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“This,” he said rocking his pelvis back and forth, “doesn’t answer to you.” His swinging hips were too gentle to stimulate her successfully, and she let her arms drop away and closed her eyes. There was no point trying to dictate to him. The more she sought to shift him into gear, the longer he took to please her. The lesson she took away from his sexual teachings became increasingly clear—his methods were paramount to all they did together. In bed, in his office, and wherever life took them.
The tension lifted out of her. She was not losing momentum, she had accepted her helplessness and simply allowed herself to let go. It was then that Rob began to move, to grind his cock into her with increasing speed and power.
“Oh, hell, I’m coming!” Casey could not stop herself. Her control was not perfected to Rob’s standards, but she had tried. Long after she had melted into the bed, soaking around him with her juices, he continued to thrust and build his own satisfying climax. As he filled Casey with liquid warmth, he lowered his mouth on to hers and gave her a gentle kiss between his exerting breaths.
“Not bad,” he grinned.
* * *
In the early morning, Rob left—a dawn departure to catch a flight to the USA for a conference he was attending. Casey was left behind with a list of tasks and a mention of good behaviour being well rewarded.
Casey instantly missed her lover and employer. Rob was so many things to her, and she often struggled to separate him into his components. Wandering the house, she followed the lingering scent of his aftershave. It was concentrated in two rooms: his study and the library at the back of the house. These were his haunts and very much where he held domain over her thoughts and actions. The rest of the house, such as the kitchen and sitting room, were the places of relaxation and equality. In the bedroom, he became her master and sensual explorer. So many facets under one roof.
The house did not need cleaning. A woman came twice a week to wipe and dust, leaving Casey to vacuum occasionally. Though they cooked, often together or taking turns, when it came to entertaining, a cook was employed to do the catering, relieving Casey of any responsibility to be perfect in the kitchen. She was not—although her culinary skills were sufficient for their daily needs.
A handyman came to fix problems with the ancient plumbing or wiring. The gardens were tended by an elderly gardener, who tipped his hat at Casey through the kitchen window. Rob’s shirts and trousers were ironed by a woman who appeared once a week to collect and drop off the clean laundry. She never smiled at Casey and barely said a word as they met at the door.
All these domestic staff remained a legacy of Rob’s many solitary years. Casey liked having the support until he went away, for there was too little to do in his absence. She whittled down her list of tasks quickly, kept check on his email, post and voicemail, and tidied up documents and the filing cabinets as instructed. Then she roamed the house as a living ghost, unable to settle, a loose end of thread waiting to be drawn back into the fabric.
Permission had been given for Casey to invite three of her girlfriends around for a girlie evening of gossiping. Rob had laid down clear guidelines. They were not allowed in his study nor the library. Excessive drinking was forbidden, and they were to leave before midnight. Casey eagerly accepted his terms and invited her friends to visit before Rob’s return the following day.
Of her three friends, two were from her previous job and the other had come by way of introduction from an old school friend. Together they formed a small cohort of giggles, Chinese whispers, and rumour mongering. A perfect evening began in the sitting room with a bottle of red wine and pretzels.
Sylvia was sly and inquisitive. She insisted on a tour of the house, which Casey gave, excluding the two forbidden rooms. Her tall, lanky friend was suitably impressed, especially when Casey showed off the walk in closet.
“You haven’t half fallen on your feet, Case,” remarked her friend.
Melissa was the shiest and least vocal. Traipsing around after the others, she absorbed the chatter and surroundings without revealing her own opinions. However, once the alcohol was imbued in her system, she began to open up with clever witticism and poignant comments.
“There is more to this house than first appears—it’s like a labyrinth,” she said sipping on her second class of Rioja.
The third visitor was the one Casey was least familiar with and had come by her acquaintance after a desperate plea from an old friend. Lonely and in need of company, Vicky had been adopted by Casey and her little gathering. Vicky blurted out silly comments in the hope of being part of the gang, but invariably hit the wrong buttons. However, her own stories of boyfriends and failed relationships were sufficiently entertaining to include her on their infrequent outings to the local pubs.
Casey felt quite at home with her friends and enjoyed the feminine style of conversing, which was open and verbose when compared to the introverted Rob. With each slurp of the wine, each nibble of the pretzels, the girls began to waggle their tongues inappropriately and almost maliciously.
Casey had already let slip previously that she was in a relationship with her employer. Giggling, they all told her she was fortunate to be attached to such a handsome man. Casey and Rob did not go out together much and certainly were not a sociable couple. Rob maintained the air of a mysterious gentleman, whom others rarely saw. Trying to tear down the barricades about Casey and Rob’s relationship would prove diffic
ult for her friends, since nobody quite knew how the couple functioned together. Casey had been charged not to divulge the nature of her agreement with Rob during one of his early lectures on deportment.
Casey worked hard, through her tipsy mind, to avoid their inquisition and to keep her special relationship with Rob a secret. He would be furious if details of their arrangement slipped out. Her friends picked away at the slightest clue in her words, but she rigidly held firm. The frustrations were evident on their faces as they gave up. As they reverted to the usual topics of celebrity TV and clothes, Casey received a text.
A little after eleven o’clock, and it was the first text of the day from Rob. She eagerly swiped her phone and read it. His working day was finished and he had a breather before attending an evening function. They exchanged pleasantries, asking each other if they were well. Then it happened. He hinted at her sexual status, and she confessed to missing him in bed. Then he taunted her with innuendos, which Casey lapped up and responded in kind. One message asked if she had touched herself. Casey answered defiantly, declaring her innocence and chaste behaviour.
Casey had become disconnected from her friends’ increasingly buoyant conversation and found herself immersed in lewd text messages. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, and she smirked as she read the replies.
“Look at her—she’s flushed,” commented Sylvia.
“Eh?” said Casey half listening as she remembered her companions.
Sylvia’s warning words had come too late for Casey. Curiosity had overtaken good manners, and Vicky reaching over and snatched the phone from Casey’s hand.
“No!” screeched Casey as Vicky began to read the last message.
Sylvia was there at her shoulder, and her hand covered a gasp. “Why, you naughty girl,” she said.
“Please, give me it back!” exclaimed Casey, reaching out with her hand.
The other two shuffled away on their seats and began to scroll back through the smutty messages. They jointly gaped at the explicit content.
