Taught to Serve

by Jaye Peaches

  Now Casey was waiting. Her heartbeats matched the swing of the pendulum in the ancient Grandfather’s clock, which stood in the corner of the room. She was frightfully nervous and wondered if she was up to carrying out the task he had assigned. The note had reminded her she was his and had nothing to fear while he was with her. His reassurance had helped a little—but not sufficiently to prevent the level of trepidation and anticipation rising.

  She could hear the door open and footsteps. The men, who had earlier watched her set the table blindfolded, were back. They had dined, and the efforts of the cook whom Rob had hired for the evening had been greatly appreciated. It was Casey’s turn again to entertain their guests. Her hands were to her sides, and her fingers clenched. Her big toes rested against each other so her thighs were close together. Never before had she felt so vulnerable and exposed.

  “Here she is again, gentlemen, ready for us,” said Rob’s voice close by.

  Casey wanted to speak, but she had been forbidden. To have Rob in such close proximity and not touching her was torment.

  She felt a warm breath against her ear and then a few words spoken quietly to her. “Deep breaths, Casey, remember what we talked about.”

  During her talking sessions, they had discussed obedience. How she should not question or resist him or his wishes. Her sanctuary was to know he was happy with her, and she should go to her place and remain focused on it and nothing else.

  “Sir,” she whispered.

  The voice in the ear had gone. “Quite the specimen, isn’t she?” said Rob, standing over Casey again.

  “Can we touch?” asked another man’s voice, a clear, deep tone, which made Casey tremble.

  “Naturally,” said Rob.

  A finger touched her breastbone and slowly it began to travel south. Between her splayed breasts and towards her navel the digit moved. Casey tried not to flinch. She had been told she must not move or squirm. It was hard as the finger was almost ticklish, and then it passed her navel and reach her mons. Her shaven mons.

  “Nice and smooth,” commented the stranger.

  “Yes,” said Rob. “A daily requirement. Part your legs, Casey.”

  At first her legs would not move, as if cement had been poured into them. They were going to see her, there between her legs, her most private parts. Breasts she could cope with as she had gone topless on beaches, but down there was harder for her to accept.

  “Casey!” urged Rob.

  Sliding her legs over the smooth surface of the table, she parted them two or maybe three inches.

  “Casey, insufficient. The gentleman want to see what you have to offer,” harried Rob.

  Another few inches, and she was spread wider. By now her heart was thumping loudly. The finger moved from her mound where it had been resting and tipped over the brink, touching her between her legs. Casey gasped and slid up the table a fraction.

  “You like being touched here?” asked a soft voice.

  “Yes… sir,” she replied cautiously.

  “How much?” he asked. “What do you need, Casey?”

  Casey tilted her head back and groaned. His finger was making small circular movements. “I… Don’t… I…” She was uncertain how to proceed.

  There was another finger, another different solitary explorer. This one touched a nipple—a left pert, engorging nipple. The finger flicked the nipple slightly, back and forth, as if it were a delicate switch.

  “Oh!” she moaned.

  “I’m waiting for an answer,” reminded the man whose finger was between her legs.

  Her mind was unravelling. Somewhere was an answer to his question. A definite need to be fulfilled, and as the finger moved faster and harder, she was struggling to articulate her thoughts.

  “I need… something…” she said, unsure. Then she spoke clearly, “I need more, sir. Please, sir.”

  “You do, don’t you,” said the man by her breasts. “This body is greedy, isn’t it?”

  “Very, sir,” she confessed, and she was starting to writhe about on the table. “I’m a greedy girl.”

  “Still, Casey,” reminded Rob. So far he had not touched her, and she was desperate for his touch. “Would you like to suck something?”

  “Oh please, yes, sir!” she said quickly.

  “I bet you would,” said the man between her legs. “Because you are showing me. Your wetness is telling me everything.”

  “What are you, Casey?” asked the other man.

  “I…” She shook as the finger began to move towards her slit. “Oh my…” Her voice was stopped by something in her mouth. A finger. A third solitary finger. She tasted it, and the skin had a familiar flavour to it. It was Rob’s finger, and he rested it in her mouth.

  “You wanted to suck, so suck,” he commanded.

  Both nipples were being played with as she sucked on his finger. A flicker, a pinch or a twist of her nipple and below, between her legs, another digit was inside sliding around in and out.

  Casey could not keep still. Her back arched, and her arms reached to the side and grasped the edge of the table.

  “See, gentlemen, a finger puppet,” said Rob. “I told you she would move as we wished. Let’s make her dance, shall we?”

  It was the finger circling her clitoris which would be Casey’s downfall. She knew it was the one she was least likely to resist. The man whose hand it was attached to had a perfect technique for spurring on her arousal. A rotation about her, then a little pressure above by the pubic bone, and back round again. She tried to knock her knees together. However, to add to the humiliation, the mysterious man must have leant over between her separated feet to prevent her legs meeting. His body formed a barrier, and he made a sturdy, immovable statue. Suddenly she felt like she was on a doctor’s examination table, laid open and vulnerable. She nearly bit down on Rob’s finger as she pictured the erotic image.

  The nipple flicker had gone back to targeting her right breast, and he was pinching harder. Far from destroying her arousal, his persistence added to the excitement building across her sexual body. She wanted to move, to relieve the tender throbbing in her clitoris and the soreness in her tormented nipple. What anchored her to the table was Rob’s finger, although not deep in her mouth, it enabled her to cling on and not lose faith in her puppet masters.

  Who were these strangers? They had gone remarkably silent. She wished she could see and hear them. Were they laughing at her? Did they simply see her as a willing object for their entertainment? A hand tugged on her hair, pulling her head back down. Casey had not been aware how much she had been moving, sliding and slipping about. The smooth, excessively polished surface of the table had become an ice rink, and she was now dancing across the surface. Her bottom jived about as the swirling finger went harder, faster, and the one inside began to thrust rhythmically. Both nipples were being tweaked and twisted, stretched upwards, and she envisaged them as little pyramids on her chest. All she could do was suck on Rob’s finger as if it was a calming pacifier and hang on to the edge of the table with cramping fingers.

  There were chuckles. Deep masculine vocal signs of amusement—not the titters of the silly, bitchy women with whom she had once worked; they had often enjoyed a laugh at her expense. Behind her blindfold, it came back to her in an overwhelming flood of euphoric emotion. Her fantasy, the one of being used by others, being the centre of their attention—it had come true. She could not halt the orgasm now. Whether she had permission or not, she could no longer dance for them. A selfish need had arisen, and it had to be resolved. The muscles in her legs went rigid, her buttocks clenched, and her mouth groaned about Rob’s finger. He held her by the hair and whipped out his finger to protect himself from her gritted teeth. Her legs thrashed about as she came, and she accompanied her magnificent orgasm with the uninhibited, lewd declaration, “I’m a greedy slut!”

  Spread-eagled and satiated, she lay on the table, too exhausted to wonder what would happen next. The
fingers had gone but the tenderness remained. Slinking back into her thoughts was the mortification at what had been played out in the dining room. Men—strangers—using her for sexual pleasure, observing her orgasm, and witnessing her helplessness.

  Without warning, they flipped her over and gave her several sharp slaps on the thighs and buttocks. She jolted, winced with surprise, and found their actions woke her from her self-conscious trance. Another little fantasy was being enacted: being spanked by strangers. If it was painful, she did not notice; it was a thrilling whimsy to indulge in while it lasted. Whichever direction she tried to angle her bottom, somebody would slap it, and she must have looked a sight, wriggling her backside about while hollering into the surface of the table. She was sure they were smirking at her.

  “Quite a dancer,” said one of the men chuckling. “I’ve heard of pole dancing, but table sliding?”

  Rob was pleased. His guests were very complimentary as they said their farewells. Even though she had not kept still, he told her she had done well. After they had left the room, she was able to remove her blindfold and was told to wait for him in the bedroom. She had liked the sound of his request, but it had seemed ages before he joined her. Just the two of them and no mysterious visitors.

  Casey, lying on the comfortable bed, had maintained a high state of arousal while waiting for Rob. Her lips about her sex remained well-lubricated with natural moisture—a honey coating, which she appeared to have no control in producing, and the quantity embarrassed her slightly. Upon his arrival, she was inspected by him, checked over, and assessed. They spoke little of the events in the dining room—she would ask her questions in the morning. Once again, she was his to enjoy, and he looked eager to have her; his erection was not hidden well by his clothing.

  She had to watch him strip—slowly and painstakingly. He sorted his clothes: those to be laundered and then the dress suit returned to its location in the closet. His pedantic nature both infuriated and endeared him to her.

  Ambling to the bed, Rob picked up the blindfold from the bedside table where she had left it. Swinging the soft velvet around, he dangled it over her body. She let out a sound—not quite a whimper but more of a feverish noise of desperation. Casey lifted her head off the pillow to allow Rob to bind it around her eyes. Cast into pitch-blackness, she could hear the springs of the bed shift beneath her. Her body tensed as she wondered where he would make contact. A nibble on her breasts, a lick of her navel, or a squeeze of the thighs?

  She flinched. His hands, when they finally touched her, were not cold or clammy. Their warmth was both ticklish and soft. They were by her neck, one on each side of her throat. Then they began to trail down her body, gliding over her breasts, tweaking the nipples as they went. Thumbs led the way down over her flat belly, fingers looped around her waist to pinch her back slightly. Hips taken firmly for a few seconds, and she responded by spreading her knees wider apart. He was between her legs, barely perceivable to her ears, shuffling down as he moved backwards. The movement of the mattress provided her with the most clues to his activities.

  Down his hands went, and using his fingers, he separated her labia, exposing her. Fingers had been the weapon downstairs earlier. Now his choice was the tongue. A flickering sweep, which scooped her clitoris up and down on his pointed tongue tip.

  Casey shrieked in delight. All evening she had waited to be devoured by him. Now she had Rob’s full attention, and he used his mouth to great effect. Sucking, mauling, nibbling, and licking—all facets of his oral endeavours. Casey came not once, but a multitude of little orgasms were drawn out of her in quick succession. By the time Rob was ready to indulge his own sexual organ in her saturated hole, Casey was a wreck on the bed. Legs splayed wide, back arched and toes curled up, she invited him in her pussy to finish her. She was a delectable dish, and the most sustaining item on his evening’s menu.

  Chapter Nine: Answering Texts

  Standing side by side in the kitchen, they prepared the evening meal together. Rob chopped onions into thin slices, and Casey prepared the other ingredients. Much had been on her mind all day, and it was the first opportunity to speak to Rob. Taking a deep breath, she let her thoughts break out.

  “Doesn’t it bother you, letting other men touch me?” she asked as she opened a cupboard door.

  Rob stopped and put down his knife carefully. “Interesting perspective,” he said. “You didn’t ask what I got out of it. You think I should be bothered, which implies it is you that is bothered.”

  Casey cursed under her breath. Somehow he always managed to twist her words back around.

  “I’m only bothered,” she said the word with emphasis, “if you are. It was mutual pleasure, wasn’t it?”

  They were facing each other, and she felt the weight of his hands resting on the smooth ledge of her hips. The diminishing sunlight beamed through the window, catching one side of his face while leaving the other cast in the shadows. His nose looked especially straight and narrow.

  “Firstly, they only got to touch with their fingers and eyes. That was as far as it went. That was what we agreed. Secondly, you were as horny as hell throughout. Thirdly, when you get turned on, I do too. It’s a very simple equation. So the idea of being bothered by you squirming all over the table while other men get to tinker with you is far from the truth; it was delicious fun. You should feel proud that you were exhibited to others. I like showing you off.”

  Casey pursed her lips and acknowledged his words did make her feel proud. “Good,” she said as matter-of-factly as possible and then returned to the cupboards. “I needed to know for sure.” Next to her, she heard the sound of onions sizzling in the frying pan.

  They ate the evening meal promptly. Casey was going out and was keen to ready herself. Her friends were meeting Casey in a pub for a few drinks and a raucous exchange of gossip. The only thing Rob had stipulated to Casey was to keep her mouth shut about the things they did. She knew exactly what he meant by ‘things’. Plus she had one other matter to attend to for him.

  The pub was not traditional in style. Though there was a bar, table and chairs, there were no workmen having a refreshing pint before heading home. The bar was not propping up a solitary drunk who regaled the landlord with his miserable day. The music was not subtle and in the background. It was the kind of pub Casey’s father would detest and she loved. Youthfulness hung about with loud shouting voices trying to compete with the latest chart hits. Speakers were hung about in all directions, blasting out the thump of a bass drum, and there was insufficient furniture for everyone, forcing many to stand for long periods. The summer heat had been beaten back at the door by the blast of air-conditioners.

  Casey and her friends were squeezed about one table and were deep in conversation. Laughter and frivolity was written on their faces, along with thick lashings of make-up. It was unfortunate that the music was so loud because Casey failed to notice her mobile beeping messages. She did not keep track of the time, so when she dipped into the ladies for a freshening up and caught sight of the time on another’s wristwatch, she immediately realised she had been negligent in one specific task: respond to Rob’s text at ten o’clock. It was half past when she did send an apologetic text. The next one from him sent her into a quandary.

  Sleep in the guest bed tonight.

  Her heart sunk to the floor. Once last orders were shouted she quickly hailed her cab, said her farewells, and dashed back home. Creeping up the creaking wooden staircase, she hesitated by the master bedroom and then thought better. Opening the door to the guest bed, she found the room lit by the bedside light. Next to it was a glass of water, and the bed sheets had been turned back. Everything had been prepared for her by Rob, and it only made her feel even more guilty.

  She knocked on his door and heard no reply. Opening the door a fraction, she found Rob sitting up in bed and reading. His naked chest reflected the glow of the light.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t hear the t
ext come in.”

  Rob put his book down and tucked his hands behind his head. “You can’t tell the time either, I take it, since I gave you a specific time when I would text you.”

  “I didn’t have a watch on,” she countered.

  “So, nobody else can tell the time?” he parried.

  She was losing the argument quickly. “I was fine…”

  “Yes. Knowing your safety is one reason I texted you. The other?”

  “That I’m thinking about you,” she said.

  “When I let those men touch you, I didn’t take my eyes off you once. I watched you, made sure you were safe. When you go out on your own, I can’t do that. It’s hard for me, and I think of you constantly. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I do. Sorry,” she took a tentative step forward. “Do I have to sleep in the guest room?”

  “Yes,” said Rob, picking up his book.

  “I’d rather you spanked me,” said Casey, disgruntled.

  “Which is exactly why you’re going to the guest room.”

  The night was long, restless, and difficult for Casey. The air was humid and warm in the old house, and it hung heavily about her. She ended up naked on top of the sheets with the windows open in the hope of a cool breeze. In the early hours, a thunderstorm crashed about the house, rattling the windows and sending flashes of light into every corner of the bedroom. By morning, the humidity had been replaced with a fresh cool breeze, and Casey dearly hoped the air between she and Rob would be replenished.

  Barely a word was spoken over breakfast, and Casey hunkered down in her little room, anticipating it would be a long day. Busy with an email, she heard her mobile beep noisily on the desk. She was puzzled to find the text was from Rob, who was barely a few metres away in the neighbouring study.