My Boss’s Daughter Treats Me Like Her Toy

My name is Aurelio, and I work as a private bodyguard for a family with too much money. What nobody knows is that I’ve been sleeping with my boss’s daughter for more than a year, a spoiled girl who loves to treat me like trash in front of everyone and beg me like a cat as soon as we’re alone.

That façade of arrogance, classism, and unbearable attitude is just a mask. Underneath, she’s something else entirely: pure heat disguised as contempt. At first, her presence drove me crazy. She’s capricious, spoiled rotten, and changes moods every five minutes. But she’s outrageously hot, and I learned to put up with her insults because I know exactly how to shut her up.

It all started a little over a year ago. I left the army and, like most of my buddies, got into private security. I’d guarded politicians, some performer, and one or two big shots I’d rather not talk about. An old friend passed me the tip about this family: good pay, insurance, room and board included. I practically had to live in the house, because the old man was terrified of even going around the corner.

The house was on the outskirts of the city, huge, with its own security detail at the gate. They searched me, I waited a good while in the living room, and as soon as Don Ernesto read my résumé, he was thrilled. He hired me on the spot and told me my only job would be to look after his daughter. Be her shadow, basically.

The head of security, a serious guy named Mauro, took me to the garage, which was bigger than the apartment I grew up in. Sports cars, armored SUVs, the works. The lady’s car was a Maserati that I was supposed to keep clean, charged, and ready at all times, because she could decide to go out at any hour.

—You’re lucky, you get to look after the princess of the house —Mauro told me in a strange tone, almost pitiful. The others looked at me the same way. Later I understood why.

I went upstairs to read the family manual. Nothing out of the ordinary: drop her off and pick her up at the door, no delays, don’t speak to her unless she speaks first. Just then the intercom rang: they were calling me urgently to the entrance. I went down, opened the door, and saw her for the first time.

My God, what a woman.

Twenty-two years old, tall, blonde, a golden mane falling all the way down to a pair of round, firm ass cheeks. Tiny waist, defined abs, toned legs. She stood there with her arms crossed, in leggings and a sports top, looking me up and down like someone inspecting a piece of furniture they don’t like.

—And this scar-faced guy is my new driver? Didn’t you have anything better, Dad? —she said, and her father introduced us laughing.

I’m almost six-foot-three, light-skinned, honey-colored eyes, and at the time I wore my hair long swept back and my beard neatly trimmed. At thirty-eight, some gray was already showing. I work out, I’m clean, and I like dressing well. And despite the contempt in her words, I immediately noticed the way she looked at me. I’d known her thirty seconds and already knew how to read that spark.

—Well, scar-face, at least you’re not another bodyguard identical to the others. Go get the car, change, put on athletic clothes, we’re going to the gym —she ordered, and ran up the stairs. With every step those ass cheeks bounced. Her father gave me money to buy clothes, because obviously I’d arrived with nothing but what I was wearing.

I went for the Maserati and waited for her at the entrance. I was planning to use the trip to the gym to stop and buy clothes, but she yelled from a window for me to come upstairs. The housekeeper stopped me on the stairs; she didn’t know me. I introduced myself, she sighed with that same pitiful look everyone had, and pointed me to the lady’s door.

I knocked and she opened the door abruptly. She was in underwear, with not the slightest bit of shame.

—Are you an idiot or what? My bag is right there, take it to the car and wait for me downstairs. Didn’t I tell you to change? Oh, now I get it: you’re poor and didn’t bring anything. Just what I needed. Because of you I’m going to be late —she spat, and turned away without giving me time for anything.

I took the bag and waited for her at the foot of the stairs. She came down minutes later, in tights, a top, her hair up, and huge sunglasses covering half her face. She stopped every couple of steps to take photos. Once in the car, she told me we’d stop first so I could buy clothes.

—I hope you showered, scar-face, I don’t want any weird smells. By the way, what’s your name? Oh, I don’t care. Hey, what happened to your face? Were you born like that? No, it must be all the beatings you got, right? —she said, watching me with cruel curiosity.

The truth is those scars were left by the acne I had as a teenager. Nothing heroic, nothing to brag about. I didn’t answer.

Mid-sentence she cut herself off to talk on the phone with someone, while telling me to speed up, that I drove like an old lady. When I got onto the fast avenue, I floored the Maserati. She started screaming, but from excitement. She was laughing, clutching my arm, begging for more. Her screams heated me up a little, I’ll admit it. We got there flying.

My driving impressed her. She looked at me differently. At the mall she bought me clothes, a lot of them, not just for the gym. She found it funny to watch me come out of the fitting room so she could approve or mock. More than once I caught her taking photos of me. I’m not huge, but I’ve got a worked body and I’m hairy, and clearly, she liked that.

At the gym, her friends, just as insufferable as she was, took her off to train. She ordered me to stay close but not to bother her. I took the chance to work out a bit while keeping an eye on her through the mirrors. She was consistent with her routines, that much has to be said, even if she took a thousand photos between sets.

***

That became the routine: gym early, then university, and in the afternoons whatever she felt like. On weekends I drove her to her friends’ parties. Those days she dressed up like a queen, manicure, pedicure, shorter and shorter dresses. It seemed like she and her friends were competing to see who made the biggest impact. And driving her around, I got an eyeful.

She had a boyfriend, some guy named Bruno, the son of another wealthy man, as vain as she was. But ours wasn’t the typical rich girl-falls-in-love-with-the-driver story. Not at all. I remained “scar-face,” and she only spoke to me when necessary. Until one night.

That day I shuttled her around from early on: beauty salon, nails, clothes, food. They had an important party at a ranch in another city and she had to be the most dazzling one there. I put on the suit she’d bought me, a two-button Brioni, and I was told to take her in the large SUV. Mauro pointed out where the radio and the gun were, just in case.

At nine sharp, she came downstairs. She looked like a runway model. A low-cut dress, open at the sides, barely covering what needed covering. For some reason they’d done her makeup horribly, but she still looked gorgeous. I drove her for almost an hour. She was silent, serious, typing on her phone. For the first time, she didn’t insult me the whole trip.

When we arrived, I opened the door and gave her my hand to help her down. Bruno was waiting for her, talking to her over video call like an idiot. The moment she saw him, her face changed, she let go of my hand, and went off with him. Mauro told me I could stay nearby but not go in. I parked the SUV where I was told and started chatting with the other guards.

After two in the morning, I got a message: “Get the SUV ready, I’m coming out.” When I arrived, she was at the entrance arguing with Bruno. They were both very drunk. I opened the door for her; he kept insisting she shouldn’t leave, but she got in without saying a word. On the way, she started shouting, laughing to herself, sending him voice notes insulting him.

At the exit booth, the woman taking payment looked at me strangely because of the racket. I drove a few kilometers and stopped in an open area. I asked if she was okay and she told me to go to hell. I explained that she needed to calm down, that at any checkpoint they could stop us because of the noise. Then she burst into tears. Her boyfriend was cheating on her with a girl from college, and her friends had made her look ridiculous.

—Was she pretty? —she asked suddenly, leaning over to show me a photo on her phone—. Is she better than me?

—No —I answered honestly, and she tore her apart with words.

—Look at her, she’s got nothing, neither body nor face. She’s probably a hungry nobody. And Bruno is an asshole, all men are the same. Since I don’t give him any, that’s why he cheated on me.

I listened without commenting. She started crying again. I handed her a bottle of water to calm her down. Then she pulled something from her bag, some pills, swallowed them, and a few minutes later the crying turned into a party. She put on music, started dancing while seated, saying nonsense. She got onto her knees on the seat and started moving her hips.

—Does she move like this, idiot? Look what you’re missing. To get it out of my system, I’m going to fuck the first poor bastard I see —she said, talking to her imaginary boyfriend, because the phone was dead on the floor.

I watched her through the rearview mirror. At a stop she caught me looking at her and, instead of scolding me, she smiled and lifted her dress so I could see better.

—Do you like what you see, scar-face? You’re going to help me get revenge on that fool, right? —she said, collapsing onto one side, turning her back to me.

—Miss, please calm down. This isn’t right. If your father finds out, he’ll fire me —I answered, clinging to the last shred of sanity.

—Don’t worry about my dad. Your job is to satisfy me and obey me in everything. Did you forget already? —and she grabbed her phone and dialed.

—Hi, Daddy. You know what? Scold scar-face, he doesn’t want to satisfy me —she said in a little-girl voice that made my skin crawl, while extending the phone toward me on a video call.

—Aurelio? What did we agree on, son? Your duty is to obey my daughter in everything she asks of you —the old man told me from the screen, while she, off camera, kept showing me everything. How was I supposed to explain to a father what his daughter really wanted?

—Daddy, I’m staying at the apartment, we’ll see each other tomorrow. I love you —she hung up, gave me the new route, and we reached a condo area in a few minutes.

***

I parked where she told me. She was already revved up, took off her underwear, and threw it at me. I was biting my lip looking at her through the mirror, but the guard for the place was prowling too close. I told her it was better to go upstairs. She didn’t want to, but I convinced her. When she got out, her body was trembling from the cold, so I took off my jacket and put it over her shoulders.

As soon as we stepped into the elevator, she put her hand on my crotch without warning. I nearly jumped. She started laughing, coquettish, watching me in the mirror’s reflection.

—Oh, no, scar-face, with this you’re not going to catch up to me. I thought you came better armed —she teased.

I looked at her calmly, sure of myself. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting. I’ve been with many women and learned a long time ago that silence says more than any boast.

The apartment was all hers, full of photos of her. Her hideout, where she brought her lovers. She told me to wait in the living room and came back in black lace underwear. Without saying a word, she climbed onto me and started kissing me. I grabbed those firm ass cheeks while she laughed between kisses. When she finally felt me growing against her pelvis, she opened her eyes in surprise.

—Take everything off, quickly —she ordered, unbuckling my belt. She knelt in front of me, pulled it out, and stared at it, unbelieving.

—You wanted it? Well, there it is. And before anything else, you’re going to suck it —I told her, taking her face firmly. She made a pleasure-filled sound and obeyed with an enthusiasm I hadn’t expected.

I held her by the hair, setting the pace. She loved being treated like that, being used, having that untouchable princess shell stripped away for a while. When we couldn’t take it anymore, I sat back and she climbed on top of me. She sank down slowly, with a grimace between pain and pleasure, until she got used to it. The moment she felt me all the way in, she had her first orgasm. Her skin prickled and she let herself go between laughter and moans.

—I love it, don’t stop —she panted, and of course I obliged.

I took her hard, harder than I think anyone ever had. I gave her orgasm after orgasm, on the couch, against the wall, even on the balcony with the city dark below. Every time I was about to finish, she hurried to take it in her mouth. We ended up spent, almost at dawn.

***

We slept a couple of hours and started again under the shower. At first she seemed quieter, almost embarrassed, but the heat of the water and the fucking turned her once more into that submissive woman asking for more. We went back home in sportswear, her in a cap and dark sunglasses. I left her at her door and she gave me the day off.

When I got back to my room, Mauro and his men welcomed me with knowing looks.

—Aurelio, has the lady welcomed you yet? —one of them blurted out, and they all laughed.

—Don’t worry, old man, we’ve all been there. That girl loves sleeping with employees, but as soon as she gets bored, she changes drivers. How’d it go? She’s gorgeous, right? —another one told me.

I played dumb, thinking they were exaggerating. But over the months she admitted it herself: she has a weakness for simple people, exactly the kind she pretends to despise. Her cruelty is theater, a curtain so her father never suspects who she really gets involved with. The entire security staff had already gone through her hands. Those who didn’t satisfy her got fired. I’m her current toy, and luckily for me, I keep her more than satisfied.

Since then we’ve been sneaking off to the coast for entire weekends. She hunts me down in the car, on the highway at full speed, until I have to pull over. By day she still calls me scar-face in front of her friends; by night she begs me to put her in her place.

I’m not her prince, and I don’t pretend to be. I know what I am to her, and I couldn’t care less, because I enjoy it just as much as she does. Sometimes we even go out “hunting” together, looking for some lucky guy to satisfy her whims, but that’s another story. If you’re interested, let me know in the comments and I’ll tell you what else the princess of the house is hiding.