by Addicted2Writing 02/20/14
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Gayle is the young American woman who has taken on a six month contract to be a submissive maid to Hamish while living in a Scottish castle. This is in order to pay her mother's medical bills.
We left our heroine on Wednesday night after recouping from stinging nettles and a disheartening call home for the first time.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 8TH, 2013
Thursday started off great. It was how it ended that made Gayle fight the urgent need to jump Hamish and ride the hell out of him.
She finished the large drawing room, straightened the small drawing and morning rooms, swept the floors and hovered the carpets. By the time she was done it was only quarter 'til three. There was nothing left to do because the floors needed time to dry if she mopped them, so she decided to do all three rooms first thing in the morning.
So she put the cleaning supplies away, let Bessie out and played with her for almost fifteen minutes. Then she put some toilet paper and tissues in the bathrooms that needed them, emptied the trash cans and dressed her hand, which was looking better already, though it was still quite red. The chastity belt wasn't bothering her as it was before because she kept putting powder on it, which helped a great deal with the chaffing.
Grabbing his dirty laundry from his bedroom and making a quick visual sweep to make sure everything was in order, she suddenly noticed a photo on the fireplace mantel. Getting closer, it was a family portrait of three people.
The man was incredibly handsome but had a stiffness in the way he held himself, very stern facial expression and a brooding presence. His face was etched so tightly she wondered if he had ever smiled in his life. The woman was a total knockout: tall, thin, dark, sun-tanned skin with a beautiful soft, warm, genteel smile.
There was a little boy in her arms, about a year old. His light, ginger hair did nothing to hide the devilish yet angelic mischievous cuteness in his big, blue eyes. But didn't he say he had a brother? Where was he? She set her mind to look for more photos of him, not wanting to brooch a touchy subject.
She put the clothes by the machines, got his mail and newspaper and set them on the coffee table. Downing a small glass of orange juice, she set her phone alarm for four and looked down at the
dog. "Well, Bessie, girl! Let's get this party started!"
She grabbed some CDs from the large drawing room that had caught her attention and went to the small drawing room. Putting in The Bay City Rollers, she turned to Bessie and started to dance ...
CUPAR TOWN CENTRE, Hamish's Office
Hamish had just gotten out of a very long, boring and non-productive meeting when he sat behind his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. The highlight of his day was when he turned on the camera to his home and searched which room Gayle was in.
The headache that he'd been fighting off instantly evaporated when he saw her by the couch dancing around like she was a hippie child -- her hands were way over her head, making her breasts appear firm and so damned squeezable, and they, too, danced lusciously. She swayed her hips to the beat, back and forth, back and forth, so enticingly sexy as hell. He could see she was singing along with the song, so she was familiar with the lyrics, and the title was easy to catch.
"'Shang-a-Lang?!' Bloody hell!"
"Mr. McD? Did you want me to call Buddy Bell?" Neill asked from just outside his office.
Gayle then got down on her knees and took Bessie's paws carefully then started to knee-dance while singing. He turned on the audio so he could hear her sing along, and he started to sing it softly right along with her.
"WE SANG SHANG A LANG AS WE RAN WITH THE GANG!
DOIN' DOO WOP BE DOOBY DO AY ..."
Hamish was sure he'd blow a load straight through his pants if she continued to shake her shoulders, making her breasts shake so fast he could barely keep his bulging eyes focused.
"WE WERE GROOVIN' IT.
WE WERE MOVIN' IT.
PUSSY FOOTIN' AND BOOTING IT 'ROUND."
"Oh fuck," growled Hamish while frantically massaging his cock over his trousers.
"BOSS?! You need me to ring Buddy Bell?" his assistant hollered again.
"What?" He never took his eyes off of the monitor. "Oh, no, no, Neill!"
She stood back up and twirled and flailed her arms theatrically throughout the room, her ponytail whirling around her face; a few strands loosened and framed her face magnificently.
She belted out at the top of her voice having skipped around the room and grabbed a candlestick as a microphone as she sang.
"Oh, fuuuck meee!" he growled, readjusting his hard, aching cock to prevent it from bending in half from the exertion.
Apparently the music stopped because she started moving slower, gracefully, like a ballerina. Her face had softened and exuded emotion, as if the words had a personal meaning to her. Suddenly she stopped, wiped her eyes and turned off the CD.
She was crying. His stunning, prancing fairy was crying! He picked up his phone about to call her when she sat down, took a long, deep breath and started to press the phone's keyboard. A second later he got a message.
'Done working Sir. Will do floors & start laundry 2morrow'
Hamish shook his head and grinned. "Good girl."
He texted back, 'Fine. Meet me at Tithe barn 6 nekkid. leave bessie in house. forego whisky'
She patted the canine on the top of her head when she got his message back. She replied, '10.4 over and out.'
Frowning at her text, his balls screamed at him for some relief, so he headed to his private bathroom, closed the door and took care of business, his penis detonating with the force of ten Hiroshima explosions.
Before she headed upstairs to clean up, she grabbed a banana and spent the extra time to put on make-up, though nothing heavy. As she finished putting on the eye shadow and eyeliner, she stood in front of the mirror and stared incredulously at the woman staring back at her.
"Why the hell are you doing this? You're here for six months, that's it. Enjoy it while it lasts, kiddo. You are nothing but his employee, his maid, his sex toy. You signed up for it. Live with it."
He wasn't all that bad, not really. He did take care of her, feed her, was being thoughtful and considerate in that he allowed the music to be on as she cleaned and wearing the sneakers. While he was very hard and crass the first few days, she'd come to realize that he was just teasing her or being playful, but he also made it known that he wouldn't put up with her smart-assed, disrespectful mouth. He never hurt her, not really. Not yet.
But she was scared, not so much about having sex with him but about being bound and flogged or whipped or both at the same time. That alone was enough to give her nightmares for the next fifty years. I have to talk to Hamish about it. He wanted me to, right? she thought.
By 6:20, Gayle could no longer sit still and had been pacing back and forth for the past ten minutes at the barn, making another path that would surely last for the next couple of centuries. She burst out laughing.
"And this path, folks," she said in a British accent and waving her arm out at the flattened grass, "was made by a forlorn girl waiting for her long-lost love after he'd been away almost a year fighting off the Roman vagabonds attempting to --"
"Did he ever come home to her?" came an unexpected voice from behind her.
She twirled around so fast her bare feet got twisted again, sending her backward. "Ow!!" she cried out then flipped over on her hip. "Fucking plug! I seriously need to stop falling on my ass like this!" She laughed.
Hamish laughed back and put out his hand. "Let me help you up, Grace."
"Haha," she grumbled as she stood, wiping the grass off her butt.
"Damn. I wanted to do that," he chortled.
"And you would have spanked me just because you could."
"Yep, that sums it up nicely. How was your day?"
"It was fun. Bessie and I won the Dancing With the Stars Trophy." She suddenly grew tense and her eyes grew solemn. "I think I chose the wrong song, though. Mom and I used to dance to that when I was a kid. Just made me sad."
Well, that answered my question why she was crying, he thought.
Suddenly he noticed there was something different about her. She looked absolutely ravishing with her make-up, not to mention how the breeze blew her hair about, softening her face. He couldn't think of a damned thing to say, so he sipped the whisky he'd brought with him and stared.
Glaring back at him, she wondered what the hell was wrong. She was on time. She was naked. His mail and newspaper were on the coffee table. "What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscience.
"Nngth." He cleared his throat. "Nothing. It's just ... nothing." He had to stop himself because she'd caught him stuttering like an idiot.
I look like a tramp! I knew I shouldn't have done the make-up, she thought. Her shoulders deflated as they had when he criticized her at breakfast. She turned and walked away, but he caught up with her quickly.
"Hey, hey. What is it? Come sit."
She followed him to the ruined brick wall and just before he sat down put his hands on her hips, and she took a deep breath to think before she went off on him like she had before. "I didn't mean to overdo the make-up. I had some extra time and just wanted—"
Looking into her face tenderly, he told her, "You didn't. You are lovely." She blushed wildly. "How's your hand?"
Showing it to him, she replied, "It's still a little itchy, but the antihistamine has worked."
"Looks better. And your blood pressure?"
"That's normal too. I guess I shouldn't take it before you threaten me or after you, um ..."
He laughed. "That might be wise. Let me take the belt off. It must be uncomfortable to sit on this."
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