Aprons for Gayle

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Note to MasterfulJim....can you pick out the phrase you've used repeatedly on your comments on Hilly's story? I'll leave you Heather in my will.

Note from Scooter Titenbum: Per my comment, Hamish is not looking for a Scottish wife...any wife will do. He's a man – he doesn't care! The last sentence is from me.

I hope y'all like! And thanks for the comments...dubs ya!

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CHAPTER FIVE

Gayle's heart was pounding and her stomach churned as they entered the front door and she followed Hamish to the dreaded room, the dungeon. Although it hadn't felt cold in the castle when she'd left, now, however, she was chilled to the bone.

"Grasp the railing, Ms. Boyce," Hamish told her as they descended the stairs. "It gets quite slick."

As soon as her bare feet hit the cold, damp stone step, she grabbed the railing for support. Lit by small sconces halfway up the walls, she could see that the tapered stairs were very narrow and very tightly curved, though smooth.

At the bottom step, Hamish flipped a switch illuminating the space. She finally looked up to see him scrutinizing her face closely as her eyes scanned the room. It was much colder in this hell, as she thought of it. She crossed her arms tightly around her.

Immediately to her left was a narrow door, apparently the wine cellar. Looking over the room, it was bigger than she'd thought it would be at about15'x25.' The walls were uneven stones with scattered holes; jutting out were metal hooks and rings in various widths and sizes. She didn't dare ask him what they were for.

Then she saw in the corner an Iron Maiden. "Oh, my god!" she exclaimed as she walked toward it. Metal spikes were on the inside of the door as well as the body of it. "Is this freaking real?!" She brushed the pad of her forefinger against the pointy, sharp nail and gasped.

"It is. Step in Ms. Boyce," he said seriously.

Her head flew around toward him, and she looked at him wide-eyed, her mouth agape. He burst into laughter as he stepped beside her. "You are a funny one. But I did kill my previous maid ... by accident, of course."

Placing his hand gently on her shoulder, he jerked it back, as if he touched a block of ice. Without a word, he took off his blazer and spread it open. She stepped into it and held it close to her body.

"Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome. We won't be down here much longer." He felt like a wanker for allowing her to get as frozen as she had.

"The apparatuses are the original torture equipment, all dating back to the late 1200s to the early 1400s."

He walked to the rack in the center of the room. The contraption was ten feet long and five feet wide with two chains on both ends with rusty metal restraints; beside them in each corner were cranks.

"This is the body stretcher. That's why we Scots are so tall." He laughed evilly.

Beyond that on a small table in the corner were several small items, none of which she recognized. Hamish noticed she was looking at it oddly, so he went over, picked an item up and showed it to her. It was about ten inches tall with a wooden block base and long screw on the top. In the center was another block that had sharp, pointy nails and studs. He screwed the handle and the middle base came down slowly. Gayle watched fascinated but petrified.

He grinned wickedly. "This is a thumbscrew. I will use this if you don't keep your nails neatly manicured."

"I don't doubt you would, Sir."

He grabbed another item that was identical to the collar she wore but had a long two-pronged fork on both ends. "This is a heretic's fork. The prongs rest just under the chin to keep the head up while the other prong rests on the collar bone. This will be what I will use on you if I ever catch you walking looking down. It's one of my worst pet peeves."

You can't be serious, she thought fearfully. She swallowed hard, nodded and swore to herself to always keep her chin up.

In the corner beside the cabinet was a five-foot high wooden stool, and on the top sat a wooden triangle. Hanging from the walls above it were chains that held a twelve-inch wooden ring, big enough to hold a human head.

"What the heck is that?" she asked, pointing to it.

"That is a Judas Cradle. The person would be hung over it by chains and slowly lowered, impaling them anally, or in the case of females ..."

"Oh, shit!" she gasped. "Is that like an ancient enema or something, Sir?" she joked.

He laughed again. "I guess it could be. It was used often during the Spanish Inquisition."

"Well, I'm glad I was born when I was."

Replacing that for another tool, he said, "This is a Pear of Anguish. Can you guess what it does?"

It was bronze and pear shaped, but the top was about twice as long and a little thinner than a pear. On the top was a ring. Hamish twisted it and four leaves flowered out.

Gayle was beginning to get a headache. She shook her head. "Sir, please don't tell me it's a ... has anything to do with ..."

He chortled. "If they were punishing a woman it would be inserted vaginally then stretched out."

"Like a speculum?" she asked. "Ow!"

"I would encourage you not to burn my supper, Ms. Boyce." He waved the pear in his hand, his eyes burrowing into hers.

"Sir? How about I order delivery, Sir?" she asked smiling, trying to make her voice as playful as she could because she prayed he was only messing with her head.

He finally laughed and shook his head, then grew serious again in half a millisecond. "Try me."

She kept laughing, though it was then hysterical laughter.

Now that she'd seen the most notorious torture equipment, he found it funny she was using 'Sir' much more often.

Quickly changing the subject, she saw behind him a barrel against one wall in which the lid was flowered and wider than it should have been. "What is that used for, Sir?"

"That is a barrel pillory. One gets in on his or her knees and the lid is placed over their head, leaving it exposed for several days. I won't go into detail, but I can assure you that it's quite unpleasant."

She thought only a moment before she realized he meant they'd be sitting in their own waste for God knew how many days or weeks for that matter. "Again, I believe you, Sir."

"Hmm, let's try something."

Gayle instantly tensed. There was nothing in the room she wanted to try.

He walked over to the pillory, a wooden base at the bottom connected to a thick, wooden plank with two holes near each end with a bigger hole in the center. She knew exactly what it was and stood immobile.

After he unlocked and raised the top half he said, "Approach, Ms. Boyce."

Wobbling on weak knees and her heart pounding, she went to him scuffling her feet. Not removing his blazer he'd given her, he took her hands, one at a time, and placed them in the curved holes. His hand between her shoulder blades, he pushed her forward gently. She held her breath and closed her eyes as he lowered it closed, though heard no click to tell her he locked it in place.

She didn't care for the fact that her ass was sticking out; the blazer didn't cover any of it. Taking her feet, he gently pulled them about two feet apart and secured them to the floor with iron anklets on a short chain.

He kept her secure for a minute or so watching her curiously from behind. It wasn't too bad for her at first, but feeling him so close and not knowing whether he'd smack her ass, it kept her edgy. Soon enough she started to squirm and twist her hands trying to slip her hands out, to no avail. She wasn't trying to free herself; she was simply seeing how much she could move.

He smiled wickedly when a thought occurred to him. Stepping between her feet, he placed his hands at the bottom of each ass cheeks and gently kneaded the fleshiness, gradually digging his thumbs and the tips of fingers in harder. Slowly, he moved his hands up to her hips then down her thighs before rising and skimming the small of her back under the blazer. Bending over, he kissed her ivory skin on the top of her spine before he stood back up. It was only a taste, but he wanted to feel every inch of her.

She groaned quietly and closed her eyes as his cold fingers and palms chilled her warm back. When he'd kissed her neck it felt so warm, his ice-cold nose nipping at the nape of her neck made her shiver, but it wasn't from the cold.

Getting a few more brief moments to appreciate her beauty, he unlocked her ankles before raising the block, freeing her head and arms. As she stood, he turned her around. "How was it?"

"Honestly," she replied, "it wasn't bad at all."

He frowned. "Being confined or my touch?"

She blushed wildly. "Both." Again she was being honest.

He smiled. "Come on. Let's go upstairs."

When they were back in the main foyer, Hamish told Gayle, "You may go to your bedroom and relax, if you'd like. I've got some work to do in my study."

Although she had a million questions to ask him, the main one being if the dungeon would be where she was to receive her punishments on Fridays, she decided it would be best if she didn't. "Thank you, Sir." She removed his blazer and handed it to him.

Before he knew what he was saying, he asked, "Which would you like back: The photo, the journal or the book?" He could have kicked himself for being so lenient with her, but he couldn't take it back.

She thought a moment. "Sir, I understand about rules, and I don't know what I was thinking by bringing the book. I don't even care for Stephen King." She had to catch herself from blabbering again. "I accept the repercussion of my actions." The damned torture chamber had more than petrified her -- it had scared her into submission.

He nodded. "I'll come retrieve you for lunch."

"Yes Sir," she replied.

As she headed up the stairs, a perplexing smile slowly rose on her lips. A part of her was proud for not freaking out being in the pillory, while a part of her liked him touching her. It wasn't sexual; she definitely wasn't turned on. But it was nice to have the attention from him, and she felt warm from suddenly feeling desired.

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Gayle hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door when she'd lied down. She was surprised the jet lag lasted as long as it did. She'd never slept as much as she had in the past year. She didn't like it very much, though. A big thing her father instilled in her was not to be lazy, to be productive. Good old Baptist upbringing.

A little part of her wished Bessie would have come in to keep her company, but the truth was she hadn't seen her since breakfast. She might not have gone to sleep with the dog at her side, but when Bessie woke her up by wagging her tail hard onto the duvet, she found the dog sprawled out beside her.

Looking around the room, she saw Hamish sitting in the chair. Sitting up and wiping her eyes, keeping the blanket over her breasts, she mumbled, "Hi, Sir."

He was frowning at her, making her wonder what she'd done to make him angry. She'd done nothing but sleep. "I'm going to have to buy you socks." His soft voice betrayed his frown and confused her.

"Why?" Bessie had dug her nose against Gayle's side, so Gayle petted her behind the ears, though continued to look at Hamish.

"Because you kept your foot sticking out from under the covers."

"Oh." She quickly relaxed. "I've been doing that since I was a kid. My feet are my thermostat. Mom's the same way." Another attribute she'd apparently inherited from her mum.

"Ah. Are you hungry?"

"Honestly, not really. I'm still full from breakfast. Coffee sounds good though."

"Alright," he said as he stood and went to the armoire. Pulling out an outfit, he laid it on the bed and walked toward the door.

"Bessie, come." The canine jumped off the bed, tail wagging and went to him. "I'll meet you in the kitchen. The trainers are by your bed. Dress your blister before you put them on. You won't get a new pair."

Ah, there's my dominant boss, she thought. Slipping out of bed she saw the sneakers, but then she saw the frame of her family sitting on the nightstand. She forced herself not to smile, but her lips curled anyway. Okay, so he's a dominant man with a heart, she concluded.

The outfit he'd chosen was actually nice -- well, it would cover more of her body than the other two she'd worn so far. It was black with a sweetheart neckline covering her breasts just above the nipples; the thick halter straps she tied around her neck. The thin lace hem was barely below her crotch with a small white, lace apron. The back was completely bare except for the strap tied behind her. Her back being uncovered she could handle, and at least her breasts were covered.

After she used the bathroom and reapplied the ointment and Band-Aid, she slipped the sneakers on and went downstairs. She heard the tell-tale signs of Bessie coming, by the clipping of her nails on the wood floors.

"Hey, girl. Show me where your Daddy is," she said when Bessie approached her.

As if the dog understood her, she walked away toward the kitchen. When Gayle got a whiff of the freshly brewed coffee, she inhaled sharply. Hamish had just sat down at the table when he saw her walk in. To Gayle, it appeared as if he had instantaneously frozen; his eyes may as well have popped out of his head, they were that big.

"Sir," she said as she sat down across from him and picked up the mug. "Is something wrong?"

He sat back and continued to stare. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Because you were in my bedroom and just now ..." She felt like an idiot for bringing it up. Now that she heard what she said, she sounded a little paranoid.

"I went up to get some ... paperwork and heard you talking in your sleep."

After taking a sip and putting the mug back down, she replied, hesitantly, "What did I say?"

"You don't remember?" She shook her head. "You were whining for someone to stop. Your voice was very distressed."

She paused. "Just a nightmare, I guess, Sir." She stared out the window watching the incoming dark clouds that threatened rain.

"Ms. Boyce, that was more than a nightmare," he stated.

She prayed he'd stop pressing her for information. "Sir? Can we change the subject?"

"So, you do remember?"

She sighed heavily. "No."

He slammed his hand on the table but didn't say anything. The moment his fist hit the table he regretted showing his momentary lapse of control.

She didn't allow his show of anger to break her. Yes, she remembered the dream. Yes, he was her boss, but she didn't have to share such personal information with him. She simply wasn't ready to.

A few seconds later and after he had calmed down, he said, "I'm not prying, really. But ... it was clear someone hurt you. Your ex-boyfriend?"

"Sir, please!" she exclaimed, her voice louder than she meant.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Want to watch your tone with me?" he warned sharply.

"I'm sorry, Sir, really. It's ... painful to talk about. I don't mean to sound rude, Sir, but I'm here for six months. I've agreed to do what you require of me. But there are some things that are better left alone."

Standing, he said somewhat irritated, "My library. Now." Then he walked out, Bessie on his heels.

She rolled her eyes, though she wasn't quite sure why. She should be shaking in terror from his deep, harsh command. Standing, she finished her coffee then walked into his library, her head held high -- until she saw 'the work' he'd done in the room while she slept.

In the open space between the fireplace and his desk was what looked like a simple massage table, but this had two thin boards on both ends for arms and legs, straps on all four.

Not seeing Hamish approach her, he hooked his finger around the collar ring and pulled Gayle forward gruffly until he leaned against his desk, keeping her a foot away. "Stand easy," he ordered, letting go of the collar.

Obediently she spread her legs, pulled her hands behind her and grasped her wrists, trying not to lock up her limbs too tightly and looked forward, though she tried not to focus on him.

"In the contract I mentioned a safe word. Have you come up with one yet?"

Her heart sank. He was going to punish her for standing up for herself? "Yes Sir. Bagpipes."

His eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Bagpipes? You couldn't have come up with something more original?" He smirked.

"Albannach, but then it'd sound like I was choking or something."

He laughed. "True. Bagpipes it is. During punishment your safe word is not allowed, but red will halt the play until you gather your senses. It will then continue until I am satisfied you have learned your lesson.

"When we play, or scene, your safe word is indeed allowed. It will halt all play immediately. When I ask your color, if you reply with red I will cease what I am doing and we will discuss what you are dealing with. It will then continue.

"If you call out yellow, I will simply slow down or lessen the strikes. Green means you are fine, I can continue, but remember I might possibly push your limits if you remain at green for a long period of time or I get bored, whichever comes first. I've reviewed your hard limits and will not cross the line."

As far as she was concerned none of it was play, only torture. But then again, since he did nothing but touch her in the dungeon, maybe she had more to learn.

"Red: Stop, review, possibly continue. Yellow: Slow down. Green: Continue. Got it, Sir."

"Good girl. Do not forget those. If I misunderstand I might hurt you when I don't mean to."

She nodded then he reached behind him, took hold of something then stepped behind her, got down on one knee and buckled the leather restraints around each ankle before he stood up. Her heart started to pound, even if the restraints had soft, thick fur on the inside. She knew her wrists were next so she let go of her wrists and pushed them toward him.

A swift, hard slap landed on her ass cheek. She yelped and went forward on the tips of her toes.

"I warned you once for moving when you are holding a pose, just this morning," he growled from behind her. "If I need you to move I will instruct you. Understand?"

"I apologize, Sir."

"Right," he grumbled sarcastically. A moment later he buckled the restraints easily around her wrists. "Put your arms down beside you and slip off your trainers."

After she did, the strap of the apron behind her neck was pulled and pushed forward over her chest then he untied the waist strap and pulled the material away from her, throwing the apron on the desk.

Again leading her with the collar ring, he stopped at end of the bench. "Get on."

When she did, she squirmed as the butt plug seemed to get pushed further inside her; she let out a soft groan. Keeping her legs bent over the end, her arms stiff at her side since he hadn't told her to put her legs and arms on the boards. She figured it was a good place to start to show him she would listen to him.

Standing at her waist, he smiled down on her. She kept her eyes on the ceiling but saw the slight smile on his lips. She didn't quite know what it meant.

"Good girl," he said softly. "Scoot up a bit."

She had to put her feet on the boards to do so, but she put her legs back down. Taking her left wrist, he stretched it out on the upper board and latched it into place. Then he went and stood between her knees, secured both ankles before finishing up with her right wrist. Looking down over her face again, he brushed back her strands of her hair so they flowed over the end of the table.

"Ms. Boyce, I knew I would have to train you while in my employ, and so far I have been pleased. You have stood your ground when I've pushed more than I should have."

She shook her head. "Sir, you don't have to apologize."