Aprons For Gayle Ch. 07

Jessie left just after noon, so Gayle changed into her official daily uniform: A black apron, which was really just a skirt with the ass showing through -- gotta love men with their love of butts! -- and two white lace pockets. That's where she put the cell phone. And finally, she put on the dreaded devil's play thing, the heels.

She had little appetite, so she decided to read the manual while she ate a roast beef sandwich from the left over dinner from the night before. She was dismayed to find that there was a lot more that Jessie hadn't covered.

Since she had less than three hours left with nothing to do, she decided on cleaning up the small drawing room because they'd spent most of their time in that room. First, though, she went outside with Bessie so they could both get some fresh air and sunshine. Bessie behaved herself with no issues at all, for which Gayle breathed a huge sigh of relief. Then she took the hoover, broom and basket of cleaning supplies into the drawing room.

So, for the next two hours, she straightened magazines, dusted everything she could reach, feathered or wiped down carefully the knick-knacks with a towel, hoovered the carpets and swept the broom over the hardwood floor, leaving the actual damp-mop cleaning for the mornings so there was plenty of time to clean up. While she swished it around, Bessie barked and kept snapping and playfully biting at the broom head.

"No, Bessie!" Gayle fussed, and she backed off. "I need to find a place for you to lie down while I clean. I don't want to accidentally trip over you."

Looking up at the clock, which had just chimed 3:45, she took a quick look around the room to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Several minutes later, she was satisfied she'd touched everything that could be cleaned.

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CUPAR TOWN CENTRE, Hamish's Office

Hamish sat at his desk, desperately looking for a client's file. "Neill? Where's the Connor file?" Hamish hollered out to his assistant, whose desk was just outside his office door.

"It's by your phone, Mr. McD.," he replied. "Right where I put it two hours ago!"

"No, no, it's ... Oh. Got it!"

Hamish had been more than distracted while he worked, or was trying to work, anyway. There were a few client files open on his desktop along with a small box showing, in real time, a certain maid that had been cleaning his drawing room.

She looked absolutely, downright shaggable with her full, luscious breasts swaying to and fro as she swept the floor. And when she'd bent over to clean the table legs and exposed her spankable ass, his cock twitched painfully as it grew hard. It took all he had not to growl, afraid he'd alert Neill.

He was surprised she was as happy as she was while she cleaned. He definitely wouldn't have to worry about her goofing off during the day. He also noticed how playful she was with Bessie, and he suddenly realized that without the dog for support she would probably be quite lonely being on her own all day. As much as he wanted to torment, tease and generally mess with her, he didn't want her to be miserable. If she was happy then there was a good chance she would last the distance and do the six months. Good, he thought. Bessie can be her crutch.

But when he saw that she had stopped and just stood there looking around, he looked at the time. He said she was to clean until four. It was only quarter 'til four.

"Gotcha, lass," he whispered and smiled evilly.

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After putting the cleaning tools away, she said, "Alright, girl. Wanna go outside and chase some squirrels?" The dog picked up her head and her ears twitched, as if she was trying to understand what the stupid human was saying.

Getting the leash and securing it on Bessie's collar, she went outside and let her sniff around for a few minutes before she noticed just how big the entire castle was, or had been. Being curious about the oldest section, she walked around the misshapen tops of the old, broken bricks, wondering what kind of life the people at that time led.

What did they do during the day? What kind of magnificent parties did they throw? What was it like when they'd bring a trophy deer and prepare it for that night's supper?

Her imagination ran wild as she continued to look around, so she hadn't been paying attention to the leash, which had gotten twisted at her ankles. She tripped and fell backwards, her hands resting on a patch of grass and weeds. She screamed in pain then instantly jerked her hands back. When she looked at them, there were multiple red pricks on her left hand, though none on her right, which was good because she was right handed.

"No, no!" Gayle whined. "I don't need this now!"

Ten minutes later, she ran the water in the tub then took the collar off. Only then did she realize how chafed her waist was from the metal constantly rubbing against her skin the past few hours. But what was worse was that over a span of ten minutes, her hand had become very irritated and red and was beginning to itch annoyingly. She immediately changed the water temperature to make it cooler to avoid aggravating the chafing and hand further and soaked for about fifteen minutes, getting as much of the soap as she could onto the irritated skin. Washing her hair with the shower head helped refresh her for the remainder of her day.

Drying her hair, she changed back into jeans and the tunic that she'd worn earlier, since that's what Jessie had last seen her wearing. Before she went downstairs, she poured alcohol onto her palm, hoping that would ease the itching. It did nothing but make her scream out again as the burning tripled. She found some cream and applied it, but it did nothing.

She and Jessie spent a fun 45 minutes prepping the chicken and making the mushroom sauce then placed them on top of uncooked rice in the baking dish.

Gayle took in as much as she could, and she hoped Jessie wouldn't mind if she hung out with her to learn some more of her cooking tricks. She knew it would impress Hamish if she was able to make some of his favorite dishes.

Telling her when to take the dish out of the oven, Jessie finally left, but the whole time Gayle fretted over what time it was, though she didn't want to rush Jessie at all. When she noticed the time was 6:05, she raced upstairs, undressed and put her collar back on -- a sense of calmness overcame her that again she couldn't understand -- grabbed his slippers and went to the drawing room. Placing the slippers right in front of the chair, she knelt beside it, her hands on her thighs facing up, her head down ... and waited.

It seemed as if only seconds had gone by when Hamish came in the front door, purposely shaking his keys loudly, then put his briefcase on the small table with a thud. Hoping Gayle was waiting for him in the drawing room, he shouted, "I'm home! I'm going upstairs to change!"

Bessie came barreling toward the front door and jumped up with her paws on his thighs. "Yes, I'm home, but I was letting your new best friend know I was home, you traitor!"

Knowing she had at least five minutes, she still hurried and poured his glass half-full of his favorite Whisky, making sure not to spill any, added three ice cubes and placed it on the coffee table, then got back into position. Her heart began to pound, but whether it was with the excursion of running around or the fact that he was home, she had no idea.

What Gayle didn't know was that he'd taken his jeans and shirt to his office so he had already changed and now stood just outside the door out of her view watching her fix his drink, and only when she settled back down did he walk into the room.

Her eyes were glued to the floor before her when she heard the clattering of Bessie's claws on the wood floor as Hamish's shiny dress shoes came into her view. He then walked away. Not able to see what he was doing, the only thing she could think of was that he was inspecting the room.

When he came back to her, he remained silent as he picked up the glass and took a sip, then replaced it. Then he grabbed the mail and flipped through the advertisements and bills and junk mail before throwing them back down. Then he grabbed the newspaper, unfolded it, lifted his glass and sat down in his leather recliner.

She stayed as still as she could waiting for Hamish to acknowledge her, which killed her second by second. That was a game she and her sister, Catelyn, would play as kids. Sitting in the family room on a cold, snowy winter's night, they'd pretend the other wasn't in the room. Only minutes later Catelyn would nag and tease Gayle, trying to get her to talk. Poor Gayle never lasted more than five minutes. Sometimes, her mouth was her worst enemy.

The newspaper rustled as he read. The ice clinked against the glass. Bessie sneezed. When the clock chimed twice, she knew it was 6:30, and she was then becoming a little angry at being ignored, not to mention she desperately needed to scratch her hand.

Just as she was about to say something, he asked, "How was your day?"

Not sure if she had permission to look at him, she simply replied, "Very well, Sir."

"Brilliant. Glad to hear it. But you must look at me when I'm talking to you." She turned her head. "Much better. How did your feet hold up?"

She hadn't really thought about her feet in her dreaded heels until that moment. Only her toes ached, but the pain in her hand then burned relentlessly. "Better than I thought."

"Well, you haven't worked eight hours yet."

"No Sir."

"Put my slippers on my feet."

"Yes Sir," she replied with a smile.

Getting up, she lost her balance but regained it quickly. She cringed when he stopped her from taking a hold of the slippers. "That was as graceful as a drunken sailor navigating his way out of a whorehouse after being fucked every which way but loose. Try that again."

She tried not to laugh, and she didn't need to have him explain what he meant. Getting back down on her knees, she stood again, only to be told it still wasn't acceptable. Well, if Mr. Hamish McDougal wants a graceful rise, a graceful rise he will have! she thought.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, giving her shoulders an extra sway that made her breasts bounce. She got the reaction she was looking for when he grunted under his breath. Turning to face him, she asked, "Was that alright, Sir?" She smiled sheepishly at him.

He could barely form a coherent thought, much less find the proper response as he sat looking up at her perfect body. "Yes, smart arse, that was acceptable. But watch yourself." He smiled.

Getting down on one knee, she asked, "Sir? Do you want your socks off?"

"Yes, and good question."

She removed a sock, gently put the slipper on his foot then did the other. Smiling at him, she remained where she was. They played a staring game -- Gayle waiting for more instruction, and Hamish waiting to see if she'd move or say anything.

"When will dinner be ready?"

"Jessie told me to check it at 6:30."

He looked at his watch. "It is 6:37. Think it's burnt by now?" he asked, his eyebrows furled.

"May I go check it, Sir?"

"We'll go together." As they walked to the kitchen, he said, "Do you have a problem with the time, Ms. Boyce?"

She didn't like the tone in his voice. "No Sir, I don't."

"Well, might I suggest you use the cell phone I gave you to set the alarm for the time you require to check on dinner, or when it's lunchtime, or knowing when to stop working when it's four."

Her first thought was, Well, hell! Why didn't I think of that? Her second thought was, Did he know I put everything away ten minutes early? There's no way he could have!

"I will do that, Sir. I'm sorry for not being more attentive."

"At least you are trying."

When they got to the kitchen and after Gayle checked the chicken, it had a few more minutes to go. She didn't say a word as she set the table and made their drinks. As she carried the glasses to the table, she winced and hissed in pain because she held the glass too tightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he sat at the table.

"It's nothing. I fell on some stupid weeds."

"Weeds?"

"Yes Sir."

"Give me your hands," he said sternly. He looked at it closely then rubbed the pad of his finger over the palms and bottom of her fingers. She sucked in a sharp breath. "Were the leaves thick and hairy with a yellow, willowy flower?"

"Yes Sir, I think so."

"Damn. You landed in stinging nettles. Shit. This is inflamed. I think you may be allergic to the acid in the sting."

"Is ... is that what's making it so irritated?"

"Obviously. Why didn't you call me?"

"Sir, it wasn't a big deal."

He shook his head. "I might have to call the doctor."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Really."

"I'll be the judge of that, Ms. Boyce."

She wasn't going to get away with anything, so she didn't even try to argue with him. "Yes Sir." She was learning quickly.

"Fuck." He pulled out his cell phone. "Jack, what are you doing in about an hour?" He paused. "Well, explain to Deborah this is an emergency. My careless maid has landed in stinging nettles, and I'm afraid she is having an allergic reaction." He waited. "Thanks, mate."

Turning to Gayle, he said, "Dr. Jenkins's wife was none too happy to have her husband dragged away for ... Never mind. I'll pay for their dinner at the club." He took a healthy swig of his Whisky, which seemed to calm him down.

She had a thought to keep a flask of his liquor with her at all times to pour him a drink whenever he was in a foul mood ... not that she'd ever have anywhere to hide it.

He promptly took her to his library, got a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers, sat her on his desk chair and rested her hands under the desk lamp. He inspected them closely but couldn't see anything that obviously needed to be removed.

"That damned Hodges! He shouldn't have anything like that around the estate! He knows I hate the damn things."

"Sir, it wasn't his fault."

"Don't defend him. If Bessie ever ..."

She drowned out his mumbled complaining and felt horrible if she'd gotten him in trouble.

After they ate dinner in an uncomfortable silence, he told her to just put the dishes in the sink then go dress properly; cleaning them would have to wait to prevent further irritation to her hands.

By this time she was feeling beyond horrible, but it had nothing to do with her hand. "Sir, I'm sorry to put you to so much trouble."

"Yeah, you'd think I'd get used to it by now," he grumbled, but he'd had a slight curve to his lips, as if he was hiding a grin.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Nope, the cell phone was not all Hamish got Gayle!