Daddy's Little Princess

On Friday, February 14th 8:43am, I pulled out the chair and sat down at my little desk in front of Mr. Madison's office. A sigh escaped my mouth almost against my will. It wasn't easy, being a personal assistant to one of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in the country. For the most part, I was sort of a male secretary, which was something I didn't want my buddies from college to find out. But the job did have its benefits, and it was better than doing bookkeeping for my mother to help pay my way through school. I want to get my degree in business law, a so a little bit of secretarial work for one of the biggest men in town isn't going to kill me, and I'm secure enough about my manhood to take a small blow like this every once in a while.

"Daniel, will you come here for a moment? I've got a special job for you," Mr. Madison said in his deep, confident voice. He was waving a paper at me though the open door. I stood up promptly and walked into his office. He slammed the paper down on the wooden desk and I reached out to examine it.

"This document gives you temporary rights to make medical decisions for my daughter Dominique. I need you to pick her up from football practice and drive her to her yearly check-up. Then do whatever she wants you to, and take her home. She'll probably want to go to the mall. I will of course reimburse you for whatever purchases you make on her behalf."

I examined the note more closely and was taken aback.

"Sir, it says here that your daughter turned eighteen last month. Wouldn't she have to make her own medical decisions?"

"This is a family matter, which I don't need to discuss with you. The bottom line is, she signed back over her guardianship to me until such a time when she finds it fit to settle down with a husband. Thus, she is still under my protection." Mr. Madison batted his hand against the document in my hands. "And now, she's under your protection," he said with a sly wink, making it clear that I was to leave his office.

What did he mean by that? I wondered as I waited for the elevator down to the lobby. Mr. Madison couldn't have been suggesting that I take advantage of his high-school-age daughter. That was too vulgar to even imagine. Wouldn't that imply Mr. Madison had a less than conventional relationship with this Dominique? That was such a dirty idea, I wouldn't even let myself think of it.

My mind swam with images of a beautiful busty blonde, whimpering for me to touch her, to make her writhe with pleasure. The elevator descended lower and lower, and my thoughts became more and more base. I could take her, feel myself in her body, push up against her cervix and make her moan. Oh, it was too much! I was beginning to swell in my dress-pants. This could be embarrassing.

I guess you've noticed that I'm a bit hard up. Well, the truth is, I'm a twenty-year-old virgin. It's not that I'm a total nerd or anything. I'm actually trying to save myself for someone special. Yeah, it's old fashioned and cliché, but I've read a lot of dime-store romance novels over the summers while growing up, because that and stale coffee was all the entertainment my mom kept in her office to keep bookkeepers from going insane from too much number-crunching. Well, some of that garbage just stuck. I don't tell my friends about that. Had I told them, it would take a miracle to convince them that I'm not gay.

And what kind of a girl plays football? I asked myself, getting into my black 2000 Jetta, my dad's old car I inherited when I graduated high school. Mr. Madison was one hundred percent, ancestors from the Mayflower, American, and proud of it, so I doubted he meant his daughter played soccer. Ugh, she was probably some sort of butch lesbian, that was the only kind of girl that tried out for football teams. No wonder she would rather be daddy's little princess than just get herself hitched to some guy.

I hate to admit it, but that thought crushed the lovely fantasy I've been having in the elevator. Not that I expected a girl named Dominique to be my one true love. Really, what were people with so much W.A.S.P. pride doing, giving their daughter such a name? It was odd. But then again, rich people always seemed to name their children something weird. It wasn't really any of my business.

I opened a personal file and examined it. There was her legal information, name, social security number, driver's license number, cell phone number, pager number, home address, name and high school (oddly, it was a public school, maybe because they have better sports teams), and a list of her doctors: gynecologist, dentist, personal trainer, dietician, psychologist. All rich girls seem to have shrinks.

I hoped I was not scheduled for a gynecological visit. I didn't feel, um, qualified to make these kinds of decisions.

I put down the file on the passenger seat and began backing out of my parking spot. Why did I feel so nervous?

I guess it was because she was the boss' daughter. If I did anything wrong, anything, I could lose my job in the time it took Dominique to make a cell phone call to her father's office. That thought sent cold shivers down my spine.

She could get me fired for any number of things, even though I was disciplined enough not to act out my little fantasies on unwilling women. If she didn't like the color of my tie, or didn't think I was polite enough, she could have me fired. If she didn't like the way my large nose sat on my face, she could have me fired. The whole word revolved on this girl's opinion of me. My very future was at stake.

I drove along the streets of New York City, feeling stupid and irritated and trying to calm myself. Why would anyone drive in a city like this? It would be faster to walk. But my job contract clearly stated that I was supposed to drive a "nice car" to work. I guess it sends a classier message than showing up by subway.

Traffic was horrible, but since Mr. Madison had the foresight to send me off early, I arrived shortly after practice had ended. The coach was supervising the cleanup and half the boys were already in the locker room.

I decided the best idea was to approach the coach and explain the situation to him. I didn't want to risk calling Dominique's cell phone; the last thing I wanted to do was to make her think I had her on a leash or something. I didn't want to complicate our relationship right off the bat.

It was bad enough that my brain kept imagining my hands on her breasts and stomach and the soft feel of her skin. She's probably a butch lesbian, I told myself, almost in self-defense. It was easy to believe this, after getting a look at some of the fellows on her team. They were buff enough they could probably break me like a twig without batting an eyelash. And I'd have to walk past them in order to talk to the coach. How would I explain myself? Would he think I was some sort of a pervert?

I put on my best lawyer face and marched up to the coach as though I couldn't see the players gawking at me. I shook his hand politely and explained that I was hired by Dominique's father to escort her home.

The coach wiped his hand after I touched it, as though there was something slimy on it, but politely informed me that Dominique was in the locker room and ordered one of the boys to escort me.

The way the fellow sized me up, I wasn't flattered. Either he was thinking of pounding me into the ground, or had homosexual tendencies. Either way, it put me off a bit.

"Hey, we're heading to the boys' locker room!" I exclaimed. I was somewhat afraid that this guy was trying to take advantage of me. He was big enough that I couldn't fight him off with my muscles. I had to keep my wits.

"You're looking for Dominique, aren't you?" he said blankly. "She's in the men's locker room."

"What? But she's a woman!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe that a red-blooded, American high school football team could handle any woman, no matter how butch, sharing the showers with them. It would dissolve into an orgy in no time. What sort of girl was this Dominique?

"She's part of the team, and she insists on being treated just the same as everyone else," my escort said flatly. "Her father donates a lot of money for our uniforms and equipment and stuff, so she's earned certain privileges."

"Ok. I'd better meet her," I said. Dominique had to either be some sort of extreme feminist, or a major slut, to want to strip with ten high school guys glaring at her, and I wasn't really anxious to meet either. My mom was bony, liked to wear suits to work, and decided to keep her name after she married, but she wasn't what I'd call a hard-core feminist, and I had gotten enough attention from sluts in high school.

The two of us walked into the men's locker room, which smelled of soap and sweat and miscellaneous men's hygiene products. I had to concentrate in order to keep moving my legs, I was so nervous. Everywhere around me were half-naked men with big beefy muscles, who could probably crush my head like an egg shell without even really trying. Dominique must really be something, to handle being naked in a room with all of them. I felt queasy.

"Hey, princess, one of your daddy's minions is here to baby-sit you," my escort called.

"Thanks, Al," I heard a strong feminine voice reply.

I wheeled around and caught my first glimpse of Dominique, who was pulling off a white sports bra and wiping the sweat out from under her armpits, making her large breasts bob up and down as she moved.

She was only about 4'11'' and maybe 90 pounds, with a gymnast's muscles. She was somewhat tanned all over, as though she had a habit of lounging by the pool naked.

I heard tales that agility and smarts played a part in football, but still, I had a hard time imagining a girl like Dominique on the field. She was so beautiful and so delicate, like a blossoming flower in an old oak forest. I wanted to take her by the hand and lead her out of here, to take her away from this smelly, masculine locker room, where she clearly didn't belong.

I waited for her to snap on her pink lace bra before I walked forward and introduced myself.

"Daniel Goldsmith," I said, extending my arm out to her. "I'm working as a personal assistant to your father. It's part of a winter internship at NYU."

She shook my hand professionally, as though I was at an interview.

"Charmed," she said, with a bit of a coy smile. "and I'm Dominique Madison, my daddy's little princess."

I heard cat calls and hoots originating from the men in the locker room, and Dominique smiled, as though they were all in on some sort of perverse joke. I swallowed hard and tried desperately to keep my cool. I'm going to be a lawyer one day, I told myself sharply, it's time to develop a good poker face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, taking Dominique's hand. She held her hand out to me palm down, like a real princess, and so I knelt to kiss it. Her skin was so soft and smooth and warm, I felt like I had found heaven. I took Dominique's hand and helped her to stand, even though she looked perfectly capable of rising on her own.

The cat calls increased in severity, but I no longer paid them any attention. Perhaps I would make a good lawyer after all, I told himself, a frank, business-like expression glued into place. Here I was, in the most dismal of situations, and I was a knight to my cause.

"Bye, guys! See you at practice!" Dominique said merrily as I led her out of the locker room.

As soon as I was out of sight, I let out a tremendous sigh of relief. Dominique laughed.

"I like your Prince Charming routine," she chuckled. "It suits you nicely. Now are going to cart me away side-saddle on a white horse and make passionate love to me? Or is that not part of the package?"

I couldn't get over how oddly powerful her voice sounded, coming out of such a small woman. I blushed slightly, imagining my hands on that delicate body of hers. It was all I could do to hide the erection that was growing in my dress pants. But I wasn't in over my head, not just yet.

"No, milady. You are to sit shotgun in my black Jetta as we journey towards your yearly doctor's appointment."

"Close enough," Dominique said, and took my arm as though we really were part or some modern-day fairy tale. I led the way to where my car was parked, on the other side of the field.

"This isn't a gynecological visit, is it?" I asked a little nervously as the two of us fastened our seatbelts across our laps. "If so, do you mind if I wait outside? I'm not really comfortable with that sort of thing."

Dominique burst out laughing.

"No, I think you're safe," she replied, pulling an iPod out of her pocket and placing the headphones in her ears. "That was a couple of months ago. This time around, it's just the usual: weight, blood pressure, stick a needle in my arm kind of deal. There's no need to get your briefs all twisted up in a knot."

I couldn't help but laugh. She seemed so spoiled, but at the same time so self-assured.

We drove off to Dominique's appointment and took the elevator up to the fifth floor, where we were promptly seated in the waiting room with a large pile of paperwork.

I searched though my files, but most of Dominique's medical history was missing, and she flat out refused to touch the documents herself, insisting on whispering every little detail directly into my ear. She had her hand pressed against my thigh for balance, apparently oblivious to the affect it was having on me. She had a rich, clear voice that was causing me to break out into a cold sweat. I was afraid might actually die of blood loss, they way it all seemed to flood to my face at once when she started telling me how old she was when her period started and how frequent and severe the bleeding was.

I tried to thrust the card back at her, but she smiled and wouldn't take it. I sighed in relief when the lady behind the counter called Dominique back. I was having very pleasant fantasies of running off to the bathroom and splashing some cold water on my face. But I had barely moved an inch before my charge's fingers wound their my around his wrist and Dominique tugged me forward with her.

"It's OK if Daddy's assistant comes back with me, isn't it?" she asked the receptionist with a winning smile. "It would make me feel safer." If the receptionist had any problem with her request, it didn't show on her face, and I found myself being pulled into an examining room brightly decorated with cartoon pictures of baseball players.

"This is pediatrician's office!" I exclaimed. "You shouldn't be going here, you're a grown woman."

"Oh, Dr. Johnson is a really good friend of Daddy's, he's been treating me here ever since I was a baby. And he'll continue to be my doctor until I start having kids of my own." She gave me a look that made me turn scarlet.

I sat myself down on a small black metal chair set aside for parents.

"I'll need you take off your top and bra," The assistant said to Dominique and turned away out of modesty when the girl did as she was instructed without hesitation. I couldn't help but notice how lovely her breasts were, not that I really meant to look! Oh, God, how absolutely perfect! I turned my head away out of courtesy.

The assistant handed Dominique an extra-large paper gown designed for obese children and she put it on.

I had to try hard not to stare open-mouthed at her strange attire.

At the woman's request Dominique stepped onto the scale, not feeling at all self-conscious, even though she was slightly tall and rather muscular for a woman her age, and the scale, which after all was designed for kids, only went as high as a hundred and thirty pounds.

"95," the assistant said out loud, recording the measurement on Dominique's chart. "You've gained about five pounds since the last time we weighed you, six months ago. But from the looks of you, it's all muscle, so you ought to be in pretty good shape. I just need a blood sample, and then the doctor will be in to speak with you."

She quickly took Dominique's blood pressure with the black cuff, and once she had taken the measurement, re-inflated it tool to use as a tourniquet.

Dominique winced just a little as the needle pierced her skin. I bit my lip a little trying hard not to feel her pain. I've never been fond of sharp pointy objects. The attendant pulled back the syringe and Dominique's dark red blood began to bubble into the vessel.

I had to put my head down.

"Do you really need me here?" I asked as the nurse stepped out. I was having troubles looking Dominique in the eyes.

"Of course," Dominique replied, kicking her feet against the exam table to entertain herself. "You're here to keep me company." I found myself fidgeting on the chair, incredibly uncomfortable. Beads of sweat were rolling down my legs. My slack pants, which were a size too big for me, felt so tight I was having a hard time breathing. I felt like a girl in a corset from some old movie, clutching her smelling salts as her eyes lolled back into her head. The comparison was less than appealing. Out of the corner of my eye, Dominique burned like a candle. I had to grip onto the handles of the chair hard to keep my balance.

I was incredibly thankful when the doctor arrived, just so I wouldn't have to be left alone with her.

Of course, a moment later, the two of them were going over the results of her gynecological tests, and I had to plug my ears to keep from turning a embarrassing shade of turquoise.

Then it turned out that Dominique was having troubles with light-headedness sometimes, when she got out of her father's pool-sized Jacuzzi, probably while wearing some skimpy little two-piece bikini. I had to hold my breath to keep from imagining the chlorinated water dripping off her pink skin.

The doctor wisely explained that some lightheadedness was common after warm baths and that she shouldn't worry too much about it. He added in a crack about blood flow to male extremities and gave me a wink, leaving me feeling a bit light-headed. Then he changed topics without skipping a beat.

A few minutes later, Dominique was dressed and we were making our way out past the overly smiley receptionist, who by the way validated my parking, and back to my Jetta.

"Where to now, your highness?" I asked my charge, trying to act cool while still feeling really stupid.

"Shopping," she said quickly. "I need a couple of things."

"Oh, do you mean clothing? Don't tell me you want me to help you shop for lingerie!" It was hard to keep my voice steady.

"No, of course not, silly. I went bra shopping with Mom last Sunday. What I really need is some new toys."

"Aren't you a little too old to be playing with toys?" I asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Oh, no, I meant sex toys," Dominique explained as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I slammed my foot against the brake pedal, causing the guy in car behind me to honk loudly and make a couple of choice remarks about my gender and sexual persuasion.

Dominique flicked him off. I blushed. I was never one for profanity.

"I... I can't take you to a shop like that!" I stammered. "What would your father think? It's not even dark yet! What if someone saw me?"

"Oh, stop being such a douche," Dominique snapped, tapping her nails against the dashboard. "Daddy knows that Mom and me like to play with sex toys. It's a lot better than running off and sleeping with some guy, or something stupid like that."

"You... you mean to tell me that you masturbate? And that your parents know about it?" I was breaking into a sweat. I couldn't believe any family could be so insane. I couldn't even bring myself to jack off in my parents' house, except late at night when I was sure everyone was asleep. Even then, I'd run the shower, just in case I got a little too loud.

"Well, duh," Dominique said coiling her hair around her finger again. "I had to tell Daddy so he'd give me the money to go shopping, and Mom told me confidentially that she's mostly been getting off using a vibrator for years. Daddy's not home enough nowadays, she says."