begging for more. Blake happily obliged, and delivered a true stroke against her sweet spot. Dahlia cried out, lifting onto her toes, but kept her back fully arched. Blake flicked the cane repeatedly over the lengths of her legs, increasing the intensity as he crossed her buttocks and upper thighs. His rhythm was untiring and steady, and Dahlia began to sway weakly as her body released itself to his control.
She screamed out as she came violently, the orgasm rattling her senses as her body seized, drinking in the sensation. Blake lightened the tapping, alternating it with smooth strokes of the instrument until Dahlia finally slumped in her restraints.
He pulled a straight-backed chair in front of the stocks before unlatching the boards. Blake caught the young woman before she slid to the ground and carried her to the chair where he deposited her across his strong, muscular lap. His hand grazed over the hot, streaked flesh of her bottom, fingering the lovely welts left by the harder rattan strokes. Her steady breathing soon told him that she had fallen asleep.
“I ’ ll be damned…” he chuckled. “I think I found me a diamond in the rough…”
Chapter Two
The next morning, Dahlia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, her back aching from bending over the deep sink since 5:30 AM. Mrs. Alonso had entered her tiny room without so much as knocking, ordered her into the unsightly gray bag that she called a uniform, and set her to work washing pots. Pots, of all things! And the uniform! Could it be any uglier or more uncomfortable with its scratchy, starched linen collar and knee-length skirt? The only sense to it was the white sneakers and ankle socks.
Dahlia made her opinion well known regarding the wake-up call, the clothing, and the chore. She heard the older woman mumble something about her needing to learn about humility, but that lesson was the farthest from Dahlia ’ s mind. She wanted more of what Blake had tantalized her with and if scrubbing pots earned her another session with the master of the house, then that was what she would do.
The clock struck eight and, for once, Dahlia was grateful to get ready for school. She quickly changed into her jeans, grabbed her backpack, and ran outside to where Blake waited in his large, white F-250 pickup.
“You are on time! Good girl. How did your chores go this morning?”
“They are ridiculous and that Alonso woman is a bitch. Look at my hands!” Dahlia complained, displaying red hands that were raw from the hot water and soap.
“Hmmm,” Blake turned them over to study the irritated knuckles, “they look better than I thought they would since they had never seen a day ’ s work.”
“I can do better things than scrub your stupid pots. And if that woman continues to badger me, I might deck her. Just saying…”
“I am not worried about Giada taking care of herself. She is very capable. What I am concerned about is your attitude,” Blake remarked. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
“My attitude? That woman acts like she owns the place. I can ’ t believe that you allow a servant to have so much power.”
“It is my home, my business, and my decision. I believe in rewarding loyal employees with special privileges. She has earned the place in this house as my steward and acts in my stead when I am not available. She has been instructed about your, uh, preferences. So do not attempt to provoke her to strap you,” he warned.
“Strap me? I will not tolerate any woman laying a finger on me!” Dahlia snapped. “I forbid it!”
“Really? So your fantasies do not project toward women dominating you? Interesting.”
“I am not a lesbian, so…”
“So what? This has nothing to do with your sexual preference. I own male slaves and I am not gay. Several members of my staff engage in both homosexual and bisexual activities and know I fully support them. As long as they abide by the rules I set for their safety, they are permitted to
She screamed out as she came violently, the orgasm rattling her senses as her body seized, drinking in the sensation. Blake lightened the tapping, alternating it with smooth strokes of the instrument until Dahlia finally slumped in her restraints.
He pulled a straight-backed chair in front of the stocks before unlatching the boards. Blake caught the young woman before she slid to the ground and carried her to the chair where he deposited her across his strong, muscular lap. His hand grazed over the hot, streaked flesh of her bottom, fingering the lovely welts left by the harder rattan strokes. Her steady breathing soon told him that she had fallen asleep.
“I ’ ll be damned…” he chuckled. “I think I found me a diamond in the rough…”
Chapter Two
The next morning, Dahlia wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, her back aching from bending over the deep sink since 5:30 AM. Mrs. Alonso had entered her tiny room without so much as knocking, ordered her into the unsightly gray bag that she called a uniform, and set her to work washing pots. Pots, of all things! And the uniform! Could it be any uglier or more uncomfortable with its scratchy, starched linen collar and knee-length skirt? The only sense to it was the white sneakers and ankle socks.
Dahlia made her opinion well known regarding the wake-up call, the clothing, and the chore. She heard the older woman mumble something about her needing to learn about humility, but that lesson was the farthest from Dahlia ’ s mind. She wanted more of what Blake had tantalized her with and if scrubbing pots earned her another session with the master of the house, then that was what she would do.
The clock struck eight and, for once, Dahlia was grateful to get ready for school. She quickly changed into her jeans, grabbed her backpack, and ran outside to where Blake waited in his large, white F-250 pickup.
“You are on time! Good girl. How did your chores go this morning?”
“They are ridiculous and that Alonso woman is a bitch. Look at my hands!” Dahlia complained, displaying red hands that were raw from the hot water and soap.
“Hmmm,” Blake turned them over to study the irritated knuckles, “they look better than I thought they would since they had never seen a day ’ s work.”
“I can do better things than scrub your stupid pots. And if that woman continues to badger me, I might deck her. Just saying…”
“I am not worried about Giada taking care of herself. She is very capable. What I am concerned about is your attitude,” Blake remarked. “Buckle your seatbelt.”
“My attitude? That woman acts like she owns the place. I can ’ t believe that you allow a servant to have so much power.”
“It is my home, my business, and my decision. I believe in rewarding loyal employees with special privileges. She has earned the place in this house as my steward and acts in my stead when I am not available. She has been instructed about your, uh, preferences. So do not attempt to provoke her to strap you,” he warned.
“Strap me? I will not tolerate any woman laying a finger on me!” Dahlia snapped. “I forbid it!”
“Really? So your fantasies do not project toward women dominating you? Interesting.”
“I am not a lesbian, so…”
“So what? This has nothing to do with your sexual preference. I own male slaves and I am not gay. Several members of my staff engage in both homosexual and bisexual activities and know I fully support them. As long as they abide by the rules I set for their safety, they are permitted to
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