Chapter 10: A Not so Fresh Slate

Nick was finishing up with a customer when Candy returned to the shop. In a burst of impulsiveness, and because she’d realized that she didn’t actually own a turtleneck, she had raided Chrissy’s closet and borrowed one of hers. On Chrissy, the top was tight, emphasizing her flawless teenage breasts and her flat toned stomach. But on Candy’s curvier figure, the turtleneck was almost obscene. It clung to her tits like it was painted on, and where it met her jeans, a thin line of exposed flesh peeked out. It was also stretched thin enough over her generous breasts that her nipples, hard and perky, poked through the soft knit.

“What are you wearing?” Chrissy asked, the moment Candy stepped into the shop. She was practically hanging off Nick, her arms draped around his shoulders, and Candy fought the urge to throw something at her.

Both Nick and the customer—a middle-aged man Candy recognized as a regular—did a double take, their eyes appreciatively tracing Candy’s curves and the swell of her chest. Chrissy rolled her eyes, making a cutting remark about “chunky girls needing to dress like sluts for attention.” But Nick shrugged, his tone casual. “It looks good on her.”

“It would look better on me,” Chrissy shot back, although apparently she didn’t recognize that it was hers. If she had, Candy was sure Chrissy would demand she change before stretching it out.

The customer’s eyes darted back and forth between the sisters until his embarrassment overtook any lingering lechery, prompting him to mumble an excuse about needing to get back to work before he hurried out of the shop.

Nick gave a noncommittal grunt at Chrissy’s comment, though his eyes never left the outlines of Candy’s nipples, visible through the thin material.

Chrissy huffed dramatically. “I’m headed out!” she announced petulantly, leaning in to give Nick a quick peck on the cheek that had Candy looking for a heavy projectile.

As the door closed behind Chrissy, Candy caught a glimpse of something on Nick’s left hand. A Sharpie scrawl emblazoned across his skin read Chrissy, complete with a cute little heart above the eye, as if he were a schoolboy with a crush rather than a grown man.

Nick followed her frown. “No jealousy,” he reminded her cooly.

“I’m not jealous,” Candy insisted, although it sounded hollow even to her ears. “It’s just ... Nick, does it have to be my sister? Bethany seemed ... cute.”

“Bethany’s a cutie,” he agreed. “A little young, but she’s eager to please.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Still, it’s not your place to question me.”

Candy sighed, her chest tightening at the thought of Nick with Chrissy. It felt absurd, trying to steer him toward another girl—another option—if only to keep him out of her sister’s pussy. “Of course, Sir. I’m sorry,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

“Better,” he said, and he walked over to the black board that hung behind the counter. A few days earlier, she’d drawn a happy jack-o-lantern, surrounded by colorful autumn leaves to promote the season’s specials. But while she was upstairs, he had erased it. In its place were the words “Candy’s Caning” written in elegant script, with seven tally marks neatly chalked underneath.

Nick grabbed a piece of chalk and turned to Candy. A flush crept up her neck as memories of that morning flooded back—the sharp sting of the wooden spoon slicing through the air and the bite of its handle against her naked flesh.

“What’s this?” she asked, trying to sound casual, even as her heart began to race.

“Well,” Nick replied, leaning against the counter with that infuriatingly charming grin, “you’ve called me Nick six times since we opened this morning.” He pointed at each tally mark as he recounted the instances, his tone half-serious, half-mischievous. “Once when I was eating you out, once while we were serving Dr. B, then two more times right after he left, and another when you objected to my interest in your sister.” He arched an eyebrow, adding another mark with a glint of playful mischief in his eyes. “And just now, again being a brat about me flirting with Chrissy.”

Candy felt the heat rising again, the playful challenge in his voice making her stomach flutter. “And now?” she asked, trying to sound more nonchalant than she felt.

“Each mark earns a stroke for your second caning, to be delivered after closing, a correction for every time you’ve failed to properly address me.”

Candy felt a flutter in her stomach as she processed Nick’s threat. “I thought calling you Sir was just for ... you know, when we were being ... intimate,” she said, her voice softening, a shy smile creeping onto her lips.

Nick’s expression turned serious. “I don’t play games, Candy. You’re mine until you decide to fire me. Do you want to fire me?”

Candy quickly shook her head. “No,” she admitted, biting her lip. “But you don’t expect me to call you Sir all the time!”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “We can compromise. When we’re alone ... or when I’m inside you, you can call me Master.”

“Master?” Candy echoed, a flicker of nervousness dancing through her.

“Or maybe ... Daddy,” he added with a grin, chuckling as he saw her reaction.

Candy laughed nervously, feeling a strange warmth spread through her. “If Chrissy hears me calling you Daddy, she’ll completely lose her shit.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh, trust me. My sister has some serious daddy issues,” Candy replied, rolling her eyes as she thought of some of the creeps Chrissy had brought home over the years.

“Good to know,” Nick chuckled softly, and his expression shifted, his thoughts somewhere else entirely.

Candy crossed her arms, giving him a playful but wary look. “You really are a pervert.”

He smirked, shrugging. “No, no! I was just—okay, maybe I was imagining Chrissy calling me Daddy for a second there,” he admitted, his face betraying an amused guilt.

“You’re actually into that?”

“Don’t kink shame you’re master,” he admonished lightly. And then he paused, clearly thinking. “On second thought we’ll have you stick to Sir or Master.”

A small wave of disappointment crashed over her. She hadn’t really wanted to call him Daddy—not consciously—but now that it was off-limits, it felt like she’d lost something. A familiar twinge of frustration welled up inside her, as if yet again, Chrissy had taken another piece of territory that was rightfully hers.

“Master,” she said, testing the word on her lips.

“When we’re alone,” Nick confirmed, his tone unyielding.

“Or, when you’re inside me,” she reminded him, although that was perhaps a meaningless distinction. She flashed back to him pulling her down to her knees behind the counter and fucking her face while customers had come and gone on the other side of the counter. Maybe, she thought, it wasn’t such a meaningless distinction.