15. Charlie
Charlie
The next day, I wake up sometime after my afternoon nap to the sound of distant voices and the smell of something sweet.
It takes me a second before I remember why I’m staring up at a mobile of clouds and moons and stars. I curl my toes and pull Duckie to my face, breathing him in.
After exploring the nursery some more the day before, I’d discovered that Duckie is far from the only stuffie in here. And yet… he’s my favorite. He was the first new friend Niko gave me, so while I do like all the others, Duckie’s special.
I sit up gingerly, my bottom admittedly feeling a bit achy from Niko’s seemingly mandatory morning cum sessions. Honestly, it almost gave me a heart attack yesterday, but since I knew it was probably coming this morning, I… um… well, I woke up feeling just a little needy.
And I didn’t really protest when he started touching me, and kissing me, and telling me what a good boy I am…
Instead of fucking my thighs like before, though, he rubbed that special spot behind my balls until I was squirming and whining, then pushed a thick finger into my butt and rubbed that spot from the inside too.
Then once I finished, he stroked himself off while staring down at me, splattering warm cum all over my tummy before carrying me into the bathroom to clean me up.
I hug Duckie to my chest as I think about it, then hear faint laughter echoing from somewhere beyond the door.
My stomach gives an interested little growl at the scent wafting in from under the door, and my curiosity at the sounds grows.
For a moment, I debate staying where I am.
The nursery has become a sort of sanctuary. Everything inside it feels safe and predictable. The thought of venturing into the rest of the penthouse still makes my nerves flutter, even though Nikolaus has told me that I’m welcome to explore on my own.
But eventually my curiosity and stomach win, and I slide the rail of the crib down to climb out. I consider bringing Duckie, but ultimately decide to leave him in my room before wandering out into the empty hallway.
The penthouse seems impossibly large when Nikolaus isn’t right beside me. Every room opens into another room. Every corridor leads somewhere unfamiliar. The entire place feels less like an apartment and more like a small kingdom suspended above Manhattan.
I drift downstairs slowly, one hand trailing along the banister.
The smell grows stronger—vanilla, sugar, and butter. I lick my lips at the scent.
By the time I reach the kitchen, I find Elise standing at the island with a mixing bowl while Marta pulls trays from the oven.
The heat from the oven hits me first, then the realization that they’re baking.
I freeze in the doorway, unnoticed by both women.
Elise is focused on stirring something while Marta mutters under her breath about people who can’t follow written instructions.
I should leave.
They’re working, and I’d only be interrupting.
Nobody invited me.
My feet remain rooted to the floor anyway, and eventually Elise glances up.
“Oh!” Her face brightens immediately. “Hi, Charlie.” The genuine warmth in her voice catches me off guard.
Marta looks over her shoulder briefly before returning her focus to her task. “I’m surprised to see you down here all by yourself. Can I get you anything?”
“I can go if you’re busy.” The words come out before I can stop them.
Marta snorts. “That’s not what I asked, dear.”
My face heats.
Elise shoots Marta a look, then turns to me. “What she means is that you’re welcome to stay. We’re not busy at all.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, then hesitantly edge farther into the kitchen, my interest, or maybe even my craving for social interaction, outweighing my nerves.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Blueberry muffins,” Elise says, smiling kindly at me as I inch towards her. “Would you like to help?”
“Oh, um, if there’s anything I can’t mess up…” My cheeks flush. I’m so caught up in the thought of fucking up muffins that I nearly miss that Marta is grinning at me, a faint, sneaky smile tucked in the creases of her face as she slides a hot tray onto the cooling rack.
“You can pour the blueberries into the batter,” she says, already holding out the container with the fruit. “I trust you to use both hands and not make a mess of my floors.”
Elise laughs. “Marta’s just sore that I accidentally spilled half a cup of sugar earlier.”
Marta grumbles, “Some of us have standards.”
I move close to Elise and take the container of berries, feeling oddly important. Her hip bumps into mine softly when she slides aside.
“Just dump the whole thing in?” I ask, and she nods.
So I do. The berries plunk into the bowl, splashing a few dots of pale batter onto my palm, and I instinctively lick them off. It’s not until both women go quiet and turn to stare at me that I realize maybe that was weird.
“I’m sorry, was I not supposed to—?” I start.
“No, it’s just…” Elise’s eyes dart to the little smear on my cheek. “You’re cute. I mean, it’s fine. Here, let’s fold them in.”
She hands me a wooden spoon, which is comically oversized in my grip. Elise hovers, guiding my hand as I slowly lift and turn the batter. Her voice is close and gentle. “You have to do it softly, so the berries don’t get smashed.”
I nod, focusing on the slow lifting and turning motion.
The thick, sticky mixture resists me, but each sweep of the spoon quickly becomes a small point of pride.
Little blue streaks of berry juice marble the pale batter, and I want to keep folding, to find the exact moment when it’s “just right,” but I’m suddenly aware again of Elise’s hands—how steady and soft they feel as she guides my movements, her pinky brushing my wrist every time the spoon circles around.
The kitchen is warmer than I expected. I feel heat creeping up my neck, rising to my cheeks in a way that isn’t entirely from embarrassment.
Maybe it’s the swirl of sweetness and the glow of the oven, or maybe it’s the easy, practiced way these two move around each other, trading trays and towels and glances.
I realize I’m not just allowed here, but wanted.
The thought settles somewhere in my chest—soft and unfamiliar.
Marta slides the next muffin tray in and turns back, watching me like a hawk. “You’re doing fine,” she announces, and I feel a rush of relief at the words, like I’ve passed a test without even knowing I’d started one.
“More than fine,” Elise beams, and I can’t help but smile back, even if it’s only a twitch.
By the time the last muffins go into the oven, my legs are starting to feel too heavy. Marta notices before I even say anything, and gestures over to the other side of the kitchen island at the tall white stools. When I sit, Elise slides a glass of water over to me, and I take a sip gratefully.
For a while, I simply watch them work, but eventually, the conversation drifts toward Nikolaus.
Well, because I ask, “So, um, what does Nikolaus do all day?”
Marta scoffs. “Work.”
“Constantly,” Elise agrees.
“Does he ever stop?”
The two women exchange a look, then they both laugh, answering my question.
“No,” says Marta. “He doesn’t.”
Elise adds quickly, “It’s been different, though, since you’ve been here.
He used to eat alone in his office for every meal, and now he’s at the table with you like clockwork.
We’ve seen him much more often these past few days, actually.
He’s always going upstairs to check on you or bring you things. ”
That settles in my brain, fuzzy and warm. “He doesn’t have to,” I say, even though part of me likes it.
Elise sets a batch of muffins on the cooling rack, dodging Marta’s elbow. “But he wants to,” she says, twirling her spoon like a wand. “He’s taking his new role very seriously.”
Marta chuckles, shaking her head. “I’d say that man was born to be a dad.”
I choke on my water.
“It’s not ‘dad,’” Elise tells her, smacking her arm lightly. “It’s ‘Daddy,’ right, Charlie?”
I duck my head, face probably as red as a fire hydrant. “I haven’t… I mean… T-that’s right.”
Marta wipes her hands on a dishtowel, considering me. “You enjoy that whole thing, too, don’t you? He’s not forcing you into it?”
I shake my head quickly. “No!” I gasp, feeling my ears burn as they both raise their brows at my insistence. “I mean, he did force me here… But the um, the other stuff, I’ve been into for a while on my own.”
Marta gives a short nod. “Good. I hope you know that if you ever find yourself in danger, we will help you. No questions asked.”
“Oh… thank you.” I bite my lip, peeking up through my eyelashes at the two women. “You guys don’t think it’s weird? That I like that stuff?”
Elise leans in a little. “Of course not, Charlie.”
Marta huffs. “I’ll be honest with you, we were concerned when we opened that room for the first time. I get it now, and it’s clear to see that a lot of the furniture is made for adult bodies, but I swear to god my first thought was that he’d kidnapped an actual child.”
I snort involuntarily and immediately cover my nose. “Sorry. Sorry! I mean, not a child. I’m twenty-five.”
Marta grins. “We know that now. I’m just saying I had my concerns until we were briefed on what was actually going on.”
“So did you guys not go in the nursery before that?”
“No, it was the only off-limits room. We always liked to joke about what he could be hiding in there. For a man who relies on housekeeping staff, we thought it had to be something crazy for him not to allow us to tidy up in there,” Elise explains.
Marta nods, folding her arms. “Never in a million years would I have guessed that man was up there collecting toys and adult-sized onesies.”
I grin and turn that over while the tray full of hot, doughy muffins gives the air an almost syrup-thick sweetness. If anything, being here—being like this—feels less weird than pretty much anywhere else I’ve ever been.
A few minutes later, I ask, “Were you here when Nikolaus was… I mean, did he ever have anyone before me?”