Maid For Dessert Ch. 01byg1ory©
"Hand me up my bag, slave."
Shivering, I do so. I can tell by its weight, that he has several tools inside it.
Casually, he takes a pair of leather wrist cuffs from the bag. "Present your wrists."
Swallowing, I lift my hands, palm up, toward him. He clasps a cuff around each fragile wrist, then clips the two together so that I am bound. Smiling coldly, he growls, "Stand, slave."
Nervously, I climb to my feet.
"Feet apart! Hands behind your neck!" he instructs.
Hastily, I comply.
Quietly, he demands, "Did I not expressly instruct you to remain spotlessly clean through your labours today?"
My heart almost stops. "Y-yes, Sir," I stammer.
"And did you remain spotlessly clean, slave?"
I worry my lower lip in my teeth and look down at my tiny little excuse for an apron - spotted now with gravy, red wine and some other indeterminate soil. Shifting uneasily, I reply, "No, Sir, I did not - but - but please, Sir, I tried so hard to stay clean for you. I truly did."
He nods and his voice is very gentle. "I know you did, girl. I know how hard you try to please me, to follow all my instructions to the letter. I see how hard you worked to please me today, how perfectly dusted and polished everything is, so, I will forgive you that tiny little spot on your apron - this time. But, the fact remains - you are really quite dirty, aren't you, slave? A dirty girl is what you are, aren't you?"
I blush deeply, then nod self-consciously, "Yes, Sir. I am a dirty girl."
Sir mimics my nod, then reaches again into his tool bag. I shudder as his hand emerges holding a crop. He slaps it forcefully against the table and I flinch. "I forgive you for being dirty, pet - but nevertheless, I am feeling a very strong urge to use this on my dirty girl."
Again the crop smacks hard against the table's top and I wince nervously. "Yes, Sir," I whisper.
Scraping his chair back from the table, he smiles and stands. "Get the pad from the dish cabinet and lay it out on the table."
Taking a deep breath, I move to the cabinet. Awkwardly, I open the drawer and withdraw a very thick, quilted blanket. Hampered somewhat by my bound wrists, I carefully spread it over the table, ensuring that all edges are well-padded. Nervously, I look over my shoulder at Sir. Offering me his hand, he indicates the chair and orders softly, "Onto the table with you, pet. I want you facing away from me, on your knees and elbows, with your breasts pressed to the table top. You are to keep your eyes forward."
I almost moan. Clumsily, I position myself on my knees and, leaning forward, scootch my elbows forward until my breasts are squashed flat against the quilted table. My back arches deeply as I feel the crop's gentle tap against my upper thighs.
"Spread yourself wide for me, slave!" Sir growls.
Trembling, I do as he commands and close my eyes. I hear him rummaging through the bag and a slight clinking sound announces the retrieval of something metal.
"Spread your feet wider slave."
Breathless, I comply.
A bar, almost three feet long is laid on the table, horizontally between my feet. Firmly, Sir wraps first one ankle and then the other in cuffs that are near twins to the ones I wear on my wrists. The cuffs are clipped to the eyebolts provided at each end of the bar, and I am held spread invitingly open for him. I feel his gaze dissecting me as the crop's tip drags ever so lightly across my vulva. I moan deeply as it slithers away.
"Tell me, slave, what do you think I should do with you now?"