When he handed it to me, it was slippery and almost liquid, sliding off my fingers.
‘What are these?’
‘Stockings and gloves,’ he said. ‘You’ll need the gloves. The stockings are just, you know … I like them.’ He winked. ‘Go on – get changed next door if you want. I’ll be waiting for you.’
It wasn’t until I had pulled on the latex elbow-length gloves and had started on the stockings, which were tight and held themselves up, that I realised he had swerved the question of Mr Mysterious’s identity. Well, to be fair, it was I who had done that, with my declaration of love. Perhaps he would have told me, without that. Or perhaps he really didn’t trust me …
I banished the thought from my mind. There was plenty of time to bring the matter up again. For now, I was all black latex and white lace, and it was more than slightly arousing to see myself in the dusty drawing-room mirror with everything exposed despite the items of clothing.
The frilly apron just about covered me in front, but from the back my bottom was completely bare, apart from the ties tickling my cheeks as they hung down from my neat bow. This looked cheeky and almost demure, but the black latex accoutrements changed me from pert to pervert as fast as the eye could move to them. Their squeeze on my skin was a permanent reminder of my condition – I was here to serve and to please him.
I cupped my bottom cheeks in rubber hands and let out a breath, shocking myself at how incredibly wicked it felt. I wondered if I could get Joss to wear some, then cupped my breasts and pinched my nipples with sheeny-shiny fingers.
It was almost too much. I had to step away from the mirror before my gloved digits went somewhere they shouldn’t.
I sauntered into the kitchen, trying to give the impression of nonchalance.
‘Stop there,’ said Joss. I could see he was impressed, though he tried to rein in the salivation. ‘Turn and face me.’
He got up and stood in front of me, looking me over from head to toe.
‘Maybe you should wear that to the Masquerade Ball,’ he said.
I shook my head and he reached out, quick as quick, and snapped my chin upwards between his fingers.
‘I hope that isn’t defiance?’ he said. How did he keep his face so poker-straight and stern? He might be another Joss entirely when he looked at me like that.
‘No, sir,’ I said.
‘Good.’ He played with my breasts for a few moments, then reached under the apron and cupped my sex. ‘Just so you know,’ he murmured, sliding a finger between my underlips, ‘these belong to me. Can’t have you forgetting that. Now, get to the sink.’
It was a bit silly really – there was hardly any washing up to be done. Two knives, two forks, two plates. But I made a show of filling the sink with soapy bubbles, bending over it on tiptoes to push out my bottom because I knew he would like that.
‘There now,’ he said with deep satisfaction, leaning on the table beside me. ‘This is what I like to see. My domestic servant, up to her elbows in hot water.’
I enjoyed watching the way the bubbles slid and popped on my latex gloves and the added glisten the water gave them. I wanted to do the same to the stockings, and I took a handful of foam and popped it on the back seam of my right leg. I couldn’t feel its drift but I knew it would be making a shiny trail on my already shiny hold-up.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Joss was intrigued.
‘Making my wet look even wetter, sir,’ I said. ‘I like to be shiny.’
‘And you like to be wet, you little hussy,’ he said, striding up behind me. ‘What are you trying to do to me? Force me to fuck you here and now? Because I’ll tell you, I’m tempted.’
He pressed himself into me, his erection rubbing the bare portion of my upper thighs, and reached into the basin for a handful of soap bubbles. He stepped back and rubbed them into my bottom. They made a faint fizzy sound, like the rustling of very fine tissue paper, and dissolved on my skin, leaving it sealed in wetness.
‘I’ll get you wet,’ he said, repeating the gesture. Drips ran down my thighs and on to my stockings. ‘I’ll get you shiny.’
Once he had soaked me behind, he reached for a tea towel from the hook.
I thought he was going to dry me off, but what he did was tie a little knot in the end and then flick it at my wet bottom.
‘God! That stings!’ I jumped and held tight to the lip of the sink, glancing round to give him a look of horrified surprise that made him laugh.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘One of many things I learned at Eton.’
He flicked me again and another little snap o
f pain ignited my tender damp skin.