AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, shout out to my amusing muse, Scooter Titenbum. GREAT job! Thanks for keeping me on my gouty toes.
We meet Mrs. Harrower, Hamish's cook. She has a very thick accent, and written as such. But I think y'all can keep up with understanding her.
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SUNDAY, AUGUST 4th, 2013
TAP. TAP. TAP.
"It's almost seven, Ms. Boyce."
Gayle rolled over in bed and groaned, only wanting to sleep some more. She didn't want to get up to make breakfast for her family. She was so exhausted and didn't have to go to work until three.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Ms. Boyce. Get. Up."
Why are you calling me Ms. Boyce, Dad? she thought.
"I'm coming in."
The door creaked open and Hamish entered, standing by the bed. The bed sheet was down just below her shoulders, and her hair cascaded beautifully over the pillow. He could have stood there and watched her sleep for hours, but it would be a busy day for the both of them.
"Ms. Boyce, breakfast will be ready in an hour." His voice was soft yet authoritative.
Moaning again, she rolled over and slowly opened her eyes to see Hamish staring down at her. "Mornin'," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to sleep in. Sorry Sir."
"It's alright. I'm sure you'd like a bath before you eat. Better get your arse in gear. If you were male I would tell you: "Hands off cocks and on with socks." However, I shall soon think up something suitably appropriate for you."
His cock and socks remark went in one ear and out the other, being she was still half asleep. She was never the type to wake up and bounce out of bed. Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she kept the bed sheet up over her breasts and waited for him to leave so she could go to the bathroom.
He didn't move. Instead, he said, "I highly doubt you will get clean lying where you are."
One lesson she was learning rather quickly was that she wouldn't get away with walking around clothed in front of her boss. She sighed and slipped out of bed, not wanting to start her day off badly by arguing with him.
Walking into the hallway with Hamish behind her, she noticed the door across from her bedroom was open. All she could see as she passed was the dark wood mantel that seemed to take up half of the wall.
Yawning long and hard, her feet skidding lazily across the floor, she had just stepped through the main bathroom door when Hamish called out, "Where do you think you are going?"
Turning around quickly, trying to hide behind the doorway, she looked at him confused.
"You'll be using my bathroom."
"What, Sir?" she mumbled.
"I don't bathe in that bathroom."
She furrowed her eyebrows deeply. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"I will be giving you your bath."
"I ... I'm sorry. What?" Either she misheard him or she was in desperate need of a big mug of high octane coffee.
"It looks like I will have to schedule an appointment for you with my doctor. Your hearing does seem to be deficient."
She hurried to his side and stood in front of him. "Sir, I heard you. It's just ... Why?"
"Because I want to, and I can, so I will."
That made sense to her, in an odd way, and she was in no position to argue. Following him into his room, Bessie greeted her with a wagging tail. "Good morning to you too, girl," Gayle said as she rubbed behind the dog's ears.
Standing back up, she looked around the most incredible bedroom she'd ever seen. It was huge, three times as big as her room in Maryland. The fireplace was on the opposite wall from the door; to the left was the bed centered between two plate-glass windows. The mattress was so high there was a two-step stool to climb onto it.
She looked around quickly as she followed him toward the bathroom door on the right. There were two bookshelves set in the wall with a couch and narrow coffee table set in front of them; a window was between the two bookshelves. Opposite the couch -- with her blouse and skirt, sans any wrinkles, were resting over the arm rest -- was a long dresser set between the walk-in closet and the fireplace. A large armoire was to the right before the bathroom.
By then her bladder had started to scream at her. Walking into the bathroom, she spotted the toilet in the right corner. "Sir, I have to go to the bathroom before, um ..."
"Please do. I'll draw the bath." Bessie followed him around until he fussed at her to lie on the small rug in front of the fireplace, which she did.
As she did her business -- although she found it nerve racking that she was actually peeing with him in the room -- she noticed the floor and ceiling appeared similar to the wood used in a sauna. On the opposite wall were a multiple towel rack and a small vanity with a chair. A small, rather plain fireplace was to the left of the door, and in the center of the room was the modern, rectangular tub that was big enough to fit two people.
Two people?! He can't be thinking we're taking a bath together! she thought in a panic.
Wiping herself, she sat for a moment debating whether to stand because while sitting she could somewhat cover herself. When he stepped to the vanity chair and pulled down his lounge pants she quickly looked down at her feet, noticing a blister on the outside of her right big toe.
"Are you quite finished, Ms. Boyce? I don't think a human is capable of peeing for ten minutes, although in my youth of having many ales ..."
She tuned him out because it was way too much information to know about any boss.
When she finally looked at him, she was in instant shock at seeing him standing at the far corner of the tub, but she could clearly see every inch of the man. His shoulders and biceps were nicely muscular, in fact more so than she'd imagined when she'd first met him. His chest was tight and covered with a thin layer of darker ginger hair, though it didn't cover past his belly. She didn't dare look down any further, in case her cheeks burst into flames as she blushed from embarrassment.
She tried to look away but the grin on his face told her she'd already been caught staring a bit too long. She felt like she was having a flashback of her idiotic 18-year old self looking at her naked boyfriend for the first time.
Pushing herself off the seat, she flushed the toilet then washed her hands at the sink. Looking at him in the mirror as he sat down slowly. He deliberately watched the expression on her face as her eyes were glued to his semi-erect penis.
A lump grew in the back of her throat as she took in his size. Although he was a bit shorter than her ex, he was thicker, causing her to grow anxious as to how the hell he would even fit inside her.
"Ms. Boyce, I would think your hands are utterly clean by now."
Stop being so damned impatient, boss! she fussed mentally at him. "Yes Sir," she muttered and dried her hands.
He turned off the water; his beard glistening with the steam that surrounded him. Taking a colorful bottle from a shelf on the outside of the tub, he poured the oil into the water.
Cautiously she stepped to the side of the bath again trying not to stare at his penis. She was about to lift her leg when he said, "Remove my collar first."
"Oh, I forgot." She quickly took it off and placed it on the vanity.
Tapping his fingers on the ledge, she sat down beside his hand in the middle of the tub. "Hmm, the oil smells good. What is it?"
"Lemon and eucalyptus. There are some other scents in your bathroom, plus shampoo, soaps and all your girlie bits and bobs. Mrs. Harrower picked them, of course. Turn around and put your feet in." After she did, he said, "Spread your legs."
Swallowing hard, she put her hands on the ledge for support and parted her legs, closing her eyes. "No. Keep them open and look at me."
Being mortified, her stomach started to tingle from nerves and she grew a little nauseas. Slowly she opened her eyes, though it took her a second before she could look into his face. His eyes were gentle and soft, setting her at ease, albeit only slightly.
Leaning forward, he rested his hands just above her knees and kneaded softly before looking over her chest. She instantly froze. Smiling, he said, "You don't have to be so self-conscious with me."
"I'm sorry, Sir. It's not easy for me," she croaked.
He nodded then took the washcloth, lathered it with soap, took her right foot and began to wash it then gingerly cleaned between her toes. She jerked her foot back when the cloth scraped over the blister.
He glared at her when he saw it. "I knew your heels were troubling your feet, but you neglected to tell me about this."
"Honestly, Sir, I didn't even notice it until I was ... peeing."
"I find that hard to believe. You will keep me posted on this."
"Yes Sir."
Cleaning it carefully, he put her foot back in the water then did the same for her other foot. Dipping the sudsy cloth into the water, he slowly ran it up each leg, lingering at the very tip of her thighs. The higher he got the shallower her breathing became until it felt as if she had stopped breathing altogether.
Rewetting the cloth, he brushed it gently over her crotch, top to bottom then back to her clit. She gasped when the tip of his finger grazed over the nub. Stopping on that spot, he watched her reaction as he pressed the pad of his finger harder all around area surrounding the throbbing bundle of nerves. He grinned when he saw her open her mouth; whether it was because it felt good to her or she was going to protest, he didn't care.
Whispering into her ear, he said, "You belong to me now, Ms. Boyce. Do you understand?"
