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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.
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.
