As the days went on, the game playing with the stranger continued and progressed, and each time my release intensified. My last encounter with him involved more than just straps of leather. I became the recipient of luxurious hot candle drippings, and had the pleasure of experiencing it without the blindfold. The Stranger even allowed me to drip wax on him and had me use my feet to provoke his member. I never realized that the mere sight of my feet could cause such a stir which is why I began spending extra time and attention caring for them by scrubbing them daily with pumice and lathering them with some of Clothildes homemade oils and potions.
Thankfully the new staff never questioned or interfered with my coming and going to the upstairs rooms. The Mistress continued to call on me repeatedly and I appreciated her attentions and the education she was awarding me.
The goings on downstairs were getting increasingly intense in preparation for the party. I was told to keep out of the parlor, all of the front rooms, and grand ballroom for the coming days. Lady Thisbe hired additional staff to help with the setup, and Clothilde was very busy in the kitchen experimenting with recipes and hors d'oeuvres that would be tasted at the party. Horace was not anywhere to be seen, and Pet was continually back and forth between the outside world and ours.
My friendship with Clothilde continued to blossom. She confided in me about her unique intimate relationship with the Lady. I was charmed by Clothildes storytelling and experience at being owned and cared for by another. When I inquired about Clothilde's past with the Mistress she would quickly divert the conversation and reassure me that she would tell me after the party. I had many more things to ask Clothilde, but with the party preparations, we had less and less time to converse.
Tonight after a long day, I find a note written in beautiful penmanship at my bedside table. It reads as follows;
I'll wait for you
In the dark
You'll hear my heartbeat
And silent footsteps
My heart rippled just thinking of the Stranger sneaking into my room. If he means to come to me tonight, then I must be ready to receive him. But what if this note is not written in the literal sense? Is it just a poem? Without haste, I got ready for bed and paid extra attention to cleaning my private region, applying lotion to my skin and more-so to my feet, and perfuming myself in all the necessary places. This night, I decided to retire to my bed in the nude and earlier than normal. Fretfully I tossed and turned into the late hours until I finally fell asleep.
Upon awakening I felt a pang of sorrow. The Stranger did not enter my room last night. I was foolish. Perhaps he wasn't able to get past the kitchen without being seen. I decide to write a poem and leave it on my bedside table.
Weeping heart
In the dark
Desire me not
Or make your mark
Heading down to the kitchens earlier than I'm normally expected I hear a conversation ensuing between the Lady and Horace.
"It would be my life's work and the sweetest revenge," says Horace.
"I think it's a wicked idea, simply wicked, but it is exactly what she deserves. It disturbs me greatly to see our Clothilde so upset. I should have left her at home," said the Lady.
"I promise you won't be disappointed in what I have planned," says Horace convincingly.
"My dear Horace, your ideas always please me, it's your silly nonsense that needs taming. We are so much alike," said the Lady.
I can hear a rustling and what sounds like kissing. I should be startled but nothing phases me anymore. I wait a few moments and quietly make my way back up the stairs. I turn my head and see Clothilde standing behind me. She puts her fingers to her lips and grabs my arm and pulls me into the corridor.
"Don't let the Lady ever catch you eavesdropping! If there's anything you want to know, just ask me," whispers Clothilde.
"Well then, where do I begin?" I ask, startling her.
