‘I think we English, if I’m honest.’
‘Well, yeah, but this is England, so English people would be over-represented, wouldn’t they?’
He sighed and put down his glass.
‘I know I said you could say whatever you wanted in here, but I think I’m going to ask you, very nicely, to finish the meal in silence. And then I have a treat for you.’
‘Oh, sounds good.’
I was a bit annoyed at having to hold my peace – I wanted to ask how one becomes a dom of international repute, but it would have to wait. I didn’t want to mark myself down as a troublemaker on my first day.
So I downed the wine, scarfed a bit of cold Christmas pudding and tried to ignore the butt-plug, without success.
In lieu of an after-dinner mint, His Lordship’s treat for me was a massage, face-down on his four-poster bed, the oils sinking into my weary skin until, absolutely contrary to my plans, I fell fast asleep.
Before my eyes even opened, my first thought of the new day was what’s in my arse? I remembered as my eyelids unglued and put a hand to the taped-in flange, checking that it was secure.
Once I’d managed to get my head out of the covers, I saw His Lordship, fast asleep on the far side of the huge bed, and sighed contentedly, figuring that another hour or so of quality shut-eye was on the menu before I had to start bowing and scraping in unorthodox bodily contortions.
Maybe, I thought optimistically, burrowing back down, I would get to see Damian again today. Perhaps he would even take me for a drive that ended up on the back seat. I was contemplating this pleasant eventuality when my reverie was cut short by a wholly unexpected female voice.
‘Good morning, Bottom.’ The “Bottom” was spoken with such plosive derision that I sat bolt upright, regardless of the plug, and stared. It had come from the corner.
Sure enough, seated regally on a chintz armchair, was an Amazonian blonde of roughly my age, dressed only in a corset and those Victorian-style drawers. My eye was drawn to the luxuriant spillage of flesh over the top of her tightly-strung bodice, and the firm jaw. She was like a boudoir Boadicea. Or is it Boudicca? Never sure on that one.
‘Good morning, um …,’ I said.
‘Ma’am,’ she helpfully supplied. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, I did, thanks … ma’am.’
‘Well.’ She stood and clapped her hands. ‘Time to get cracking. You have so much ground to cover today.’
Her clapping awoke His Lordship, who sat up and rubbed his eyes.
‘Darling, what time is it? It’s still the middle of the night, surely?’
‘Six o’clock – time for staff to be hard at work.’
‘You want to handle this?’
‘Yes, you go back to sleep, love. I can see you’re shattered.’ His Lordship lay back down and the woman – whom I presumed to be his wife – clapped her hands at me again, visibly annoyed that I hadn’t leapt up and started scurrying about like one of the three blind mice.
I put a toe out of the toasty warmth and shivered. The heating had only just come on and Ma’am couldn’t be warm enough in just her underwear.
‘Come into the bathroom and I’ll shower with you,’ she said, yawning. ‘Then you can dress me.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I whispered, following her through a door.
‘Right, well, you’re the maid, so you’d better unlace me,’ she said.
She presented her back view to me and I got to work on the ribbons, wondering if she had been wearing this all night long.
‘I’ve been up all night,’ she answered my question. ‘Entertaining our German gentlemen. So I’ll set you off in service this morning, then I’m off to bed until at least noon.’
‘This is a beautiful corset, if I might be allowed to say so, ma’am.’
I laid it gently down on a footstool, then I pulled down the drawers and gasped.