Signed (15)

because I was asked… ūüôā

Dishpan hands were never attractive, she mused, flipping her hands back and forth and looking at the pallid, wrinkled flesh of her fingers. Still, she’d eaten and finished the dishes with seven minutes to spare. She remembered what Reg had said before he’d left her to this odious task. Okay, maybe not so odious, as she’d snuck tastes and bits from the pans stacked to be washed. He’d said that¬†He…she refused to call him “Master”…had more plans for her. Despite not wanting to, her throbbing pussy constantly recalled their last interlude upon the dining room table. The incredible fierceness as he’d taken her, pounded into her, used her. The thickness of his shaft, the heat of his hands on her hips and thighs, pulling her onto him. And the incredibly intensity of his gaze drinking in her every reaction.

Shaking her head she hung the dishtowel on the rack, turned to survey the kitchen one last time. The door swung open as she mentally patted herself on the back for a job well done. Reg stepped through. His face was unreadable. She prepared herself to be gracious. How could he not be impressed. Every surface gleamed. Every pot, pan, utensil washed, dried and put away. She smiled. He didn’t.

“Come along, girl.”

She straightened. That was it? Forty-three minutes of hard work and that was it?


“I said, come along, girl. Don’t make me ask again.”

She sputtered. She’d always thought that a plot device in stories. Sputtering was not something that people really did. However, she discovered, apparently it was quite possible. She sputtered. She wanted to yell “you ungrateful bastard!” Fighting for control, she clenched her jaw, took a deep breath.¬†Biting her tongue was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Breathing ¬†through her nose, jaw still clenched, ¬†she followed that smug bastard out of the kitchen and down the main hallway.

She swore her breath came out as smoke, for inside she was smoldering. She tried to remember the why of how she’d gotten here. She hadn’t been kidnapped. She hadn’t been overtly coerced. She’d signed on the line, quit her life for thirty days, and quit the asshole who was her husband, and this was the price for that freedom.

Freedom that was close to priceless, with the cost coming out of her flesh.

Still, this first week hadn’t been all that horrible. She lived in a gorgeous house. Her…..master–though she shuddered at that word–treated her well. She wasn’t outside naked and plowing the fields. He didn’t brutalize. He was firm, sometimes harsh, but without intent for permanent harm. His treatment, while rough and out of her normal, had opened parts of her that she had never known were there, laying dormant just under her skin. She was stunned at the level of erotic excitement he pulled from her.

She walked straight into Reg’s back as he stopped, and she didn’t.

“oh! Sorry…Sorry!” She fumbled back a step, embarrassed.

“I never mind juicy tits pressing into my back.”

His droll tone added to her embarrassment. His finger flicked a nipple that had risen. She wanted to slap at him, but didn’t. He nodded, smiling, then turned and opened the only door that had been forbidden to her. She had ached with curiosity to see what was inside here, but had been afraid that she would make their agreement null and void–and he had put a lot of money on her. On her husband, really. She was not going to fuck that up because she had a case of the noseys. ¬†Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying went. And now, she was going to find out the secret of the forbidden door.

A wooden staircase led down. He’d said he had plans for her after she’d finished cleaning the kitchen. She certainly hoped that didn’t mean that he wanted her to clean the basement. Yet there wasn’t a single cobweb in sight as they went down. The lighting was subtle, but she could see every step. At the bottom were two doors. Behind one, the hum of machinery. Behind the other? A light shone brightly as Reg opened the door and pushed her inside.

“Enjoy,” he murmured in her ear as she moved into the light, and stood nervously. The circle of light blinded her to anything else in the room, yet she intuitively knew that she was supposed to stand right here in the intense beam. The door closed behind her with a soft snick.


“Do come closer, slut.”

His voice came from somewhere across the room, but the light she stood under blinded her.

“I can’t see you.”

“I know.”

There was amusement in his voice.

“What is this place?”

“This is the playroom.”

“I thought the whole house was your¬†playroom.”¬†She replied sarcastically.

His laugh rolled towards her, she swore she felt it brush her skin. It was rich and warm and exciting. Her nipples rose into tight, hard buds.

He stepped towards her, his feet moving without sound across the floor, and grasped her nipples. Her breath came faster, as his long fingers rolled and massaged her tender tips. She felt her body shift towards him as her pussy roused, her clit throbbed, her belly shivered with wanton need. The sudden hard pinch, the lifting of her tits by those captured bits of flesh had her rising to her toes as she yelped.


She eked out a squeal, dancing a bit to stay up enough to lessen the tug on her nipples. They were tender after spending the mealtime with heavy clamps on them, yet he tormented them again.

“Please…” she gasped, as he pinched, rolled, tugged.

“Yes,” He murmured. “You do please me.”

Bending, he lightly bit the junction of shoulder and neck.  His hands left her breasts, sliding around and holding her close as his teeth worked a path up the side of her throat, until latching onto her earlobe. She swore she could feel an  orgasm gathering inside her as his mouth laved at her ear, his teeth biting and worrying her flesh. Her ears were so sensitive.

He pushed her away, and for a second she worried she’d displeased him. Catching a handful of hair, he tugged her forward.

“Come along slut. There is ¬†much to get to tonight.”