The Housekeeper and the Boss - Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All acts depicted are consensual between the characters.

Chapter 1

Grant Brennan’s house sat at the end of a private road, all glass and stone and a pool that took me two hours to skim every morning. 

My mother had been his live-in housekeeper since I was twelve. I grew up in the staff wing, then in the small room off the kitchen, then — after I turned eighteen and started college — in the same house still, because Grant never asked us to leave and the garden and the pool needed someone who already knew how he liked things.

He was forty-four. Tall. Built like a man who still lifted at one in the morning when he couldn’t sleep. Shaved his head every day in the shower with a razor. Perfectly trimmed beard. The kind of face people compared to Jason Statham without even thinking about it. Broad through the chest and back, thick arms, a heavy, solid body that filled a suit the way most men never would. Hairy across the chest and down the abs. Hands like he could break something without meaning to.

I had watched him for years. Not as a kid looking at a father. As a gay twenty-year-old who lived under the same roof as the man who paid my mother’s salary and who had seen me go from a skinny teenager to the guy who now did his lawn and his pool and still ate leftovers from his kitchen.

His blonde girlfriend with the expensive tits had left him for a younger guy two months ago. After that, Grant got worse. Shorter. Meaner. Irritable. Home later. Some nights I heard the weights in the gym downstairs at one in the morning.

I never hid that I was gay. I didn’t think he cared enough to pretend he didn’t know.

That night I got up for water around two. His bedroom door was ajar. A dim light. I shouldn’t have looked.

I looked.

Grant was on the edge of the bed, shirtless, skin shiny with sweat. The air conditioning was fighting a losing battle with the heat. His laptop was open. On the screen a girl in handcuffs was getting fucked hard from behind, spanked on the ass, pulled by the hair. Grant’s cock was out — thick, heavy, wet at the head — and he was stroking it like he was angry at it. Low grunts. Words under his breath I couldn’t quite catch.

He didn’t last long. He came across his hairy, sweaty abs with a sound that went straight through the door and into my chest.

I went back to my room, shut the door, jerked off like crazy until cumming all over my hairless stomach and didn’t sleep for a long time.

The next afternoon, after class, I did something I knew was wrong. His personal laptop was on the kitchen island. History still open. Hardcore. Women tied up. Women handcuffed. Fucked from behind. Spanked. Used.

I stood there with my pulse in my throat and thought about the pair of pink-fur cuffs in my drawer. The ones I’d bought as a joke and never used.

I thought about the way he’d looked at that screen.

I thought about how he’d watched me grow up in this house and still didn’t know what I wanted from him.

I oiled myself in the shower. Inside. Slow. Careful. I put on the jockstrap and nothing else. I locked the cuffs on my own wrists, got on all fours on his, and waited. My mom was already inside her room at the staff wing.

The key I hid under the pillow.

I heard the front door at ten-forty. His keys. His shoes on the marble. The tired way he always came home when the office had been a fight.

I waited three more seconds.

Then I shouted.

“Mr. Brennan! Help me — please. Mr. Brennan!”

His footsteps changed. Fast. The door to the room opened hard.

“What the hell is this? What’s wrong with you?”

His voice was hoarse. Thick. Still in the dark suit from the office, tie loosened, the shaved head catching the hallway light. He stopped in the doorway when he saw me.

All fours. Jockstrap. Cuffed. Ass up.

From where he stood he could see everything. Hairless. Pink. Wet. Twitching.

“Help me,” I said, putting the panic in my voice on purpose. “I had a sex date that went wrong. The guy left me like this. I don’t know where the key is.”

Grant didn’t move for a second. Then he stepped inside and shut the door.

“A date. In my house? Are you out of your damn mind?”

It wasn’t a question.

“You’ve seen the danger, David? I let you live here. I let your mother work here. And you’re bringing men into my house like this, to my room?”

“I’m sorry. I was in the mood. I thought you’d be later tonight, Mr. Brennan. Don’t fire my mum, please.”

“Fuck.”

He came up behind me. I felt the heat of him before I felt his hands. He grabbed the cuffs, tested them, and let out a short, ugly laugh.

“This shit is tight. The guy really locked you up.”

“Look for the key. It has to be on the floor or in the sheets.”

He didn’t look for the key.

His open hand came down on my ass hard enough to make me shout.

“That’s what you get for bringing men into this house.”

Another slap. The sting went straight through me. My cock twitched.

“Mr. Brennan, that hurts…” I lied, playing the shy victim role.

“Not so loud. If you wanted a man, you should have asked. I don’t want strangers in my house. I’m the one who runs this place.”

His voice had dropped. I could hear the belt.

“I’m sorry…”

His fingers found me. Thick. Rough. Two of them pushing into the oil I’d left for him. I moaned on purpose. I wanted him to hear it.

“Now you’re going to be punished.”

The buckle opened. The zipper. He didn’t take the suit off. He just shoved the pants down enough.

The head of him pressed against me, thick, heavy, nothing like the soft guys from campus, and then he pushed in like my hole had been waiting for it.

“Christ. It feels like a tight pussy. Fuck.”

I bit the pillow. He was bigger than I’d imagined from the doorway the night before. The stretch burned and then opened and then burned again. His belt buckle kept hitting my ass every time he bottomed out.

“Keep it down. I don’t want the staff hearing this. Bite the pillow and take it.”

He grabbed the cuffs and used them. Pulled my arms back. Started pounding, hard, fast, the way the video had been. The suit jacket was still on. The shirt still buttoned. The man who signed my mother’s checks was fucking me from behind in the house he’d allowed  to live since I was a kid.

“Fuck. What a wet little hole.”

He pulled my hair, dragged himself all the way out, then shoved back in to the root. I could feel myself opening around him. I moaned into the pillow and bit down.

“You wanted a real man in this house,” he said, voice gone rough. “You got one. This is what you get.”

He fucked me like he was still angry at the ex-girlfriend, at the office, at the fact that the kid who’d grown up in his staff wing was on all fours in front of him with pink cuffs on. Every thrust slapped skin. Every time he went deep I made a sound I couldn’t swallow.

“Hold still. Don’t you move.”

I didn’t. I was in heaven. He was everything I loved in a man. Cocky, mature, hot, rich and powerful.

He changed the angle, one hand on my hip, the other still locked on the cuffs, and started using longer strokes — pulling almost out, then driving back in until his hips were flush with my ass. The oil made it filthy. Wet. Loud. The bed frame hit the wall.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Grew up in this house. Ate at my table. And this is what you wanted.”

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was take it.

His breathing got heavier. The rhythm turned shorter, meaner. He was close. I could feel it in the way his grip tightened and his voice dropped.

“I’m going to fill you. Hold on. Don’t you dare move, boy.”

He buried himself and came with a loud, broken grunt, pulsing deep, holding my cuffed wrists so I couldn’t go anywhere. It went on. Heat spreading. Him twitching inside me. The suit still on. The shaved head bowed over my back.

He stayed there a few seconds, breathing hard.

Then he pulled out.

I felt it leak immediately.

He found the key under the pillow without me having to say anything. Unlocked the cuffs. Dropped them on the bed.

“Don’t let this happen again, David. I’m going to the gym. Take a shower. You’re a mess and get the fuck out of my room. Don’t let my staff find about this, never.”

He left in a bad mood and shut the door harder than he needed to.

I stayed on the bed on my stomach, wrists red, ass used, his cum already running down my thighs, listening to his footsteps go down the hall toward the private gym.

I already knew I’d do it again.

He’d watched me grow up in this house.

And now he knew exactly what I was for.

I stroked my hard dick three times and came like a mad man onto his sheets.