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“Yes! I meant ‘my lord.’ What am I to expect, my lord?”
“You will know what to expect when I give the command.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Ignoring his qualms, he picked up a satin mask and secured it over her eyes.
“The deprivation of sight enhances the other senses,” he explained.
“Very good, my lord.”
From the table, he selected a feather duster and brushed the plumes over her arse. She giggled. He twirled the feathers against her.
“Oh God!” she laughed.
She was ticklish then. For some reason, he had not expected that.
"My lord—"
"Do you require your safety word already?"
She shook her head. "No, no.”
He continued to brush the feathers across her derrière. She groaned and shifted a little on the table. With her hands behind her back, she could not prop herself up. Thus the full weight of her upper body rested most uncomfortably upon her breasts, pressed into the table.
"Please…" she said, trying to suppress the giggles as he drew the feathers along the backs of her thighs.
"Only the safety word can cause me to desist."
"It is only…I did not expect…it tickles…"
"What had you expected?"
"I hope you will not be lenient merely because I am your cousin."
"I said I would not."
She gasped when the feathers touched the area between her legs.
"This will prepare you for what is to come."
"I am ready."
Surprised by her eagerness, he lay down the duster and looked at the implements upon the table. She had gotten naughty with a stable hand. Perhaps the crop would be familiar to her. Picking up a crop, he slapped it against his thigh to test it. She jumped at the cracking sound.
“Perhaps you will be more partial to the crop,” he noted before slapping a buttock with it.
She grunted. He had not struck her hard.
“Where is your gratitude, Millie?”
“Is it customary to voice thanks for everything?”
By way of answering, he smacked her other buttock with the crop.
“Thank you!” she replied.
The crop struck again. “My lord.”
