Maid For Dessert Ch. 01
I bite at my lower lip and nod. "Y-yes, Sir. I almost came several times. I had to stop often to make sure that I didn't disobey you."
Casually he comments, "It pleases me to know you had to struggle in this way, slave."
I almost squirm in pleasure at this praise. "I'm so happy to have pleased you, Sir."
"Did you stain my chair?"
I swallow, nervous, though I know I've no reason to be. "No, Sir. I was very careful not to stain it."
Threateningly he inquires, "You did make it damp though, didn't you?"
My breath catches. "Y-yes, Sir, I made the leather quite damp."
He smiles. "And you made certain to clean all signs of your lewd, dirty behaviour from my leather?"
I feel my cheeks flame. "Yes, Sir."
He nods again, then steps around me and into the livingroom. From the corner of my eye I can see him carefully inspecting his chair. He even bends to smell it! Returning to me, he takes another deep inhalation of the feather duster before handing it back to me. "Good girl," he praises quietly. I breathe a sigh of relieved, intense pleasure.
"I trust the rest of my instructions have been followed to the letter, slave?"
"Yes, Sir," I nod eagerly.
"You didn't peek beneath the tray in the Box?"
"No, Sir."
"And you re-locked it and returned the key to its proper place?"
"Yes, Sir."
Nodding, he reaches for the drink I hold ready for him and sips appreciatively. "I'm going to change. When I return, I expect my dinner to be on the table, a glass of red wine poured, and you to be kneeling in display position for me on your cushion on the floor by my left side. Do you understand?"
Breathless, I nod.
As soon as his tread fades up the stairs, I hurry into the diningroom and bring his plate into the kitchen, where I arrange his dinner on it as pleasingly as I can. I take the cork from the wine bottle and bring the bottle, along with his plate, back to the table. Carefully I pour his glass and ease his chair invitingly out from the table for him, before retrieving my kneeling cushion from the corner of the room and sinking to my knees upon it.
I spread my thighs wide and adjust the little scrap of an apron so that it reveals more than it hides. Straightening my back, I cup a breast in each hand and rub a thumb over each nipple to ensure that both are standing proud for his pleasure. Breathing shakily, I wait for his return.
Some five minutes later, Sir returns down the stairs. He's changed into tight back jeans and a loose-fitting black silk shirt. In his hand he carries a medium sized black duffel bag, which I know contains various instruments he's taken from the Box. I swallow when he drops the bag on the floor directly beside me as he sits in his chair. I know he is all too aware that I will not be able to tear my mind away from the bag's contents during dinner.
Over the course of the next half hour or so, we have a very pleasant dinner filled with menial, meaningless, light-hearted conversation. Throughout the entire time, I maintain my position with knees wide-spread, hands cupping my breasts - on display for him - while Sir patiently feeds me tidbits and morsels from his own fork and tilts the wine glass to my lips for an occasional sip. We both laugh when a spatter of gravy is captured by my apron and I gasp when a dribbling of wine catches itself on the tip of my nipple where the droplet hangs like a wet red jewel until Sir swabs it away with his finger.
Our meal complete, Sir instructs me to clear the table and to return back to my display position once done. My heart begins pounding as I carry the dishes into the kitchen. I can feel Sir watching my every movement and I sense that he has decidedly devious plans for me for the evening. Once I remove the table-cloth, I return to my kneeling position on the floor at Sir's side. I feel myself blushing as his eyes smoulder on me.
"Hand me up my bag, slave."
Shivering, I do so. I can tell by its weight, that he has several tools inside it.
Casually, he takes a pair of leather wrist cuffs from the bag. "Present your wrists."
Swallowing, I lift my hands, palm up, toward him. He clasps a cuff around each fragile wrist, then clips the two together so that I am bound. Smiling coldly, he growls, "Stand, slave."
Nervously, I climb to my feet.
"Feet apart! Hands behind your neck!" he instructs.
Hastily, I comply.
Quietly, he demands, "Did I not expressly instruct you to remain spotlessly clean through your labours today?"
My heart almost stops. "Y-yes, Sir," I stammer.
"And did you remain spotlessly clean, slave?"
I worry my lower lip in my teeth and look down at my tiny little excuse for an apron - spotted now with gravy, red wine and some other indeterminate soil. Shifting uneasily, I reply, "No, Sir, I did not - but - but please, Sir, I tried so hard to stay clean for you. I truly did."
He nods and his voice is very gentle. "I know you did, girl. I know how hard you try to please me, to follow all my instructions to the letter. I see how hard you worked to please me today, how perfectly dusted and polished everything is, so, I will forgive you that tiny little spot on your apron - this time. But, the fact remains - you are really quite dirty, aren't you, slave? A dirty girl is what you are, aren't you?"
I blush deeply, then nod self-consciously, "Yes, Sir. I am a dirty girl."
Sir mimics my nod, then reaches again into his tool bag. I shudder as his hand emerges holding a crop. He slaps it forcefully against the table and I flinch. "I forgive you for being dirty, pet - but nevertheless, I am feeling a very strong urge to use this on my dirty girl."
Again the crop smacks hard against the table's top and I wince nervously. "Yes, Sir," I whisper.
Scraping his chair back from the table, he smiles and stands. "Get the pad from the dish cabinet and lay it out on the table."
Taking a deep breath, I move to the cabinet. Awkwardly, I open the drawer and withdraw a very thick, quilted blanket. Hampered somewhat by my bound wrists, I carefully spread it over the table, ensuring that all edges are well-padded. Nervously, I look over my shoulder at Sir. Offering me his hand, he indicates the chair and orders softly, "Onto the table with you, pet. I want you facing away from me, on your knees and elbows, with your breasts pressed to the table top. You are to keep your eyes forward."
I almost moan. Clumsily, I position myself on my knees and, leaning forward, scootch my elbows forward until my breasts are squashed flat against the quilted table. My back arches deeply as I feel the crop's gentle tap against my upper thighs.
"Spread yourself wide for me, slave!" Sir growls.
Trembling, I do as he commands and close my eyes. I hear him rummaging through the bag and a slight clinking sound announces the retrieval of something metal.
"Spread your feet wider slave."
Breathless, I comply.
A bar, almost three feet long is laid on the table, horizontally between my feet. Firmly, Sir wraps first one ankle and then the other in cuffs that are near twins to the ones I wear on my wrists. The cuffs are clipped to the eyebolts provided at each end of the bar, and I am held spread invitingly open for him. I feel his gaze dissecting me as the crop's tip drags ever so lightly across my vulva. I moan deeply as it slithers away.
"Tell me, slave, what do you think I should do with you now?"
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LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
LADIES IN NUDE
Russian Brides
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