Chapter Text
I love my new handyman!
He came highly recommended by a dear, trusted friend, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and brought him in for an interview despite the ridiculous name on his business card. I mean, I understand this is Beverly Hills but honestly, what kind of professional calls themselves 'LA Knight'?
Fortunately, things took an upswing the moment he swaggered through my front doors. I had Marcel show him to my study and I told him to sit quietly and wait while I finished up some paperwork. This task proved too difficult for him apparently, but I forgave his constant squirming and need to make every noise imaginable as soon as I first laid eyes on him.
Closing my laptop, I took a while to study the specimen seated at the other side of my desk. He looked to be in his early forties, with short dark curls and the biggest baby blue eyes I'd ever seen in my life (and I've seen plenty!). Square jaw lined with tawny bristles (a few greys creeping in, not that I'm complaining in the slightest), strong neck and big broad shoulders. The rest was regrettably hidden beneath a soiled white T-shirt, tan leather jacket, filthy worker jeans with the knees worn away and big brown boots. He had dust in his hair and dirt smudged on his cheek.
He was the prettiest thing I'd encountered in years.
He apologised for his appearance, he'd just come from another job. Times were hard, his bills were rising faster than he was earning and his dilapidated van was in and out of the shop, exacerbating his finances. He couldn't afford to refuse any work that came his way. I listened to his woes with a sympathetic ear, trying my best to hide my glee until he was finished his tragic tale.
'Well now,' I said, reaching into my drawer to remove a file which I elegantly slid across the desk, 'let's see if I can help with that.' He went to grab the file but I kept my hand firmly on it, chasing away his overeagerness with a sharp eye. He withdrew his arm. Good boy.
I outlined the main details of the job. My mansion and estate needed a full-time handyman to keep up with the repairs and maintenance. Preferably someone with an extensive skill-set who was willing to turn their hand to anything - plumbing, gardening, possibly some minor building work - whatever was required to fulfil my needs. A van, tools and uniform would be provided, and one of the outhouses could be used as a base of operations. 'You may still take on extra jobs if you need, but, saying that, the salary..' I gave a salacious smile, '..well, have a look for yourself.'
Finally, I let go of the paperwork and his large, twitchy hands grabbed it up, his blue eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he saw the very generous figure typed in plain black and white.
'Well?' I asked, getting to my feet and buttoning the front of my suit jacket. 'Are you interested?'
He glanced up at me, grinning from ear to ear. He looked almost boyish when he smiled, despite the lines in his face (which were few, I must admit, for a man of his age and profession). I noticed his cute little buckteeth and imagined them biting down on a bridle gag. Made me a little hot and bothered, I must confess.
'Where do I sign up? YEAH!' he enthused. I handed him a pen and indicated where to put his signature, then, once all the 'i's' were dotted and the 't's' crossed, we shook hands to seal the deal.
'One more thing,' I broached before he left. 'I'm not calling you LA Knight. What is your real name?'
His smile changed, becoming something more casual, flirty even. 'Eli,' he replied. 'Eli Drake.'
Eli started the following Monday, arriving bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I gave him a guided tour of the mansion and the estate and showed him the shed he would work from. Finally, I presented him with his uniform. Initially, he scoffed when he spied the skimpy pair of black briefs I held towards him. 'This some kinda joke?' he chuckled, smirking haughtily out one side of his mouth.
'No,' I returned primly. 'I specified in the contract that uniform would be provided.'
'Yeah but...' Eli eyed the briefs warily. The smile slowly slipped away.
'Look, I even had your business name printed on them,' I noted, opening them out to prove the point. 'I often have friends, acquaintances, business associates, all kinds of people, round to visit and they may have use of your services too. I can certainly put in a good word for you.'
Yet still, he hesitated. I could see it in the way his bushy eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He was furiously considering whether to just turn around and leave through my front gates. But he was both smart enough and dumb enough to stay put. And desperate. A perfect mixture, just like my favourite cocktail (which is a margarita, if you're curious.)
'Good boy,' I praised him, seeing the way his shoulders stooped with defeat. 'Get changed then meet me at the pool-house for your first task. You may keep your boots on.'
I left without a backward glance.
It was difficult to wait. My laptop lay open and forgotten as I chewed the end of my ballpoint pen in ready anticipation. I personally feel he made me wait so long on purpose, although it's possible that he was simply a little self-conscious and it took a while to find the courage to leave the sanctuary of his shed. Although, I can say with complete objectivity that he had nothing to be self-conscious about.
The wait was worth it. The moment Eli walked into my line of vision, my normally composed jaw dropped, the ballpoint pen clattering gracelessly to the ground. I had an inkling that there was something exciting beneath his filthy work clothes but even my wildest fantasies could not craft such a Herculean frame. His shoulders were indeed broad and sloped magnificently down to a pair of imposing arms complete with bulging biceps. His chest heaved with a pretty pair of plump tits, under which a chiselled six pack rippled through his tanned skin with every stride. A slim waist, neat hips and two thick-set legs with strong, powerful thighs completed the masterpiece.
And as for the tiny scrap of black fabric I gave him to wear? It left very little to the imagination. Generously bulging in the front and straining at the back, I acknowledged that this was no mere man but a Greek God, a marble statue carved by a master of his craft.
It was then I realised that I held a true Adonis in the palm of my hand.
He came to stand before me, awkwardly, with his hands twitching by his side, deciding whether to cover himself up or not. Poor thing was feeling shy. Even his golden skin flushed a deep pink on the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. In the end, he placed them behind his back, lifting his chin to feign some pride even though it was already gone, along with his dignity.
'So then, Mrs...' Eli faltered, stumbling over his words, '..or it is Miss? Ms?'
'You will call me Mistress,' I told him.
His blush deepened. 'Ok then. Mistress.' He worked his jaw over the word, not happy about it at all. One thing I love about these so-called 'manly-men' - they don't like a woman pushing them around. No, not at all. 'What do you want me to do?'
'The pool-house windows need cleaned,' I ordered him. 'Everything is here ready for you. You can fill your bucket up from the outside tap.'
He went to protest, probably thought himself too high and mighty to be reduced to a simple window-cleaner, but he eventually saw sense. He shut his mouth again, sniffed loudly through his nose then walked over to the equipment I had waiting for him when I called his name, stopping him in his tracks.
'Oh, Eli. Before you go, I dropped my pen. Could you please-?'
He huffed loudly, clenching his jaw again. 'Sure,' he retorted gruffly and went to fetch my pen. It had rolled a few feet away by now, so when he bent over to retrieve it, I got a perfect view of his perky, round buttocks, admiring the way the printed letters stretched in the skin-tight fabric of his little briefs. He stood back up with a grunt and stomped towards me, holding the pen out. I picked it up from his palm, letting my fingers linger on his skin a moment. Our eyes locked, his studying mine with a fresh, new intrigue - mine like the hungry cat sizing up a fat, juicy mouse.
'Good boy,' I said. 'Now get to work.'
'Sure,' he muttered under his breath.
'Sure, Mistress,' I corrected.
He scrunched his nose again, this time his fists clenched at his side. 'Sure, Mistress.'
I owe my dear, trusted friend a new Prada handbag. Or perhaps a Luis Vuitton. Whatever expensive trinket she has her eye on because I am deeply in her debt. I could have scoured the murky depths of Craigslist for weeks and never have found a more perfect match.
My work was swiftly forgotten as I sat watching my newest employee beavering away. The more I observed him, the more I craved him. He truly was a find; a gorgeous, meaty himbo who was too loud and too clumsy to be anything but utterly endearing. I watched as he struggled with the ladder, fumbling to prop it open and when he was finally all set to go, he scrubbed the sponge so sloppily against the glass that the soapy water splattered all over his near-naked body. I found myself dazzled by the golden skin of his shoulders glistening in the Californian sun, the poor thing sweltering in the heat as much as he was soaked with the suds. A collection of bubbles had gotten caught in his curls and when he tried to wipe away some perspiration from his eyes, another clod lodged on his eyebrow.
I watched his big, oafish hands at work. Watched as they wrung out the excess water from the sponge, taking note of his thick fingers and gnarled knuckles. The skin had broken on a couple of them, old wounds that had now scabbed over. Working hands. A tradesman's hands. I thought about applying my cocoa butter lotion onto them, rubbing rough circles into those swollen knuckles. Pressing down on the healing cuts until he yelped. I imagined leather cuffs around those thick wrists, the clink of unbreakable chains as they struggled to break loose.
I licked my lips, my hand wandering south.
Easy, I scolded, resisting the urge to touch myself. It's only his first day. Don't scare him off just yet. Let him ease into the situation, slowly.
I had to acquiesce. Naturally I had no chance arguing with myself, after all, I am always right.
But I did so begrudge it. Especially when he stretched up to dry the top edges of the window frame and I could make out the hard contours of his ribs pushing against his glistening skin and the soft, tender underbelly of his hairy armpit. He looked so good with his arms up - I would have to remember that.
'There, done!' he said aloud to himself with a satisfied nod and I bit hard on my bottom lip when he tucked the corner of his rag into his sopping wet briefs.
Then he went and kicked over the bucket.
'GOD DAMMIT!' Ohhhh, he was so loud. My toes curled at the possibilities.
'The mop is inside, in the closet,' I smiled, cocking a brow at the poor dear, up to his ankles in filthy soapy slosh. 'I don't want to see a single sud left to dry on my tiles.'
I'm not unique in my liking of younger men, in fact most of my girlfriends enjoy the taste of lamb. However, they find my taste in older younger men endlessly entertaining. Yes, men in their twenties are cute and naive and oh so eager to please but to me they're still babies. Most of them have barely left home and long for a surrogate mommy to look after them. I'm not interested in mothering another child. I'm currently revelling in that delightful period of my life where my own kids have grown up and flown the nest but are not yet popping out grandkids and I aim to enjoy myself as much as possible.
No, I much prefer the ones who are long out from under their mother's coattails, who have enough life experience to know that the way they're being treated is inappropriate and bristle with the indignation. I love when they push back, when they try to resist.
I love it most when they cave in.
Now, it may have slipped my mind to pre-warn Eli that I was having the girls around this afternoon for martinis. The look on my newest plaything's face when he walked into the lounge and found himself heavily outnumbered by a pack of hungry cougars was delicious. I found myself wishing I had my camera ready to encapsulate that look of terror forever.
Eli scrunched in on himself, shoulders stooped and slightly hunched, his large hands draped over the sagging bulge in his briefs as he hovered timidly by the door. I knew why he hesitated. I had him clear out the gutters - filthy work! - and my plan had worked to perfection. I wanted his hands blackened. I wanted dirt lodged under his nails. I wanted my little wench tarred and feathered before he was presented to the rabble.
'Come in, Eli,' I cooed midway through laughing at a friend's joke. He gave a uncomfortable nod and took a step in, his muddy boots soiling my cream carpet. I let it slide. I will enjoy him getting on his hands and knees to scrub it clean tomorrow.
He wandered closer, eyeing my friend beside me, the same one who recommended him. 'Oh, uh.. hi Mrs Castellanos.'
'Good to see you again, Eli,' she replied with a tip of her glass and a grossly unsubtle peek at his buttocks in his tiny briefs.
'Uh yeah. You too. Um-' turning towards me, he looked ready to burst, his cheeks burning a deep scarlet. 'You wanted to see me, um...?'
'Mistress,' I finished for him. But dear me, the word was well and truly stuck in his throat this time, when he had an audience present. Every voice stilled, every eye languished on him as I spurred him on a second time. 'Mistress!'
'Look, I gotta get back to these gutters, so what do you need?' There it was. The push-back. The resistance. He was a strong-willed work horse, I'll give him that. But I had far more stubborn stallions in my stables, humbly eating sugar lumps out of my hand.
'Go speak to Greta over there.' I pointed my friend out across the room, already downing the remnants of her third drink. 'She needs your assistance with something.'
Eli huffed an exacerbated groan through his teeth. I noticed him scanning the tall, older woman up and down. Not that I blame him; Greta is a fitness guru and maintains her figure remarkably well (although don't be fooled when she says it's all natural - she's been under the knife more times than yours truly). Eli paused, for a moment I was sure he was going to refuse. 'Yeah sure,' he relented and walked towards Greta who beamed at my new handyman and beckoned him to follow her out of the room.
It must have been only five minutes before Eli returned. He was not a happy bunny! He rushed over to me immediately, no longer caring about the boot prints he was leaving on my cream carpet and growled in my ear, 'we need to talk. In private!'
I shrugged casually, made my apologies and took my leave. Once outside, Eli slammed the sliding door shut to stop any stray ears hearing.
'Look, this aint workin' out!' he groused.
'Oh, really?' I clutched my literal pearls. 'Why? What's happened?'
'I was already havin' my doubts when you got me all dressed up like some damn Chippendale but I draw the line at being 'entertainment' for you and your randy friends!'
I took a pause to 'mull over' his complaint. 'Did something happen with Greta?' I asked, innocently. Truthfully, I knew she couldn't keep her hands to herself. As soon as I asked him outright though, Eli got coy. The large, wide mouth zipped tight and he shuffled awkwardly from mud-caked boot to mud-caked boot. 'I can't help you if you won't tell me, Eli.'
His face went through a thousand different expressions, his left eye twitching, the corners of his lips sliding and it took a while for him to find the courage to finally reveal what happened. 'She was having problems with the toilet in the bottom bathroom. It wasn't flushing right, so I got down to have a look and see what the issue was when...' he ducked his head, chewing his cheek. 'She kinda, well she... she slid her hand down my... into my... my uniform.'
'How dreadful,' I replied, very sympathetically for this was very serious business, you understand. 'Did she hurt you?'
'No,' he admitted with an aggravated roll of his eyes. 'But she copped a good feel of my ass.' Both of his bushy brows shot up as if to say 'can you believe that?' I could. She actually let him off lightly. 'Look, I'm only here to do my job. You want me in skimpy panties? That's fine, it's a hundred degrees out, I aint complainin' about that but this right here? Nah-nah! This is a deal-breaker. So, thank you for the opportunity, Ms... sorry Mistress but you're gonna have to find some other dummy.'
He turned to leave. I let him take one step, two then asked, 'how much did she slip you?'
Eli went still. Glancing back over his shoulder, he narrowed his pretty blue eyes at me. 'Huh?'
So I repeated myself. Slowly. So that even he could understand. 'How. Much. Did she slip you?'
'Slip me?'
He's so dumb. I think I'm in love. 'Check your trunks.'
Blinking at me like I was insane, Eli buried his hand into the back of his briefs. The moment he found the little gift Greta had left him, his eyes locked onto mine, wide with confused wonder. He jaw hung limp as he brought it out and around into his field of vision. His big bug eyes grew to the size of vinyls when he unfolded the crisp note to reveal a one hundred dollar bill. Then it came away, revealing a second hundred dollar bill underneath. He gaped at the pair of bills, stupefied like a teen boy seeing his first pair of breasts.
'Oh, she must have been pleased with you,' I said, unable to break him fully from the spell. 'My friends are very generous that way. Do remember to thank her, will you?'
His gaze stumbled up to meet mine, his fingers trembling. 'Huh?'
'Before you leave, you will remember to thank her.'
He closed his mouth and swallowed loudly. I watched his Adam's Apple bob, imagining a leather collar strapped around that thick neck. 'Uh yeah, um... sure.'
'Such a pity it couldn't work out, Eli but I'm sure you will find some other way to-' I was stopped by a firm, filthy hand on my arm. Not a rough touch. Gentle, but firm nonetheless. I arched a brow at him.
'I'm sorry,' he said, his head bowed shamefully.
'As am I, but you must do what you think is best for-'
'No, I mean, I'm sorry for what I said,' he swallowed again and this time I was sure I could see some of his pride go down with it. 'I still want this job.'
I broke the tension immediately with a large smile. 'Oh good. I am pleased to hear that.' I placed my palm against his grimy cheek, stroking it lightly like I would one of my prize-winning horses. 'I know it's been an eventful first day and there's a lot to adjust to but I assure you, it will all be worth it. That tip you're holding in your hand is only the beginning.'
'Really?' he queried, his interest well and truly piqued.
'Make me and my friends happy and you will never have to worry about your finances again, Eli,' I assured him. 'Now, run along and go thank Greta then finish up the gutters. Once you're done, you may leave early for the day.'
'Yes, M'am, I mean, Mistress.' (Hmm, we'll have to work on that.)
I tested the waters and offered him my hand. He kissed it without prompting then hurried back inside to find Greta. I took a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. To bask in the glow of my victory.
Like I said, I love it when they cave.