Authors: Jaye Peaches
Casey hunted for placemats and found a set in the sideboard, with pictures of floral arrangements. They were grubby, but when she tried to wipe them down, nothing seemed to shift off the faded surfaces. Shrugging her shoulders, she laid them between the knives and forks, taking care to line everything up with the table edge. The glasses she spread evenly, and the napkins she laid neatly too.
Fetching Rob for a second time, Casey was convinced she had the setting perfect, and she practically crumpled on the floor to see him shake his head. He picked up a placemat.
“What are these?” he scowled. “These are not for the guests I have coming tonight.”
“Who is coming?” she asked.
“Gentlemen,” he said simply. “They want to be entertained, Casey. Find something to entertain them.”
Casey was bemused by his request; placemats entertaining?
“Oh, these glasses, no, no—they need to be exactly the same distance apart. Use a ruler.”
Casey was going to answer back with a ‘do it yourself, you pedantic sod’ remark, and thought better of it, especially when he pulled out a dining room chair and pointed at it.
She could not understand how six swats could hurt so much. Was it because she was pissed off with him or because he was disappointed in her attempts to please him? Every day she tried hard to keep a smile on his face, and most days she succeeded. Come the nightfall when they snuggled down, she never had any difficulties keeping him happy. It was in the day, when he told her she had to do as she was told, that she struggled. Being his personal assistant was not entirely what she had expected. It was very personal and not exactly assisting—more servicing him.
She rubbed her bottom hard as she stood up. If he carried on she would not be able to sit down. He left her alone again without a word.
The ruler was in her bureau drawer, and it did help. She found she was very inconsistent between settings, and now each one had an identical layout. Surely that would cheer him up.
The placemats stumped her. She gathered up the ghastly floral pictures and put them away. There in the back of the sideboard was a box, and she eased it out and put it on the table. Opening the lid, she gasped at the contents: placemats whose design made her giggle with embarrassment. Did Rob mean these? There was only one way to find out. She chose three and placed them between the cutlery.
It was with trepidation that Casey summoned Rob from his study to inspect her third attempt. There was a moment’s silence when he saw the placemats. However, far from commenting on them, he merely nodded and indicated she had found the correct ones. Casey desperately wanted to ask who was coming to dinner that evening, but she was not going to have an answer.
“Very good. Now, you will do it again,” he told her.
“Seriously?” she said, and the tone of her voice in conjunction with a scowl and a hand on hip resulted in six more over the dining chair. She hopped about, and it was hard not to kick back at him. Her bottom smarted terribly, and she thought he had poured concrete into his hands.
From out of his pocket he produced a blindfold, and he grinned at her. “You have all afternoon to practise. You’re going to learn to set this table blindfolded. I won’t check you again, as I expect you to be perfect by this evening. You know how I like it laid out. I suggest you put everything on the sideboard, use the chairs to locate the places and notches on the ruler for distance.”
Casey had forgotten about her throbbing bottom. The temptation to gawp, to query, and to question was almost too much to bear, but she had learnt her lesson, and she kept her face still.
Rob continued. “Then, at eight o’clock this evening, you will present yourself here in this room. You will wear that lovely black lacy lingerie set. You know the one I like?”
“Yes, sir,” murmured Casey. She pictured it in her head; it barely covered anything of her.
“The red high heels too,” said Rob. “Then when my guests arrive, you will set the table for them. You will be here, standing right by the sideboard at precisely eight o’clock, blindfolded and waiting for us.”
Casey guessed she would be watched by their mysterious visitors. “Please may I use the bathroom?” She was going to have to practise a great deal to overcome her nerves.
“Certainly, Casey,” said Rob.
By the time Casey returned to the dining room, Rob had gone. All afternoon she practised. It was tiring and required a great deal of concentration. She did not notice how repetitious the task had become as she was determined to do it perfectly. She took up Rob’s advice, and with the blindfold in place, used the furniture to find her bearings. She scraped notches onto the wooden ruler to help.
The first few times she was horrified at how badly she was doing. She almost broke a glass, she dropped the cutlery, and she put the placemats upside down. Then she began to pull it together. Poise was critical, to move gracefully and slowly and not to rush. She realised she needed to pace carefully around the table like a dancer counting her steps. Keeping her arms loose and her deportment refined, she was able to use her posture to ensure everything was consistent. Breathing deeply, she would reach for a glass using the tips of her fingers, crawling across the sideboard until she grasped the stem.
Each time she lifted the blindfold it got better and better. At last, she managed to do three perfect settings on the trot. The clock chimed six, and she sighed with relief. It was time for a break. Then she would have to change into her nearly non-existent lingerie.
* * *
The clock struck eight, and Casey was in place as instructed. She could hear the door open and footsteps. More than one pair of shoes were walking across the wooden floorboards. Three, she guessed, but it was difficult to tell as she was breathing so heavily and rapidly. It made sense as there were three places set.
“Here she is gentlemen, my girl,” said a familiar voice next to the table. “Casey is going to set the table for us.”
She thought nerves would overwhelm her at first. Her hands shook, and as she bent slightly to collect the first placemat, she was conscious that she was showing her rather exposed bottom to the room. Remembering that breathing was critical and that if she kept her body disciplined it would be easier, she steadied herself and concentrated hard.
Naturally, there were comments about the placemats.
“I picked them up in Japan,” explained Rob to his guests. “The paintings are done with live models, all beautifully bound, don’t you think?”
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.
“Beautifully 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.
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.
Another few inches, and she was spread wider. By now her heart was thumping loudly. The finger moved from her mound where it had been resting and tipped over the brink, touching her between her legs. Casey gasped and slid up the table a fraction.
“You like being touched here?” asked a soft voice.
“Yes… sir,” she replied cautiously.
“How much?” he asked. “What do you need, Casey?”
Casey tilted her head back and groaned. His finger was making small circular movements. “I… Don’t… I…” She was uncertain how to proceed.
There was another finger, another different solitary explorer. This one touched a nipple—a left pert, engorging nipple. The finger flicked the nipple slightly, back and forth, as if it were a delicate switch.
“Oh!” she moaned.
“I’m waiting for an answer,” reminded the man whose finger was between her legs.
Her mind was unravelling. Somewhere was an answer to his question. A definite need to be fulfilled, and as the finger moved faster and harder, she was struggling to articulate her thoughts.
“I need… something…” she said, unsure. Then she spoke clearly, “I need more, sir. Please, sir.”
“You do, don’t you,” said the man by her breasts. “This body is greedy, isn’t it?”
“Very, sir,” she confessed, and she was starting to writhe about on the table. “I’m a greedy girl.”
“Still, Casey,” reminded Rob. So far he had not touched her, and she was desperate for his touch. “Would you like to suck something?”
“Oh please, yes, sir!” she said quickly.
“I bet you would,” said the man between her legs. “Because you are showing me. Your wetness is telling me everything.”
“What are you, Casey?” asked the other man.
“I…” She shook as the finger began to move towards her slit. “Oh my…” Her voice was stopped by something in her mouth. A finger. A third solitary finger. She tasted it, and the skin had a familiar flavour to it. It was Rob’s finger, and he rested it in her mouth.
“You wanted to suck, so suck,” he commanded.
Both nipples were being played with as she sucked on his finger. A flicker, a pinch or a twist of her nipple and below, between her legs, another digit was inside sliding around in and out.
Casey could not keep still. Her back arched, and her arms reached to the side and grasped the edge of the table.