Contractual Obligations - Cover

Contractual Obligations

Copyright© 2016 by Freddie Clegg

Chapter 23: Working At Home

“I’ve finished in the kitchen, Mistress.” Lionel stood head bowed in the door to the living room.

It was becoming a regular event in Allison’s week. Each Wednesday, Lionel would appear and, accept her directions to clean up around the flat before being allowed some time worshipping at Allison’s feet.

Allison found the routine curiously reassuring but she worried that Lionel was getting to take it for granted and also that she wasn’t getting much out of it other than a clean kitchen, damp toes and the occasional frantic wank when she thought about it afterwards. Maybe it was time to take things a little further, she thought. After all, one of the things that had turned her on in the first place was Lionel’s reaction to the sexual uncertainty of the situations they had been in. And, of course she also had yet to let Lionel know that he had the prospect of a disturbing evening at he Viaduct Club.

“We’ll see.” Allison got to her feet. Lionel looked startled and worried, rekindling Allison’s sense of control over the situation. As she passed him in the doorway she grabbed him by the ear as a teacher might an errant schoolboy. “Come along,” she said crisply, pulling him along behind her, “let’s look at your work.”

Allison wasn’t confident of finding fault with anything Lionel had done. He’d proven to be both attentive and effective when it came to domestic tasks. In fact he was far more assiduous than Allison, who wasn’t the most house-proud of women. Even so she was determined that Lionel should feel that she was in charge and that what he did was subject to her approval and sanction.

On this occasion she need not have worried. Once she started looking, she soon found things to find fault with. “Why have you stacked the saucers with the plates rather than the cups? No, don’t interrupt me. Let’s see what else you’ve been cutting corners on ... Look at this, you haven’t cleaned behind the taps on the sink, and you’ve left the washing cloth dripping wet. It will be stinking if it’s left like that.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I didn’t...”

“No, I can see you didn’t.” Allison’s annoyance was not in any way synthetic. She was irritated by the way that Lionel was obviously not taking the tasks she had assigned him seriously. “This is all very comfortable for you isn’t it? You get to indulge yourself and I’m beginning to wonder what I get out of it. I think you’ve earned some more attention to your backside.”

Allison could see that Lionel looked worried, no doubt recalling his first beating at her hands and how it had ended. She was, though, determined to both stay in control and to have her way.

“Bend over that!” She pointed to one of the chairs that stood beside the table in the kitchen.

Lionel looked at her for a moment before turning and obediently doing as she had asked.

Allison took a deep breath. She picked up the same spatula that she had used before and the dishcloth from the sink. “Open your mouth!” As Lionel obeyed, Allison pushed the wet cloth into his mouth.

“Gaack!” Lionel responded as Allison crammed the cloth in.

“Shut up. You’ll get the chance to yelp in a minute.”

He stood rigidly, bent over the back of the chair, his arse presented temptingly for Allison. She lifted his shirt tales, sensing his apprehension.

As Allison laid it on with the pliable, wooden, spatula, Lionel’s struggles lessened. His seemed to be trying to synchronise his breathing with her blows. She countered by varying her pace, bringing the paddle down to stop gently on his buttocks or letting two blows fall in quick succession. Soon, Lionel’s responses became confused, clenching his buttocks or gripping harder on the chair without any real reference to Allison’s craft. She watched fascinated as the blade of the spatula landed each time, the flesh of his buttocks moving away from it like the ripples on a pond. “I’d love to be doing this in your office,” Allison hissed in his ear. “Perhaps with some of the other girls watching.” She couldn’t tell from his muffled groan if the idea excited or terrified him. Probably it was both.

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