grip of control that had plagued her life for so long.
He slipped out of the house and walked back to the car. Alice was still waiting, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights. The tension in her posture was evident, her fingers drumming nervously on her lap as she stared out the windshield.
When she saw him approach, her head snapped toward him, eyes wide with curiosity and dread. She didn't ask any questions, didn't push for answers—she just watched him, waiting for some kind of sign that things had shifted.
Dick opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, his expression unreadable. "Your mom's ready to talk," he said, his tone casual as he started the engine.
Alice blinked, her mouth opening as if she was going to ask something, but then she closed it, biting back whatever had been on the tip of her tongue. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know the details. Something about the calm in his voice made her uneasy, like he'd done something drastic, something final, and she wasn't ready to face it yet.
Alice hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle as she looked at him. "Is she… okay?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dick met her gaze, his eyes steady. "She's fine. Go talk to her."
Alice nodded, though the unease didn't leave her. She opened the door and stepped out, her legs feeling shaky beneath her as she made her way up the steps to the front door.
Pressing the pedal, Dick drove away, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as the city lights blurred past. He had no doubt Janine would follow his orders to the letter. Once broken in, people like her didn't need much more pushing.
His phone buzzed as he hit a red light. Glancing down, he saw Alice's message.
Alice: "Thanks. I will never forget this."
Dick smirked to himself, tapping the heart icon next to her text. It wasn't a big deal anyway. As he reached home, the darkness of the Graves Estate greeted him, save for a few scattered lights here and there the estate was dark.
He half-expected to see Jessica waiting for him but the room was empty, the bed calling his name. Dick let out a long breath, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside. It was a long day and he felt tired. He collapsed onto the mattress, sinking into the softness as he closed his eyes.
His phone buzzed again, but this time he ignored it, letting the noise fade into the background as sleep pulled him under.
The next day, he woke up early, rested and content. He showered quickly, letting the hot water wake him up fully before pulling on a fresh set of clothes. As he tied his shoes, his phone buzzed with a series of notifications, but he wasn't in a rush to check them. He reached the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the counter, when footsteps caught his attention.
It was Rachel. Driver Oliver's wife. She used to always sneer at him, her disdain evident as she carried out her duties as Clara's handmaid. But today, something was different. There was a shift in her demeanor, a hesitation in her step. Her eyes flickered with something more than just disdain.
"D—Mr. Graves," she greeted, her voice faltering.
Dick frowned. She never called him "Mr. Graves" before. This wasn't just about how he looked. He could tell when people were acting out of respect, fear, or something else. But Rachel? She was careful, like she was measuring every word before she spoke.
He decided to test the waters. "Rachel," Dick said, casually biting into his apple, "I haven't seen you the last couple of days."
Her hesitation was slight but noticeable. She tensed for a second before responding, smoothing her apron with a nervous gesture. "Yes, Mr. Graves. I've been... preoccupied."
Dick let the silence hang for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. He'd seen this shift before in people—fear, respect, a touch of curiosity—like she was trying to figure out the best way to interact with him now. Rachel wasn't usually the type to hesitate, but something had changed. He could sense it.
She fidgeted eyes darting toward the floor before snapping back to him. Dick didn't need to ask what had happened. It was written all over her face. But why?
"Preoccupied?" he repeated, keeping his tone neutral, but there was an edge to it. He wanted to see how she'd handle it.
Rachel swallowed, nodding quickly, her fingers gripping the apron tighter. "Yes, sir," she replied.
Sir? Rachel had never called him "sir" before.
Dick leaned back against the counter, watching her closely. Something was off. Rachel, who normally carried herself with a cold, self-assured attitude, now looked like she was treading on thin ice. Her usual disdain was gone, replaced by an odd blend of caution and regret.
"Since when am I 'sir' to you?" Dick asked, the sharpness in his tone wasn't lost on her.
Rachel stiffened, as her gaze darted toward the floor. "I—um, my husband... Oliver... he thought it would be more appropriate, Mr. Graves."
Dick raised an eyebrow. That was new. Oliver, the driver, had never been one to involve himself in such matters. The two of them were always careful to maintain a strict professional distance, treating Dick like any other spoiled rich kid who wasn't worth the effort. So why the sudden shift?
"Appropriate?" Dick echoed, tossing the apple core into the trash. "And what brought on this change of heart?"
Rachel hesitated, her eyes flicking up to meet his briefly before dropping again. "We just thought... it would be best," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We didn't want to upset you or Mrs.—"
Dick looked at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Mrs.?" he asked, his voice edged with curiosity. "You mean Clara?"
Rachel stiffened further, her body language giving away more than she probably intended. "Yes, Mr. Graves," she muttered, glancing toward the floor again, her tone cautious.
No it wasn't Clara? It didn't add up. Clara didn't involve herself in these types of interactions. The woman was too wrapped up in maintaining her facade of perfection to care about what the staff did, especially regarding how they treated Dick. Rachel's shift in demeanor—this sudden deference—wasn't coming from her.
Dick's mind flicked back to her earlier words. She'd said it was Oliver, her husband, who thought it'd be more "appropriate." So if Clara wasn't behind it, then Mrs. Who? Rebecca?
And then it clicked. Victoria.