Taught to Serve

GO CLEAN THE BATHROOM

Taking the advice, she went into the en suite. Nothing around the floor or sink, and thankfully not by the toilet either. Hanging down from the brass showerhead was another pair of knickers. Casey had to climb into the bath to reach, and again a tiny flutter of paper fell into her hands. The white hipster-shaped bikini slipped over the thong.

MAKE ME COFFEE

The kitchen was her next hunting ground. She took the time to make his coffee, grinding the fresh beans and percolating the grounds for the exact time he specified. As she waited, she sought out her underwear. Hanging from a wooden knob off the Welsh Dresser was a black lacy pair of her fancier knickers. It was getting harder to squeeze the elasticated waist over the previous two pairs to make the next pair fit comfortably. Bits of different coloured fabric stuck out, and the thong had well and truly been sucked up between her legs. She pulled the skirt down, almost ashamed to see what she was wearing.

The note this time read:

A COOKIE PLEASE

Sighing, Casey went to the biscuit barrel, which was an antique Fox’s tin with archaic decorations of a bygone era. Slipping her fingers inside, she found the next pair of knickers in amongst the cookies. Brushing the crumbs off, the grey pair reminded her of school knickers worn under skirts for sports lessons.

“Fuck!” she groaned. She hated them. Where he had found them was a mystery; she never bought them. At least they went over the two previous pairs relatively easily. The next note was buried amongst the cookies.

FETCH COALS

Now she knew the fire was not lit, and yet she had to fetch coal. Taking the coffee and cookie on a tray, she set off to deliver the beverage and retrieve the coal scuttle from the fireplace.

Rob did not look up when she entered the room but did express his gratitude as she lay the tray on the small table next to him. Casey desperately wanted him to notice her, to give her a small smile and to recognise the effort she was putting into his task. But he ignored her, and she despondently picked up the coal scuttle and left.

The coal shed was by the back door, and flicking on the light switch, she grimaced. Tiptoeing in her high heels, she found the shovel and began to shift a few loads of coals into the scuttle. Dust flew up, and she coughed. Where were her knickers? Turning to leave and feeling unsure what to do if she failed to find what she sought, she spied them. Hanging from the hook on the back of the door, a red over the top frilly pair, which she had worn once and regretted. Standing in the back of the house, she heaved the pair over the previous ones. They looked ridiculous puffed out by the others, and her bottom had grown in size. Now they were visible below the hem of the skirt.

She felt childish, like a baby with an enormous padded bottom, and she feared he would require her to stick a pacifier in her mouth. The brass coal scuttle was heavy, and she did not want him to see her. She hoped she co

uld sneak back in and return it without him noticing her.

Then she remembered the note. There was none, or perhaps she had missed it. Back in the coal shed, she looked on the floor, and it was there, trampled in the dust and fragments of coal.

Blowing on the paper, she could just make out his handwriting.

BUILD A FIRE

Damn! She had to go back in there and crawl all over the fireplace.

In a huff, she picked up the scuttle and returned to the drawing room. Almost slamming the scuttle down, she kept her eyes on the fireplace and away from Rob, who remarkably had not lifted his eyes from his entrancing newspaper.

There in the fireplace on the marble hearth was a large, ugly pair of white panties. Not one of hers, she was sure of that. She also realised they were not there earlier when she had collected the scuttle, which meant he had moved and put them there while she was in the coal shed.

She did not want to put them on. They were like her granny’s knickers. High at the waist and low around the leg. They would encase all the other five pairs, and she would look ludicrous.

“Casey?” his voice warned, cajoled, and bit into her mind.

As quickly as possible, so not to dwell on the hideous undergarment, she yanked them up and set to work building up the fire.

Kneeling, she was very conscious her bottom was fully exposed to him. Behind her back she heard the sound of the newspaper being folded, then put down to one side. Finally she had his full attention—on her panty-laden bum.

What the hell, thought Casey. He could admire it if he wanted to; she did not care. As she laid the coals in the fireplace using an ornate set of tongs, she wriggled her bottom at him. Have it, go on, she tempted. She even parted her legs, as if to lure him in, while she made a pattern of blackness with her hands.

Now the tongs trembled, and she dropped a few coals before they reached their final destination. He had moved, and she could hear him stand up and creep towards her. The thought of him getting close, even with her stupid underwear, made her nervous to the point that her heart was thumping louder than the solitary mantelpiece clock.

“You don’t have to light it,” he said softly.

“I don’t?” she repeated. “You’re not cold, sir?”

“I’m quite warm, and so are you, I think.”

Casey blushed and put the tongs down. She did not move from her knees, nor did she turn to see what he was doing. The floor made a soft creak as he crouched behind her.