If I Was a Rich Girl
IF I WAS A RICH GIRL;; PG
random pairing is random, lol
If I Was A Rich Girl
The guy with the fur growing as a moustache at the auction tells her that her slave is the best kind they have in stock - quiet, pretty, obedient, and a bit dim.
Jessica throws her wallet and splurges but thinks it’s a steal to get one that’s 5’8’ and looks like they belong on the catwalk for $7,500.
“You look like a model.” Jessica says when they get home, observing those long and silky legs at a distance.
Her slave continues to do the slave things Jessica commands her to do; easy tasks - mopping the floor, color coordinating her walk-in closet, wiping the coffee table while Jessica sits on the sofa clipping her nails.
“I get that a lot.”
“I wish I was tall.”
“Guess money can’t buy you everything.” she says dryly, face devoid of emotion as she gives Jessica a blank stare. Jessica looks up surprised but only for a second before she catches her cool and flicks a dirty nail on the floor.
“It bought me you, didn’t it?”
She decides to call her Nana, even after her slave says her real name is Im Jin Ah. But Jessica says a slave is a slave, not someone who’s meant to have an identity and Nana just shrugs her pointed shoulders high and goes with it.
Her apathy tickles the inside of Jessica’s palms. (And itches when she sleeps.)
Sometimes she watches Nana sleep in the spare bedroom, comes close to her, close enough that she breathes on her skull, looking for any sign of a white, greying hair. She runs her fingers lightly through the hair, eyes pried open looking for any imperfections throughout the locks of sunkissed blonde.
She never finds anything.
Jessica makes Nana fix the sink that could never be fixed and reupholster the living room carpet as an easy summer project.
Nana never refuses a job, even when Jessica decides to stay home and watch her do it, waits for her to mess up and triumphantly laughs and screams in delight when Nana barely misses putting a screw in its perfect place amongst two floorboards.
“Tsk, tsk - I’m sorry but you need to do that all over again, Nana.”
“Sure.”
And so she does - wordlessly, the only signs of being human a couple of sleuth sweat drops and an occasional hum. Jessica crosses her arms and then uncrosses them again, her mouth curled in a permanent frown. She leaves and comes back three hours later sipping an iced-cold macchiato.
She brings Nana nothing.
It rains the hot sticky summer kind of rain and Jessica refuses to leave the house because she’s “allergic to humidity” and hates the way she has to keep her hair in a bun since it crimps otherwise.
Nana’s hair stays perfect, straight and flowy even when she tip-toes high to clean the dust off the tips of Jessica’s stark and wide window panels.
“Come here,” Jessica calls and grabs Nana’s arm taking her past her bedroom and into her luxurious and full of collectibles closet.
Nana shows a sign of expression, (usually rivaling Jessica’s own lack of one) but she cannot hide her puzzlement, not this time.
“Wear anything you like.”
“What?”
“Put something on, anything.” Nana looks away from Jessica to the racks and racks of clothes, designer stacked upon designer, rich fabrics mixed in with softs, but it’s all a maze to her and she doesn’t think she’s ever been asked something so ludicrous, not even as a slave.
“Here,” Jessica demands, grabbing Nana’s arm again and taking her to the far wall, eagerly tossing a red and silky pantsuit number her way. Jessica raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with her decision, shoving a pair of stilettos in Nana’s hands to seal the arrangement. “Wear that. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”
Nana comes out five minutes later, head high in the ceiling, her figure hugged in every single way possible with the taut little fiery piece. Jessica sits with her legs crossed on her loveseat, motions Nana to make a circle. She does so and Jessica makes a long whistle.
It’s a nice change from the white cotton shirt and brown khakis she usually wears for chore time.
“You can keep the outfit if you want. I’m going out for dinner.”
“Why-why’d you make you wear this?”
“Just seeing if I was right.”
Right about what?
“Well...were you?”
“I’m always right.”
When Nana feels nice, (coincidentally around the days that Jessica gives her extra pocket-money) she cooks something sweet, something rather than rice and chicken stew.
There’s more spices flying in the kitchen, some tamarind hitting the back of the stove wall, the smell of garlic and cloves fragrant enough to kick someones stomach alive. She mixes her batter well, three spoons under-turned for every top whisk, her favorite nondescript hum coming to play when she hears the ring of the oven signaling that her heavily buttered buns are ready.
Jessica sits on the high stools, tapping her fingers on the counter needy and hungry, but mostly bored.
“Buns are ready.”
Jessica just frowns when Nana offers her the first fresh one on her plate and frowns again when Nana turns away back to her batter.
“Feed me.”
Nana finds Jessica at her side, holding the bun in her hand, mouth slightly parted waiting to be fed. Nana tips the bun into the shorter woman’s mouth, watches as she chews and secretly hopes that she finds the butter as savory as she thought it would be when she cooked it.
Jessica finishes chewing and ignores the expectant review Nana wants. She leans up, pressing her lips hard on Nana’s, trying to memorize every nook and cranny of that pursed little mouth she has been staring at for the past five months. She pushes and pushes harder, hands dangerously playing at Nana’s hips.
Nana takes a while but reciprocates, parting her lips and letting Jessica slide in pretty. When she does, Jessica finally pulls back, a wave of satisfaction all over her face. It’s a victory, but her slave has no idea why.
“Why’d you kiss me?” Nana finally bites as Jessica happily takes two buns back to her high stool over the counter.
“I just wanted to know if you were worth the $7,500 I spent.”
They play Scrabble on nights when there’s nothing better to do, mostly on the nights when Jessica isn’t in a fowl mood and can’t think of mindless things for Nana to fix and mostly when she wants stimulation for her brain.
Nana lets out a cool breath when she finishes placing a ‘c’ on the board, and Jessica stops taking a puff of her cigarette to read what the word is: demonic.
“84 points.”
It beats Jessica’s last word ‘robot’ by thirty points. Duped by the triple points score.
She remains in a pout as she plays with the seven letters left on her stick (tlisyhf) and the only word that comes to mind to put down is ‘shit.’
She puts it down. 12 points.
“You can’t have always been a slave.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Nana takes a long pause, rearranging her own letters debating on whether or not to put the word at hand down. “I used to be a lifeguard.”
“Huh,” Jessica quips, not regretting the urge to admire those undeniably long and beautiful legs underneath the coffee table. “I can see it. Why’d you quit?”
“I don’t know,” Nana delays her turn, putting her letters down slow -
T
Y
R
A
N
T
“I guess I was sick of saving people drowning underwater. I wanted to save someone drowning above.”
When Jessica’s really bored, she allows her slave into her bedroom. She makes Nana wear her pretty perfect hair up in a bun because she really doesn’t like the taste of hair when she’s having sex. It’s not often but when Jessica’s really bored she lets Nana top her. (But only because she’s really bored.)
random pairing is random, lol
If I Was A Rich Girl
The guy with the fur growing as a moustache at the auction tells her that her slave is the best kind they have in stock - quiet, pretty, obedient, and a bit dim.
Jessica throws her wallet and splurges but thinks it’s a steal to get one that’s 5’8’ and looks like they belong on the catwalk for $7,500.
“You look like a model.” Jessica says when they get home, observing those long and silky legs at a distance.
Her slave continues to do the slave things Jessica commands her to do; easy tasks - mopping the floor, color coordinating her walk-in closet, wiping the coffee table while Jessica sits on the sofa clipping her nails.
“I get that a lot.”
“I wish I was tall.”
“Guess money can’t buy you everything.” she says dryly, face devoid of emotion as she gives Jessica a blank stare. Jessica looks up surprised but only for a second before she catches her cool and flicks a dirty nail on the floor.
“It bought me you, didn’t it?”
She decides to call her Nana, even after her slave says her real name is Im Jin Ah. But Jessica says a slave is a slave, not someone who’s meant to have an identity and Nana just shrugs her pointed shoulders high and goes with it.
Her apathy tickles the inside of Jessica’s palms. (And itches when she sleeps.)
Sometimes she watches Nana sleep in the spare bedroom, comes close to her, close enough that she breathes on her skull, looking for any sign of a white, greying hair. She runs her fingers lightly through the hair, eyes pried open looking for any imperfections throughout the locks of sunkissed blonde.
She never finds anything.
Jessica makes Nana fix the sink that could never be fixed and reupholster the living room carpet as an easy summer project.
Nana never refuses a job, even when Jessica decides to stay home and watch her do it, waits for her to mess up and triumphantly laughs and screams in delight when Nana barely misses putting a screw in its perfect place amongst two floorboards.
“Tsk, tsk - I’m sorry but you need to do that all over again, Nana.”
“Sure.”
And so she does - wordlessly, the only signs of being human a couple of sleuth sweat drops and an occasional hum. Jessica crosses her arms and then uncrosses them again, her mouth curled in a permanent frown. She leaves and comes back three hours later sipping an iced-cold macchiato.
She brings Nana nothing.
It rains the hot sticky summer kind of rain and Jessica refuses to leave the house because she’s “allergic to humidity” and hates the way she has to keep her hair in a bun since it crimps otherwise.
Nana’s hair stays perfect, straight and flowy even when she tip-toes high to clean the dust off the tips of Jessica’s stark and wide window panels.
“Come here,” Jessica calls and grabs Nana’s arm taking her past her bedroom and into her luxurious and full of collectibles closet.
Nana shows a sign of expression, (usually rivaling Jessica’s own lack of one) but she cannot hide her puzzlement, not this time.
“Wear anything you like.”
“What?”
“Put something on, anything.” Nana looks away from Jessica to the racks and racks of clothes, designer stacked upon designer, rich fabrics mixed in with softs, but it’s all a maze to her and she doesn’t think she’s ever been asked something so ludicrous, not even as a slave.
“Here,” Jessica demands, grabbing Nana’s arm again and taking her to the far wall, eagerly tossing a red and silky pantsuit number her way. Jessica raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with her decision, shoving a pair of stilettos in Nana’s hands to seal the arrangement. “Wear that. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”
Nana comes out five minutes later, head high in the ceiling, her figure hugged in every single way possible with the taut little fiery piece. Jessica sits with her legs crossed on her loveseat, motions Nana to make a circle. She does so and Jessica makes a long whistle.
It’s a nice change from the white cotton shirt and brown khakis she usually wears for chore time.
“You can keep the outfit if you want. I’m going out for dinner.”
“Why-why’d you make you wear this?”
“Just seeing if I was right.”
Right about what?
“Well...were you?”
“I’m always right.”
When Nana feels nice, (coincidentally around the days that Jessica gives her extra pocket-money) she cooks something sweet, something rather than rice and chicken stew.
There’s more spices flying in the kitchen, some tamarind hitting the back of the stove wall, the smell of garlic and cloves fragrant enough to kick someones stomach alive. She mixes her batter well, three spoons under-turned for every top whisk, her favorite nondescript hum coming to play when she hears the ring of the oven signaling that her heavily buttered buns are ready.
Jessica sits on the high stools, tapping her fingers on the counter needy and hungry, but mostly bored.
“Buns are ready.”
Jessica just frowns when Nana offers her the first fresh one on her plate and frowns again when Nana turns away back to her batter.
“Feed me.”
Nana finds Jessica at her side, holding the bun in her hand, mouth slightly parted waiting to be fed. Nana tips the bun into the shorter woman’s mouth, watches as she chews and secretly hopes that she finds the butter as savory as she thought it would be when she cooked it.
Jessica finishes chewing and ignores the expectant review Nana wants. She leans up, pressing her lips hard on Nana’s, trying to memorize every nook and cranny of that pursed little mouth she has been staring at for the past five months. She pushes and pushes harder, hands dangerously playing at Nana’s hips.
Nana takes a while but reciprocates, parting her lips and letting Jessica slide in pretty. When she does, Jessica finally pulls back, a wave of satisfaction all over her face. It’s a victory, but her slave has no idea why.
“Why’d you kiss me?” Nana finally bites as Jessica happily takes two buns back to her high stool over the counter.
“I just wanted to know if you were worth the $7,500 I spent.”
They play Scrabble on nights when there’s nothing better to do, mostly on the nights when Jessica isn’t in a fowl mood and can’t think of mindless things for Nana to fix and mostly when she wants stimulation for her brain.
Nana lets out a cool breath when she finishes placing a ‘c’ on the board, and Jessica stops taking a puff of her cigarette to read what the word is: demonic.
“84 points.”
It beats Jessica’s last word ‘robot’ by thirty points. Duped by the triple points score.
She remains in a pout as she plays with the seven letters left on her stick (tlisyhf) and the only word that comes to mind to put down is ‘shit.’
She puts it down. 12 points.
“You can’t have always been a slave.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Nana takes a long pause, rearranging her own letters debating on whether or not to put the word at hand down. “I used to be a lifeguard.”
“Huh,” Jessica quips, not regretting the urge to admire those undeniably long and beautiful legs underneath the coffee table. “I can see it. Why’d you quit?”
“I don’t know,” Nana delays her turn, putting her letters down slow -
T
Y
R
A
N
T
“I guess I was sick of saving people drowning underwater. I wanted to save someone drowning above.”
When Jessica’s really bored, she allows her slave into her bedroom. She makes Nana wear her pretty perfect hair up in a bun because she really doesn’t like the taste of hair when she’s having sex. It’s not often but when Jessica’s really bored she lets Nana top her. (But only because she’s really bored.)