Bailey The Caretaker

Bailey is not the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word dad. A dad is what Sydney is blessed with. Sirris is doting, kind, playful. Alex has a good dad too, its not easy raising that many kids. Hell, you'd even take Whitney's dad as long you had one to come back home to. Bailey? He isn't your father. He's barely your caretaker. No one that cared for you would sell you off to get raped, to get used and abused and whored out until you pass out on the side of a street, only for the cycle to repeat until you somehow make it back home.

home

That's not your fucking home. Its an orphanage. A home is a place where you have someone to come back to, someone that allows you to hope. Bailey is not that someone, and robin is gone, who knows where they are, when and if they come back after your caretaker sold them off.

All Bailey cares about is his money. Its what you remind yourself every time he barges into your room, crimson sleeves rolled up to show off tan skin, black hair styled in an attempt to stay away from his face. you remind yourself that this super hot, older guy, with his rough exterior and sexy voice, emerald eyes staring at you meanly thinks that you're nothing but bait as you fish around and hand him the 2000 he wants.

and he wants, and wants, and wants.

You are the way you are because of Bailey, always getting into trouble, hiding from the cops, stripping at night clubs and getting into random cars just so you don't end up getting brutalized by fucking animals at some party while the people that rented you from your caretaker watch, drinks in hand, smiles on their faces.

And when you meet Avery, you were elated. Rich man with too much money on his hands, paying your rent for you as long as you hang off his arm all evening long, giggle and nod along to whatever he says, suck him off in the backseat of your fancy car every Saturday.

it felt good to let your body relax, to not wander through dingey alleys, to eat good, sleep on a nice bed once every few weeks. But your body craved it. It craved the feeling of being useful to Bailey, to be more specific.

Something about his smug, satisfied expression as he counted each bill made you feel giddy.

like you were being good for your daddy

You swat that thought out of your head as you lay in soft silky sheets, wearing sheer lingerie and cum leaking out of your used holes. Avery is talking about some party or something, probably asking you to be a sweetheart and tag along. You're too tipsy with alcohol and orgasms to pay attention.

                                    _________________________________________________________

Apparently, its not a party this time, but a game night. You comment on how gross the apartments on Barb street look as he guides you through the building, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. you never expected Avery to have friends in this part of town. You remember being told to watch out for a specific flat with a lotus doorknob. The same doorknob that twists open as Avery rings the doorbell to reveal Bailey.

its a bit too silent, Avery seemingly pleased with himself while Bailey's wide eyes dart between the two of you.

Avery holds out his hand towards Bailey which he ignores, staring angrily at the you instead. Avery sweeps his arm around your waist, cocking a brow as if to say You're staring too much at what's mine Bailey smoothens his expression, stepping aside to finally allow Avery and you to enter.

The flat looks almost unremarkable, though strange symbols have been etched into the doorframe. The ceiling is carpeted just like the floor, both twisted with abstract images of snakes. The walls are a rich, deep shade of red, the floors ebony. The apartment is not decorated to show off like Avery's mansion is. Its actually quite nice, luxuriously tasteful rather than tacky.

You hear voices from deeper within, and the clink of glasses. In the center of the sitting room is a table with four chairs. Two of them are already occupied by Leighton, the headmaster of the your school and Quinn, the mayor, both of whom seem amused by the situation. "I'm so glad you could make it, and such a flush companion you've brough. I didn't know you had such fine taste," Quinn says to Avery. He stands, holding a half-full glass of brandy in one hand, and holding out the other towards you.

The Mayor always creeped you out, and this wasn't helping his case.

Bailey ignores their remarks and joins Avery in sitting at the table. Your gaze follows him. They all soon follow and settle in. There is nowhere for you to sit. of course there isn't, you're not worth anything more than trash to these men, probably not to Avery, definitely not to Bailey.

"Be a dear and fetch us a brandy, will you?" Quinn says, holding an empty glass your way while Bailey shuffles a deck of cards. Avery nods and pushes forward his own glass. "I could use a top-up. Gin," Leighton says. your eyes land on your caretaker. He requests nothing, but his glass is empty. his green eyes look past you, nodding towards a tray, and your feet move automatically to "fetch" the drinks they want like the good doggie you are.

You do as asked, brandy for Quinn, Gin for Leighton, Whiskey for Avery. Last time you got his drink wrong, he left you with pretty purple bruises against your cheekbone. its hard to forget after that. Bailey's glass sits empty, and you stare at the bottles. You reach for the vodka. Bailey just seems like a vodka guy. Realistically, he probably couldn't care less as long as it burns going down his throat and rids him of the headache caused by Quinn's voice.

Serving this many older, more powerful men soothes you, and their praise makes you feel giddy. Avery boasts about how sweet you are to him, plants a kiss on the your cheek, a reward for being good and getting his drink just right. But your eyes remain on Bailey, watching attentively as he takes a sip of the vodka. Your heart hammers against your chest when you watch his throat bob, the wrinkles that seem to permanently sit between his thick black brows smoothen over just a bit. You've spent enough time at the orphanage to know that that's as happy as his face can get around orphans or middle aged men, anything more would just be uncanny. Bailey says nothing. He hasn't even bothered looking at you, eyebrows raised as he waits for the game to continue. you don't care about what's happening, elated at the feeling of being good for Bailey once again. its been so long since you worked hard for his money, Avery giving you everything on a silver platter has just been so unsatisfying. even a win as small as this is enough to tame whatever you've been feeling ever since you started depending on Avery.

The men play for a while, you zone out.

At some point, Avery wraps an arm around your waist, yanking you onto his lap . Bailey glances over, Emerald eyes staring at you for a brief moment before trailing down to Avery's hand. "Work keeps me so busy," Avery says, his hand creeping up your leg. "I do look forward to the opportunity to unwind." Quinn raises his eyebrows. he is staring too. "I thought about bringing a companion myself," Leighton says, leering at you. That gross fucking perv. A chair in the corner is where that old fuck thrives. you think to yourself as you try to zone out again. "But I need to be discreet. People would recognise me and start asking questions." "I should hope they recognise me," Avery says, squeezing your thigh. "But they already know the answers, and they know they can only watch."

Bailey looks back down at his cards, much to your disappointment. You hate every second of the next couple of hours. After a while of being pawed at by your boyfriend, Bailey has you polishing his silverware. You polish the silverware behind Avery. Several plates, a jug, and an urn. All engraved with intricate detail. You listen to the game behind you while you work. "I'm glad you could make it, Avery," Leighton says. "I thought you might have been invited to that party." "I was invited to several," Avery replies. "Naturally. They get tiresome."

So far, you've been a waitress, a lapdog and a maid. At least at parties you get to drink and eat fancy things.

The games continue, until Bailey glances at the clock on the wall, saying "One more, I have somewhere to be." The cards are dealt, and you regard their cards with a stoney expression. Avery produces a clip of cash and says "If this is the last game, we should make it interesting," pushing the whole wad into the middle of the table. Quinn and Leighton match them, but Bailey shakes their head, declaring that he "doesn't have the cash to spare."

liar you think to yourself. after all the money from orphans and the big shots that buy said orphans, he has the audacity to say he cant afford a card game? bullshit

They're about to fold, until Quinn interjects. his eyes rest on you, and Avery realises the implication at once. "They are with with me," he says, a tremor of anger in his tone. "they are with you," Bailey agrees. "But they belong to me." A dreadful silence follows. Your heart beats harder against your ribs, a hot flush climbing up your neck. something about Bailey saying he owns you so blatantly does something. makes your tummy feel fuzzy. you cling onto that feeling. You don't care about the small argument that follows, all that matters is that Bailey owns you.

Bailey hesitates, until he regards the pile of money on the table, and looks at his hand once more. "I'll wager them for one evening. Deluxe rules." He looks at you. "Climb on." You start to protest, frowning as you watch him eye the money, ignoring what that does to your little heart. His mean gaze remains fixed on you. You think if you disappoint these men any more, it wont be a pleasant night. "The money goes on the table. That means you,"