Taught to Serve (7 page)

A handyman came to fix problems with the ancient plumbing or wiring. The gardens were tended by an elderly gardener, who tipped his hat at Casey through the kitchen window. Rob’s shirts and trousers were ironed by a woman who appeared once a week to collect and drop off the clean laundry. She never smiled at Casey and barely said a word as they met at the door.

All these domestic staff remained a legacy of Rob’s many solitary years. Casey liked having the support until he went away, for there was too little to do in his absence. She whittled down her list of tasks quickly, kept check on his email, post and voicemail, and tidied up documents and the filing cabinets as instructed. Then she roamed the house as a living ghost, unable to settle, a loose end of thread waiting to be drawn back into the fabric.

Permission had been given for Casey to invite three of her girlfriends around for a girlie evening of gossiping. Rob had laid down clear guidelines. They were not allowed in his study nor the library. Excessive drinking was forbidden, and they were to leave before midnight. Casey eagerly accepted his terms and invited her friends to visit before Rob’s return the following day.

Of her three friends, two were from her previous job and the other had come by way of introduction from an old school friend. Together they formed a small cohort of giggles, Chinese whispers, and rumour mongering. A perfect evening began in the sitting room with a bottle of red wine and pretzels.

Sylvia was sly and inquisitive. She insisted on a tour of the house, which Casey gave, excluding the two forbidden rooms. Her tall, lanky friend was suitably impressed, especially when Casey showed off the walk in closet.

“You haven’t half fallen on your feet, Case,” remarked her friend.

Melissa was the shiest and least vocal. Traipsing around after the others, she absorbed the chatter and surroundings without revealing her own opinions. However, once the alcohol was imbued in her system, she began to open up with clever witticism and poignant comments.

“There is more to this house than first appears—it’s like a labyrinth,” she said sipping on her second class of Rioja.

The third visitor was the one Casey was least familiar with and had come by her acquaintance after a desperate plea from an old friend. Lonely and in need of company, Vicky had been adopted by Casey and her little gathering. Vicky blurted out silly comments in the hope of being part of the gang, but invariably hit the wrong buttons. However, her own stories of boyfriends and failed relationships were sufficiently entertaining to include her on their infrequent outings to the local pubs.

Casey felt quite at home with her friends and enjoyed the feminine style of conversing, which was open and verbose when compared to the introverted Rob. With each slurp of the wine, each nibble of the pretzels, the girls began to waggle their tongues inappropriately and almost maliciously.

Casey had already let slip previously that she was in a relationship with her employer. Giggling, they all told her she was fortunate to be attached to such a handsome man. Casey and Rob did not go out together much and certainly were not a sociable couple. Rob maintained the air of a mysterious gentleman, whom others rarely saw. Trying to tear down the barricades about Casey and Rob’s relationship would prove difficult for her friends, since nobody quite knew how the couple functioned together. Casey had been charged not to divulge the nature of her agreement with Rob during one of his early lectures on deportment.

Casey worked hard, through her tipsy mind, to avoid their inquisition and to keep her special relationship with Rob a secret. He would be furious if details of their arrangement slipped out. Her friends picked away at the slightest clue in her words, but she rigidly held firm. The frustrations were evident on their faces as they gave up. As they reverted to the usual topics of celebrity TV and clothes, Casey received a text.

A little after eleven o’clock, and it was the first text of the day from Rob. She eagerly swiped her phone and read it. His working day was finished and he had a breather before attending an evening function. They exchanged pleasantries, asking each other if they were well. Then it happened. He hinted at her sexual status, and she confessed to missing him in bed. Then he taunted her with innuendos, which Casey lapped up and responded in kind. One message asked if she had touched herself. Casey answered defiantly, declaring her innocence and chaste behaviour.

Casey had become disconnected from her friends’ increasingly buoyant conversation and found herself immersed in lewd text messages. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, and she smirked as she read the replies.

“Look at her—she’s flushed,” commented Sylvia.

“Eh?” said Casey half listening as she remembered her companions.

Sylvia’s warning words had come too late for Casey. Curiosity had overtaken good manners, and Vicky reaching over and snatched the phone from Casey’s hand.

“No!” screeched Casey as Vicky began to read the last message.

Sylvia was there at her shoulder, and her hand covered a gasp. “Why, you naughty girl,” she said.

“Please, give me it back!” exclaimed Casey, reaching out with her hand.

The other two shuffled away on their seats and began to scroll back through the smutty messages. They jointly gaped at the explicit content.

Tears pricked at Casey’s eyes. She felt humiliated. Melissa caught sight of Casey’s dismay and intervened.

“Stop that,” she said smartly. “It’s not your business. How would you feel if we read your private messages?”

The sharp tone halted the other two, and they saw the distress in Casey’s face. The phone was quickly handed back by Vicky, who sensed her vulnerability.

“Sorry,” said Vicky. “It’s the drink.”

Casey clutched the mobile in her hand and kept her lips tight together before giving a small nod of understanding.

The evening did not truly recover from the infraction. Attempts were made to return to the jovial tone of the earlier hours, but the moment had been lost and Casey was tired. Just before midnight, her friends left, and each offered one last apology as they stepped outside.

Sleep was a restless affair that night. Tossing under the sheets, Casey could not escape from the sense of guilt. She should have ended the distant conversation and informed Rob she was not alone. She should have focused on her guests and not on her slutty thoughts. Much as she missed Rob, she had allowed herself to be distracted. He would be angry at her and her lack of discretion.

The next day she carried out her allotted tasks and then moped about the house. It was no good. She needed to be occupied, because Rob was due back later in the day. She polished the silver cutlery in the dining room, and the vases were treated to fresh flowers from the garden. By the afternoon, even the kitchen cupboards were emptied and wiped down. Replacing the contents, Casey carefully aligned the labels to the front, just as Rob liked the cupboards to be arranged.

In the distance she heard the old oak door shut with a shudder. Casey raced to greet Rob.

* * *

The kiss was lingering, the embrace long and warm. He sniffed her hair and ran his hand up and down her back before releasing his grip on her body.

“I missed you, sweet Casey,” he murmured. “I’m also tired and hungry.”

Casey had put much effort into cooking a meal for Rob. She had set the dining room table with the silverware and poured a glass of wine for him in the crystal cut glass. The meal was conducted in silence, allowing Rob to savour and digest his food. It was as he brought his knife and fork together that he finally addressed Casey’s worrisome demeanour.

Casey could not help her emotions. They were untamed and displayed themselves on her features blatantly—the fretful mannerisms as she twirled her hair in a finger, tapped her toes on the wooden boards, and avoided Rob’s observant dark eyes. He smelt the fresh roses in the vases and saw the sheen on the cutlery, and he was sure there had been other unusual improvements in the removal of clutter about the house.

“Tell me,” he said simply.

Her approach to his request was to crash and burn before his eyes.

“Oh, punish me, Rob,” she wailed outlandishly. “I’ve been so indiscreet and indifferent to our privacy.”

“Indiscreet?” Rob sat back in his chair, concerned. “With your friends? Last night?”

“You will have to spank me severely,” rambled Casey. “That ghastly cane you dispense so viciously when I’ve been very bad…”

Rob interrupted, placing his hand on her jittery arm. “Casey, calm down. What are you trying to tell me?”

Casey recounted how their texts were seen by her friends after the phone was snatched from her hand. “They handed it back and apologised,” she said in conclusion.

Rob pursed his lips. “I should hope they did. Are they still your friends?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t kick them out.” Her voice lowered. “I suspect we were all a little drunk.”

“I see.” Rob cocked his head to one side and noted Casey’s trembling lips. “Now I know why there are flowers everywhere and the silverware looks immaculately polished. An attempt at winning me over? Or maybe you sought to keep yourself occupied.”

Casey said nothing. Her eyebrows knotted quizzically. Rob had to smirk at the unveiling of her distraction activities.

“My dear girl, did we mention spanking or kink?” he asked, causing her to recall their words of exchange, and she shook her head.

“I did imply I have to seek permission for touching,” she reminded him.

“Many girls would tease their boyfriends with such remarks. No, there was nothing in our dirty words to imply your devotion and obedience to me. What they read were the sexy thoughts of lovers.”

Casey visibly sighed with relief. “You’re not going to spank me?” she asked with trepidation.

“You say that as something you wish for,” he said.

Her eyes widened a fraction. “No, of course not. I mean I would never seek for you to punish me…”

Rob shook his head. “No. I will not cane you, not like that. But I think it is about time you learnt about the other ways I use my cane.”

Her eyes blinked. “Other ways?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” said Rob, leaning forward and running his fingers over her hand. “Indeed. The lick of the cane can be seductive.”

“It can?” she said almost inaudibly.

“A tapping on sensitive parts. I’m not talking of a swish and a whack. On no, my sweet Casey. I can see you bent over.”

“Bent over,” she repeated.

“Hands grasping your ankles.” His fingers moved across the table until they reached the edge, then he sent them underneath to where neither could see. Her thighs were clamped together. Casey squirmed as he explored her posture.

“Tightly,” she added. “I don’t want to fall over.”

“Little taps, flicks of my wrists, and a pattern will appear on your gorgeous behind.” Rob envisaged the activity in his head and immediately felt invigorated from his jet lag.

“No welts?” she queried.

“Most assuredly not.” His finger drifted up her legs, under the hem of her skirt, and onward.

At that precise moment, the numerous antiquated clocks in the house began to chime eight o’clock. Casey’s eyes locked onto Rob’s own.

“Part them,” he said with determination.

Her legs fell apart, and he was close to his goal. Her chest rose and fell as she waited for the tip of his finger to caress her.

“I thought you were tired,” she reminded him. “Sir.”

The addition of the deferential title stripped away any lasting fatigue. “I was, but not any longer. You will not be punished, Casey. You did nothing wrong other than to be careless with your grip on your phone. However, maybe a few taps of my cane will help wipe out those little worries you have harboured all day.”

“Yes, sir. They would.”

His fingers hit their target, and Casey tossed her head back with a groan.

“Upstairs, now!” hissed Rob in her ear.

Casey was bored. A bright girl, she was not keen on repetition. Spicing up her life was what made things exciting—especially sex. Now, she could not complain about Rob. He kept her satiated the moment they hit the sheets. He might appear staid and uninteresting as he sat in his study, but once they were in the bedroom, well… professor or not, he knew how to set her on fire. So she just could not understand why he made her do the most boring tasks.

Today was typical. His task appeared simple—set the dining room table with three places for a three course meal, red and white wine glasses, and a tumbler for water. Napkins placed neatly between cutlery. Off she had gone to the spartan dining room and done the deed. She fetched the cutlery canteen, which contained the silverware, the white linen napkins from the drawer in the sideboard, and the glasses from the cabinet. It only took minutes, and she went to tell Rob she was finished.

Naturally, he came to inspect, and he walked about the rectangular oak table and grimaced with dissatisfaction. Casey deflated like a balloon. She had done something wrong, and she hated the sensation of letting him down.

“What?” she asked nervously.

The list turned out to be long, and she gawped at him with disbelief. Cutlery not lined up with the table edge, the napkins folded incorrectly, glasses spread unevenly, and where were the condiments? Her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish, especially when he told her to bend over a dining room chair.

“Now please, Casey,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

Casey mentally stamped her feet in annoyance and then did as she was told. She had decided the best approach for keeping on top of the knickers situation—pulling them up and down like a flag on a pole—was simply not to wear them. She knew he loved the idea of her constant exposure to the air. He even occasionally ran his hand up her thigh to check her status. She blushed every time he did it.

Six hard swats of his hand landed on her raised bottom. A tiny ouch left her mouth on the last one, which she considered unusually hard. Standing up, she listened carefully to his advice. He showed her how she should lay the places and added she should find some placemats, as he did not want the table ruined with spillages. He then left her to retry.