by Jaye Peaches
Tears pricked at Casey’s eyes. She felt humiliated. Melissa caught sight of Casey’s dismay and intervened.
“Stop that,” she said smartly. “It’s not your business. How would you feel if we read your private messages?”
The sharp tone halted the other two, and they saw the distress in Casey’s face. The phone was quickly handed back by Vicky, who sensed her vulnerability.
“Sorry,” said Vicky. “It’s the drink.”
Casey clutched the mobile in her hand and kept her lips tight together before giving a small nod of understanding.
The evening did not truly recover from the infraction. Attempts were made to return to the jovial tone of the earlier hours, but the moment had been lost and Casey was tired. Just before midnight, her friends left, and each offered one last apology as they stepped outside.
Sleep was a restless affair that night. Tossing under the sheets, Casey could not escape from the sense of guilt. She should have ended the distant conversation and informed Rob she was not alone. She should have focused on her guests and not on her slutty thoughts. Much as she missed Rob, she had allowed herself to be distracted. He would be angry at her and her lack of discretion.
The next day she carried out her allotted tasks and then moped about the house. It was no good. She needed to be occupied, because Rob was due back later in the day. She polished the silver cutlery in the dining room, and the vases were treated to fresh flowers from the garden. By the afternoon, even the kitchen cupboards were emptied and wiped down. Replacing the contents, Casey carefully aligned the labels to the front, just as Rob liked the cupboards to be arranged.
In the distance she heard the old oak door shut with a shudder. Casey raced to greet Rob.
* * *
The kiss was lingering, the embrace long and warm. He sniffed her hair and ran his hand up and down her back before releasing his grip on her body.
“I missed you, sweet Casey,” he murmured. “I’m also tired and hungry.”
Casey had put much effort into cooking a meal for Rob. She had set the dining room table with the silverware and poured a glass of wine for him in the crystal cut glass. The meal was conducted in silence, allowing Rob to savour and digest his food. It was as he brought his knife and fork together that he finally addressed Casey’s worrisome demeanour.
Casey could not help her emotions. They were untamed and displayed themselves on her features blatantly—the fretful mannerisms as she twirled her hair in a finger, tapped her toes on the wooden boards, and avoided Rob’s observant dark eyes. He smelt the fresh roses in the vases and saw the sheen on the cutlery, and he was sure there had been other unusual improvements in the removal of clutter about the house.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
Her approach to his request was to crash and burn before his eyes.
“Oh, punish me, Rob,” she wailed outlandishly. “I’ve been so indiscreet and indifferent to our privacy.”
“Indiscreet?” Rob sat back in his chair, concerned. “With your friends? Last night?”
“You will have to spank me severely,” rambled Casey. “That ghastly cane you dispense so viciously when I’ve been very bad…”
Rob interrupted, placing his hand on her jittery arm. “Casey, calm down. What are you trying to tell me?”
Casey recounted how their texts were seen by her friends after the phone was snatched from her hand. “They handed it back and apologised,” she said in conclusion.
Rob pursed his lips. “I should hope they did. Are they still your friends?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t kick them out.” Her voice lowered. “I suspect we were all a little drunk.”
“I see.” Rob cocked his head to one side and noted Casey’s trembling lips. “Now I know why there are flowers everywhere and the silverware looks immaculately polished. An attempt at winning me over? Or maybe you sought to keep yourself occupied.”
Casey said nothing. Her eyebrows knotted quizzically. Rob had to smirk at the unveiling of her distraction activities.
“My dear girl, did we mention spanking or kink?” he asked, causing her to recall their words of exchange, and she shook her head.
“I did imply I have to seek permission for touching,” she reminded him.
“Many girls would tease their boyfriends with such remarks. No, there was nothing in our dirty words to imply your devotion and obedience to me. What they read were the sexy thoughts of lovers.”
Casey visibly sighed with relief. “You’re not going to spank me?” she asked with trepidation.
“You say that as something you wish for,” he said.
Her eyes widened a fraction. “No, of course not. I mean I would never seek for you to punish me…”
Rob shook his head. “No. I will not cane you, not like that. But I think it is about time you learnt about the other ways I use my cane.”
Her eyes blinked. “Other ways?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” said Rob, leaning forward and running his fingers over her hand. “Indeed. The lick of the cane can be seductive.”
“It can?” she said almost inaudibly.
“A tapping on sensitive parts. I’m not talking of a swish and a whack. On no, my sweet Casey. I can see you bent over.”
“Bent over,” she repeated.
“Hands grasping your ankles.” His fingers moved across the table until they reached the edge, then he sent them underneath to where neither could see. Her thighs were clamped together. Casey squirmed as he explored her posture.
“Tightly,” she added. “I don’t want to fall over.”
“Little taps, flicks of my wrists, and a pattern will appear on your gorgeous behind.” Rob envisaged the activity in his head and immediately felt invigorated from his jet lag.
“No welts?” she queried.
“Most assuredly not.” His finger drifted up her legs, under the hem of her skirt, and onward.
At that precise moment, the numerous antiquated clocks in the house began to chime eight o’clock. Casey’s eyes locked onto Rob’s own.
“Part them,” he said with determination.
Her legs fell apart, and he was close to his goal. Her chest rose and fell as she waited for the tip of his finger to caress her.
“I thought you were tired,” she reminded him. “Sir.”
The addition of the deferential title stripped away any lasting fatigue. “I was, but not any longer. You will not be punished, Casey. You did nothing wrong other than to be careless with your grip on your phone. However, maybe a few taps of my cane will help wipe out those little worries you have harboured all day.”
“Yes, sir. They would.”
His fingers hit their target, and Casey tossed her head back with a groan.
“Upstairs, now!” hissed Rob in her ear.
Chapter Seven: Setting the Table
Casey was bored. A bright girl, she was not keen on repetition. Spicing up her life was what made things exciting—especially sex. Now, she could not complain about Rob. He kept her satiated the moment they hit the sheets. He might appear staid and uninteresting as he sat in his study, but once they were in the bedroom, well… professor or not, he knew how to set her on fire. So she just could not understand why he made her do the most boring tasks.
Today was typical. His task appeared simple—set the dining room table with three places for a three course meal, red and white wine glasses, and a tumbler for water. Napkins placed neatly between cutlery. Off she had gone to the spartan dining room and done the deed. She fetched the cutlery canteen, which contained the silverware, the white linen napkins from the drawer in the sideboard, and the glasses from the cabinet. It only took minutes, and she went to tell Rob she was finished.
Naturally, he came to inspect, and he walked about the rectangular oak table and grimaced with dissatisfaction. Casey deflated like a balloon. She had done something wrong, and she hated the sensation of letting him down.
The list turned out to be long, and she gawped at him with disbelief. Cutlery not lined up with the table edge, the napkins folded incorrectly, glasses spread unevenly, and where were the condiments? Her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish, especially when he told her to bend over a dining room chair.
“Now please, Casey,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
Casey mentally stamped her feet in annoyance and then did as she was told. She had decided the best approach for keeping on top of the knickers situation—pulling them up and down like a flag on a pole—was simply not to wear them. She knew he loved the idea of her constant exposure to the air. He even occasionally ran his hand up her thigh to check her status. She blushed every time he did it.
Six hard swats of his hand landed on her raised bottom. A tiny ouch left her mouth on the last one, which she considered unusually hard. Standing up, she listened carefully to his advice. He showed her how she should lay the places and added she should find some placemats, as he did not want the table ruined with spillages. He then left her to retry.
Casey hunted for placemats and found a set in the sideboard, with pictures of floral arrangements. They were grubby, but when she tried to wipe them down, nothing seemed to shift off the faded surfaces. Shrugging her shoulders, she laid them between the knives and forks, taking care to line everything up with the table edge. The glasses she spread evenly, and the napkins she laid neatly too.
Fetching Rob for a second time, Casey was convinced she had the setting perfect, and she practically crumpled on the floor to see him shake his head. He picked up a placemat.
“What are these?” he scowled. “These are not for the guests I have coming tonight.”
“Who is coming?” she asked.
“Gentlemen,” he said simply. “They want to be entertained, Casey. Find something to entertain them.”
Casey was bemused by his request; placemats entertaining?
“Oh, these glasses, no, no—they need to be exactly the same distance apart. Use a ruler.”
Casey was going to answer back with a ‘do it yourself, you pedantic sod’ remark, and thought better of it, especially when he pulled out a dining room chair and pointed at it.
She could not understand how six swats could hurt so much. Was it because she was pissed off with him or because he was disappointed in her attempts to please him? Every day she tried hard to keep a smile on his face, and most days she succeeded. Come the nightfall when they snuggled down, she never had any difficulties keeping him happy. It was in the day, when he told her she had to do as she was told, that she struggled. Being his personal assistant was not entirely what she had expected. It was very personal and not exactly assisting—more servicing him.
She rubbed her bottom hard as she stood up. If he carried on she would not be able to sit down. He left her alone again without a word.
The ruler was in her bureau drawer, and it did help. She found she was very inconsistent between settings, and now each one had an identical layout. Surely that would cheer him up.
The placemats stumped her. She gathered up the ghastly floral pictures and put them away. There in the back of the sideboard was a box, and she eased it out and put it on the table. Opening the lid, she gasped at the contents: placemats whose design made her giggle with embarrassment. Did Rob mean these? There was only one way to find out. She chose three and placed them between the cutlery.
It was with trepidation that Casey summoned Rob from his study to inspect her third attempt. There was a moment’s silence when he saw the placemats. However, far from commenting on them, he merely nodded and indicated she had found the correct ones. Casey desperately wanted to ask who was coming to dinner that evening, but she was not going to have an answer.
“Very good. Now, you will do it again,” he told her.
“Seriously?” she said, and the tone of her voice in conjunction with a scowl and a hand on hip resulted in six more over the dining chair. She hopped about, and it was hard not to kick back at him. Her bottom smarted terribly, and she thought he had poured concrete into his hands.
From out of his pocket he produced a blindfold, and he grinned at her. “You have all afternoon to practise. You’re going to learn to set this table blindfolded. I won’t check you again, as I expect you to be perfect by this evening. You know how I like it laid out. I suggest you put everything on the sideboard, use the chairs to locate the places and notches on the ruler for distance.”
Casey had forgotten about her throbbing bottom. The temptation to gawp, to query, and to question was almost too much to bear, but she had learnt her lesson, and she kept her face still.
Rob continued. “Then, at eight o’clock this evening, you will present yourself here in this room. You will wear that lovely black lacy lingerie set. You know the one I like?”
“Yes, sir,” murmured Casey. She pictured it in her head; it barely covered anything of her.
“The red high heels too,” said Rob. “Then when my guests arrive, you will set the table for them. You will be here, standing right by the sideboard at precisely eight o’clock, blindfolded and waiting for us.”
Casey guessed she would be watched by their mysterious visitors. “Please may I use the bathroom?” She was going to have to practise a great deal to overcome her nerves.
“Certainly, Casey,” said Rob.
By the time Casey returned to the dining room, Rob had gone. All afternoon she practised. It was tiring and required a great deal of concentration. She did not notice how repetitious the task had become as she was determined to do it perfectly. She took up Rob’s advice, and with the blindfold in place, used the furniture to find her bearings. She scraped notches onto the wooden ruler to help.
The first few times she was horrified at how badly she was doing. She almost broke a glass, she dropped the cutlery, and she put the placemats upside down. Then she began to pull it together. Poise was critical, to move gracefully and slowly and not to rush. She realised she needed to pace carefully around the table like a dancer counting her steps. Keeping her arms loose and her deportment refined, she was able to use her posture to ensure everything was consistent. Breathing deeply, she would reach for a glass using the tips of her fingers, crawling across the sideboard until she grasped the stem.
Each time she lifted the blindfold it got better and better. At last, she managed to do three perfect settings on the trot. The clock chimed six, and she sighed with relief. It was time for a break. Then she would have to change into her nearly non-existent lingerie.
* * *
The clock struck eight, and Casey was in place as instructed. She could hear the door open and footsteps. More than one pair of shoes were walking across the wooden floorboards. Three, she guessed, but it was difficult to tell as she was breathing so heavily and rapidly. It made sense as there were three places set.
“Here she is gentlemen, my girl,” said a familiar voice next to the table. “Casey is going to set the table for us.”
She thought nerves would overwhelm her at first. Her hands shook, and as she bent slightly to collect the first placemat, she was conscious that she was showing her rather exposed bottom to the room. Remembering that breathing was critical and that if she kept her body disciplined it would be easier, she steadied herself and concentrated hard.
Naturally, there were comments about the placemats.
“I picked them up in Japan,” explained Rob to his guests. “The paintings are done with live models, all beautifully bound, don’t you think?”
There were murmurs of approval. Casey knew the guests were all men. She speculated about their ages and appearances, but peeping was forbidden. Placing the last glass, she stood back and hoped she had managed to achieve a perfect setting.
“Well done,” said Rob from behind her. “You carried out the task with much grace.”
Again murmurs from the other gentlemen.
“Beautif
ully done, with such elegance,” said one deep voice.
Casey’s heart swelled. She was sure she would not be spanked again. Sometimes she loved to feel his hand on her bottom, crushing into her tender flesh, but that day she had not taken any pleasure in her bare bottom being smacked hard. Now Rob was pleased, and that was all that mattered.
“You can go, Casey,” said Rob. “At ten o’clock, open the envelope by your bed and follow the instructions.” He took Casey by the arm and deposited her outside the dining room door. Before he left her, he gently removed the blindfold and planted a kiss on her lips. His smile said everything to her.
Chapter Eight: Polishing the Table
From eight in the morning until six in the evening, Casey was Mr Tolchard’s personal assistant—a role she was finding challenging as he had very particular requirements and tasks for her to complete. She conducted them from a small room next to his study, and she ran errands, sought out his meals, and answered his telephone. Any travel plans, meetings, or documents to file were her responsibility. Then occasionally he would ask her to do something extraordinary.
After six o’clock, Casey had two hours free time, when she was simply Casey and could happily chat to her friend Rob Tolchard.
It was between eight in the evening and the following morning, that Casey became Rob’s girl. His very special girl. She called him sir again, but not because he was her boss. This time he was her master and lover. She was also his to share, to teach, and to cherish.
No evening was ever quite the same for Casey. Tonight, at a little past ten o’clock, she was naked, which was not unusual. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes blindfolded. Again, nothing peculiar about those two requirements. She was lying down, but not on a bed. The surface she was stretched out on was hard, smooth, and cool.
At ten o’clock, Casey had read the note left by her bed and carried out his request. While Rob was busy with his guests in the drawing room, no doubt having a glass of port, Casey had crept downstairs and carried out his instructions. The note had been explicit and contained several caveats. It dictated how she was to behave and how others would behave towards her. Casey could not fault Rob when it came to preparations.
