‘Sit down,’ he said, sliding eggs on to the toast before sorting out more coffee. ‘But you have to raise your skirt. I want your bare bottom touching the seat. And you can lift up your top too. And keep your legs wide apart.’
Sitting like that, with my top bunched over the top of my breasts and my thighs split while the varnished wooden seat chilled my bare bum, I couldn’t escape the reality of my submission. It was profound and absolute, and it was going to touch every aspect of my daily life.
Jasper watched me, smiling slyly, as he dug into his breakfast. I could barely touch mine, my appetite killed by the overwhelming presence of sex in the air around me, touching my skin, feeding itself into me.
‘Eat up,’ he said, pointing at my plate with his knife. ‘You need it, girl. I’ve plans for you.’
It was an order. I had to obey.
I made a decent attempt at eating my eggs, but the toast stuck in my throat. The coffee didn’t help, so strong it gave me jitters. I spilled a drop and it landed on my nipple, making me gasp and almost make a sound. But I managed not to.
Jasper tutted and dabbed my nipple with some kitchen roll, for much longer than was strictly necessary. Then he kissed it better.
Dropping down between my knees, he had a good long look at my widespread pussy, prodding at it until I winced.
‘That’s a well-fucked pussy,’ he diagnosed. ‘Swollen and red, it is. I think we’ll have to take it a bit easy today. But there are lots of things we can do that don’t involve the old in-out. Aren’t there?’
He raised flashing eyes to me.
I bit my lip and made a gesture intended to convey the phrase ‘You tell me.’
He smiled. ‘So much to learn.’
As it happened, I didn’t learn much that day beyond the fact that I could fall asleep on my knees, polishing silver. My energetic induction into the possibilities of BDSM had exhausted me and I spent most of the day in bed – my bed in my room, while Jasper glided about below almost noiselessly. It was like being alone in the house.
The day after that, though, waking refreshed and with the bruises on my bottom fading rapidly, I knew I would not be getting off so lightly.
I presented myself in the kitchen for breakfast wearing a longish dress and nothing else. He had said the day before that he preferred shoes to be taken off in the house, to preserve the floors, and it was too hot for hosiery, so my bare feet crossed the cold stone flags to the table, toes curling up with each step.
‘Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,’ he said. He was leaning against the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. ‘I can’t be bothered cooking this morning. Get yourself whatever you want.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I had rather enjoyed being cooked for by him, but I busied myself with the toaster and poured myself a cup of tea from the pot.
‘Sun’s out,’ he remarked, and it was true that the kitchen was flooded with early-morning light, birdsong filtering through the open window.
‘Summer’s come,’ I agreed.
‘Good day for a picnic.’
‘Is it?’ I gave him a swift glance. He wore the expression of a man who was making plans.
‘I’d say so. Right.’ He put the empty bowl in the sink. ‘You sort yourself out. I’m going for a run, then I need to get a few things in town. I want you to meet me, in three hours’ time, by the lake in the grounds.’
And he was off.
I found it a little disorientating that he was perfectly normal one minute and benignly dictatorial the next. There had been nothing perverse in our breakfast conversation, and yet the whole exchange seemed to carry such a powerful undercurrent that it felt intensely sexual. Perhaps it was just the effect he had on me.
I got on with my tea and toast and wondered about the day ahead.
The sun grew hotter and fiercer and I was glad not to be wearing any underwear when I set out through the grounds to the lake. I had not put any shoes on either and the grass was blissfully cool and gentle on my bare feet.
Every moment of my journey bore a burden of sensuality – the warmth on my skin, the heavy scents of summer in bloom, the quality of light through the verdant surroundings. And I was walking to meet my master. My destination was sex.
My light cotton dress swished around my thighs. I already knew that I was wet between them, my clit hanging heavy, as if it knew what lay in store. If I looked downwards, I could see my nipples dinting the floral-patterned fabric. I hoped this would please him.
To reach the lake, I had to pass through a small wooded area. My skin chilled in the dappled shade, and I hugged my arms around myself. The sounds were different in here, closer and more intense, and there was a hissing.
No.