Cherry Ch. 01: Meeting the Master

This story contains graphic content. Further, if the reader has a history of sexual trauma, this story contains themes that may cue some of that.

Chapter 1:

Daddy patted his lap expectantly. Not needing to say a word--the only words that my conditioning had allowed me to speak in the last several days was "yes, Daddy"--I wriggled as quickly as I could to Daddy's side and slowly lowered myself onto his leg. I say "wriggled" because that is the best way to describe how quickly I could walk in the knee-length, skin-tight dress Daddy had chosen for me to wear to his dinner with a potential investor.

Humbly looking down at my knees, the view of my new body served as a reminder of who--of what--I was now. Golden-blonde locks fell in front of my lean shoulders. Budding C-cups strained against the thin white fabric of my dress. Widened hips à la a Brazilian butt lift stretched the fabric against my pelvic frame and ass. Two places where the fabric did not stretch and restrict me when I moved: my tight waist and my smooth, flat groin.

Daddy patted my thigh possessively, pulling me from my trance. He was speaking to a partner at a venture capital firm, a greying man in his early sixties. "On top of a generous rate of return, working with my client comes with unparalleled perks. Cherry, say 'Hello' to Greg here." Involuntarily, I slid from Daddy's lap and dropped to my knees in front of the man. I lowered my ass onto my heels and leaned forward, pressing my palms against the ground on each side of his feet. Arching my back, I looked up at the man with my lips opening into an O-shape. My head tilted slightly to the left, my eyebrows lifted inward, and my eyes looked upward at the man in the most adorable, begging, baby doll expression.

Daddy spoke up with a wink and a grin, "See? Even Cherry's begging you to invest. You wouldn't want to let Cherry down, right?"

The old man licked his lips but seemed unimpressed. "You're not the first person to offer me a blowjob from an escort in exchange for a favorable investment decision, Jay," the old man stated, still looking at me.

Daddy laughed and rolled his eyes, "She's not an escort, Greg, she's mine."

"Your what?"

"Just mine. No need to put a label on it. Do you remember that cognitive restructuring patent that our analyst was boasting about? Well, here it is. Sure, that program will cure an addict, tame an unruly teenager, and help with emotional regulation. But those are the boring features that we market to retail consumers. For a gentleman of means like yourself, we can set you up with something like this. We can mold anyone into anything you want. Do you want to fuck your stepdaughter? Do you want your wife to beg you to fuck your stepdaughter? Do you want your secretary to be unable to do any real work because she is incapable of forming thoughts beyond a need for your cock? My client can make any of that happen, Greg. When I tell you that you could be investing on the ground floor of the 'next big thing,' I'm talking about a program that brings a man as close to godhood as he can be in this life. And I'm not going to keep offering, Greg. My client is seeking seed money, and if you're going to pussyfoot around, then I'm walking out the door."

Greg pulled a handkerchief from his jacket, reached down, and caught a dribble of drool running down my chin. "You're right Jay, as per usual. I want in. And as soon as your client can, I want my wife and stepdaughters to look like this," Greg gestured broadly at me, "any money you need, I'll make it happen."

"Don't you have a stepson as well, Greg? You mentioned that 19-year-old college flunkout over lunch a few weeks ago. We can take care of him too."

"I'm not interested in guys," Greg scoffed.

"You're interested in him," Jay gestured toward me, "twelve weeks ago that was Caleb Johnson, a fledgling Community Planning graduate from Seattle U who couldn't find employment that felt satisfying enough. Fucking Millennial. He was the company's first experiment. We made him, her, into something more useful. Now she answers to 'Cherry.'"

"'HIM'? And twelve weeks? This was a man only twelve weeks ago?"

"'Man' is a little generous. But yes, Orgos, Inc. is a frontier-advancing biomedical firm. You'd be amazed by how much can happen so quickly."

"You know what, Jay? Yes. Let's take care of my stepson as well. I can't wait to look that little shit in the eye while he watches me fuck his mother and sisters in front of him."

"If you agree to our terms of investment, we can get started this week. Pleasure doing business with you. Cherry: we're going back to the plane."

I wriggled myself up as best as that white dress would allow me. I knew that as soon as we were on Daddy's private plane, he would rip it off me and fuck me until we landed. Getting what he wants in a deal fires him up and makes him want to fuck. And Daddy always gets what he wants.

**TWELVE WEEKS EARLIER**

At twenty-two, I expected to at least be able to find something that pays better than minimum wage. Admittedly, my academic advisor had warned me against majoring in Community Planning without dual majoring in something else or without a requisite background to pair it with. But I was an optimist. I loved community gardening. I loved helping organize communities around causes that I was passionate about. I loved structuring the world around me in a way that benefits everyone. But now, I was one more Millennial with a useless liberal arts degree. And with federal student loans no longer available, I needed a new, cheaper place to live.

Sorting each website by a realistic monthly rent budget, my optimism rapidly fell. Do I want to live in a scary part of town? Do I want to roommate with a creep? Do I want to live in a moldy basement that the owners advertised as a "downstairs apartment"? Decisions, decisions.

But my eyes widened when I saw an ad for a roommate by a Mr. Jay Black. I initially missed this because it was the only room in my price range listed in Madison Valley, an upscale neighborhood just outside my alma mater of Seattle University. Mr. Black appeared to own one of the nicest, largest houses in the neighborhood and sought a tenant to rent out one of the rooms. Why would someone with that kind of money need or want a live-in tenant? And why so cheap? I fully expected it to be a scam, or to be gone within five minutes. I sent the owner a message.

An automated reply arrived seconds later. "Thank you for your interest. Please submit an updated resume and recent photo of yourself." A resume? And a photo? I've never heard of a landlord asking for this. Aren't there laws against this type of thing? But perish the thought of missing this opportunity; I sent both immediately.

The following morning, I received a call from an unknown sender. "Good morning, this is Caleb."

"Caleb," a smooth, resonating voice flowed through the receiver, "I'm so glad that you reached out. I wanted to congratulate you on being selected; I'd love for you to move in."

What did he mean by "congratulate" me? Or "selected"? How many candidates did he choose? And why me? Alarm bells rang in my head, but something about that voice disarmed my apprehension.

"Of course! I'm so glad to hear it! Do you need to conduct a credit check, background search, or anything else?"

"Already taken care of. How soon could you arrive to tour your new room?"

I did not remember consenting to any of that. "I don't have a car, so I'll need to walk or take the bus. So probably thirty minutes?"

"No need, I'll send a rideshare."

Of course, I ignored the red flags in the face of that smooth, resonant voice. And of course, I hopped into the rideshare and let myself be compliantly ferried to this stranger's house. When I arrived, the house seemed more imposing somehow than it did on the website or google maps. Looking around in wonder, I ascended the steps toward the massive double doors.

As soon as I rounded the top step, a man opened one of the doors. His tall, lean presence made me feel even smaller than my 5'8'', 135 lbs. figure merited. He reached out for a handshake, "Caleb! It's great to meet you. Please, come in. I have a feeling that you'll feel right at home here."

**TO BE CONTINUED**