Some months have passed since Duncan took his infamous slow drive downtown. He carried it out admirably. Oh, he was taxed by the experience. The ridicule, the contempt he'd received left its mark on his delicate constitution. Through it all, however, he was true to me, and to the purpose of the project, which was to prove his devotion to me, to show me that under his soft-spoken demeanor lay a resolute fealty to me, his owner.
Now, whenever he isn't home working on his various editing assignments, and when I'm not at the cafe, he is at my place. I have to admit that the more Duncan does to clean or decorate there, the more I realize that it was an area I'd neglected. Not that I never cleaned, but it was just to keep things hygienic or stored out of the way. You know, clean the bathroom, wash dishes, etc.
The apartment looks rather different now. Duncan stripped the wood floors and polished them. He bought , then installed, some very tasteful mocha-colored mini blinds in all the front windows. I find this is a boon to my painting as I can regulate the light better.
He brought in a 3'x3' wood block prep table for the kitchen, and this he uses to prepare meals for me. He is a surprisingly gifted cook! He makes dishes in large batches, and stocks the freezer. There's always something delish waiting for me whenever I want it.
Plus, when dinner time rolls around, Duncan serves me. In the evening, as I busy myself talking to a friend on the phone, or work on a painting or sketch, Duncan is in the kitchen "rattlin' them pots and pans', as the song goes.
Once the food is ready, Duncan lets me know. He follows me to the table, pulls out the chair, and unfolds the linen napkin onto my lap (napkins courtesy of Duncan).
There's a cloth on the table, one taper candle, and a small vase of flowers.
There are a couple of standard items for dinners. One is a liter of Pellegrino water, lightly chilled, and the other is a bottle of wine.
As far as wine goes, I'm usually in the camp of California zins or Argentinian malbecs; something on the dark and chewy side.
Duncan, however, being careful to not offend my sense of taste, has introduced me to some very nice French wines. Let's see... there were some reds I really liked; Pommard, Nuit Ste George. Gorgeous and velvety little devils. I'm pretty sure these set Duncan back a bit, but he insists on buying them.
And he's just the kind of waiter I would want in a restaurant: discreet, in the background, attentive. The water and wine glasses never get to the empty point. Sometimes, I don't even notice that he's refilled them!
On a typical evening at home (one when I'm not working), I'll enjoy my dinner, and Duncan will whisk the plates away. Then he brings, first, a snifter of XO Hennessy cognac, followed by a triple espresso. The cognac is top shelf - knock your socks off good. I lean back in my chair, and savor it coursing through my veins. Cognac courtesy of Duncan, don't you know, as is the very fine Italian espresso machine!
I think Duncan would just go on serving and pampering me no matter what, but we are both abundantly compensated when I reward him. There was a point in the midst of Duncan's cleaning, cooking, remodeling, and what-not, that I felt it was time to see to my bodily needs. I knew, of course, that I would have a most avid pupil in Duncan.
One night, sprawled on the sofa and draining my second cognac, I called Duncan from the kitchen. He came at once, wearing the apron that he kept under the kitchen sink.
"Yes, Miss Julie?" he said, looking flushed from standing over the sink full of soapy water.
"Take off your apron, then come in here." I said.
Duncan gave me a timid inquiring look which I understood as a request to speak.
"Go on." I said.
"Should I finish up the dishes first? They're almost done." he said, drying his hands on a dishtowel he had looped onto the apron string.
"Do them later. Lose the apron, and then get in here." I said with some severity.
Duncan scampered in the direction of the kitchen, untying the apron as he went.
He was back in an instant, standing facing me.
"On your knees, Dunky." I said, relishing my power over him. The two big cognacs were helping the situation. I was ready to be worshipped like a queen!
"Come closer to the couch." I said, and Duncan kneed his way over in short order.
"Dinner was very good." I began. "You've been helpful lately in many ways, and I want to reward you."
"Miss Julie, being here in your presence is..."
"Is what?" I said. "Enough for you? Well, so the fuck what!" I said, my voice rising. Duncan hung his head.
"I'm sorry, Miss..."
"Shut up, Duncan." I said, leaning back into the couch and giving him a withering stare.
"Did it occur to you that your 'reward' isn't so much for you as it is for me?"
"No, miss Julie. I failed to think of that." he said, still looking downward.
"Bring that bottle in here, Duncan. I think I might just polish it off tonight. I'm feeling kind of wild."
As I said that I lifted my foot and gave him a good shove in his chest. He toppled over, but recovered and hurried to the kitchen for the cognac.
While he was off fetching the bottle, I pulled off my shorts and tossed them on the floor. I waited for his return wearing a thong and a light cotton top.
Duncan knelt on the far side of the coffee table, uncorked the bottle, and poured.
"Now come back to where you were." I said, indicating the spot right by the couch, right by me.
Duncan, of course, must have seen the shorts on the floor the moment he returned. I lifted the snifter and drank. At the same time, I let my legs spread apart, lifting one foot onto the couch. As I sipped, I stroked the inside of my thigh.
Mmmmmmm, my skin is so sensitive here." I said. Duncan, for his part, was completely at a loss. His eyes went here, then there. It was rather comical! I lifted my top so that my belly was exposed.
"Here, too." I said, stroking the area around my navel. "So sensitive and soft."
Duncan's breathing was growing rapid and punctuated by little gasps. Just the result I expected.
"You've been a good boy, haven't you, Duncan?" I said, continuing to gently stroke my belly.
"I've tried, miss Julie. I'm happy to please you." he said, his voice higher pitched than usual. He was also having trouble getting through whole sentences without taking another breath. Hmmmmm. Wicked Julie, casting a spell. If Duncan didn't have a raging hard-on by this time, then he didn't have a dick.
"Why don't you stroke my thigh a little, Dunky." I said, spreading my legs further still.
"Yes, Miss Julie." came his trembling reply.
Duncan seemed to be in a hypnotic state as he slowly reached a quaking hand toward me. I was enjoying his discomfort, and his excitement, considerably. Duncan, I thought to myself, was a world of entertainment and pleasure for me. Who needed cable?
His fingers glided lightly over my skin. They were soft and warm and, like Duncan himself, sensitive. He knelt there, his eyes fixed upon his hand, amazed, no doubt, that it was doing something so wondrous.
"Very good, Duncan." I encouraged. I took another sip of the cognac. My body responded in the most amicable way to it, and to Duncan's respectful touch. This was living!
Duncan continued his soft stroking.
"Use both hands, Duncan." I said. "You're doing a good job."
Duncan's eyes had a glow to them. He had the look of someone who has woken up in a distant, enchanted world.
"Good boy." I said, watching him. He looked up briefly and shyly in thanks for these encouraging words.
"How is the shrine for my panties progressing, Duncan?" I asked.
"It's nearly done, Miss Julie." he said, not missing a beat in his ministrations to my legs.
"I went to a fabric outlet a few days ago." he continued. "I found a really nice black silk piece with gold metallic thread running through it. I cut it to the right size, and I'm nearly done sewing the edges. Your framed panties will look so regal placed upon it, Miss Julie!"
"Pictures, Dunc. I want them soon."
"Yes, Miss Julie. Tomorrow, for sure."
"I'll be over to inspect it in person later. And you can show me how you worship me when I do. Have you performed a worship yet?" I asked, resting a leg on his shoulder.
"I was going to wait until the shrine was finished. Though I have spoken some words as I worked on it." he said, coloring some.
"Some words, eh?"
"Praising you, Miss Julie. I'm also composing a more formal worship. Something I can do every morning after I wake."
"First thing?" I said, smiling.
"Yes, of course, Miss Julie."
While Duncan had been communing respectfully with my pink panties at home, I felt he needed to be introduced to those parts of my body that the panties had been enclosing. I pulled the elastic waistband of my thong down.
"Hmmmmm. Looks like my pubes need trimming, Dunc. What do you think?" I said, and watched the wide-eyed Duncan struggle for words.
"I like to keep them neat. Oh, you've never seen my bush before, have you?" I said, scratching lightly in my patch.
"No, Ma'am, Miss Julie." he said, watching my fingers move.
"Get the scissors from the medicine chest." i instructed, and Duncan scurried off. While he was gone, I removed my thong.
Duncan came back with the scissors and resumed his kneeling position. He proffered the scissors.
"No, Duncan. I want you to do it." I said firmly.
"Me? I... you want me..." he stammered. How touching!
"Yes, you! What did I just say?" I said. "Are you dense?"
"I'm sorry Miss..."
"This is the perfect time for you to shut up, Duncan. Hand me the scissors and observe."
I pulled up a bit of hair from the corner of my thatch and snipped.
"There. Like that. Take a look." I said, holding out the clippings so that he could see.
I moved to the edge of the sofa, so that my pussy was more accessible to him. I spread my legs.
"Before you begin, I want you to take a good look at my pussy, or, as I like to call it, my cunt. Do you like the sound of that word, Dunky?" I said in a childish voice.
"I do, Miss Julie, though some women find it offensive, so I never say it."
"But you like it?"
"I admit that I do, Miss Julie. I apologize." he said, hanging his head.
"It's okay, Dunc. Because I happen to like it. Though probably for a different reason. I like the idea of taking what men use as an insult, and making them respect it. Got it?"
"I do, Miss Julie. Taking it back."
