‘She’s enjoying it,’ she remarked, bending forward to get a better view.
The caterers threw some bacon into a pan, oblivious. The sizzle coincided with the first careful stroke of Damian’s razor.
‘You know you have to keep very, very still,’ he murmured, holding a thigh steady with his unoccupied hand. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?’
‘No,’ I whispered.
‘No, sir,’ he reminded me gently. ‘Everybody here is Sir or Ma’am to you, whether guests or servants. Don’t forget, unless you want me to use my strop for something different.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
He scraped, slowly and diligently, the sides of my lips while I held my breath and tried to visualise perfect stillness.
He had moved up to the pubic triangle when Kat marched into the room, carrying a large glass of water containing the butt-plug.
‘Here’s your plug from last night,’ she said, banging it down on the side. ‘You’re to wash it when you’ve finished here, and then go and scrub the grates in the drawing room.’
She flounced out again, apparently annoyed about something, though who knew what.
‘Butt-plug, eh?’ Damian’s voice held a wealth of quiet amusement. ‘Are you new to backdoor fun then?’
‘Yes, sir.’ My face flared and my clit throbbed at the embarrassing subject matter.
‘Unusual – usually the girls who come here are pretty experienced on that score. His Lordship must be overjoyed – he gets to break you in. He loves that.’
Somebody behind me cracked a series of eggs into a bowl.
‘Must admit, I’m a bit jealous,’ Damian continued. ‘I wish I could claim that privilege.’
I kind of wish you could too. You’re about fifty times more attractive than His Lordship.
‘Maybe another time, sir,’ I said.
He chuckled.
‘His Lordship will want to keep that for himself, unless he gives permission. Shame.’
He removed the last of my pubes with a flourish and patted me dry with the towel.
‘There. You dare to bare. Nice job, if I do say so myself.’
He flashed me that filthy grin and winked.
‘I’d love to stay and, uh, chat, but you’ve got work to do, missy.’ He picked up the strop and flicked it lightly but stingingly between my thighs. ‘Get to it.’
Chapter Eleven
WASHING THE BUTT-PLUG at the Belfast sink alongside the caterers, who kept their eyes politely averted throughout, was one thing, but scrubbing a grate quite another.
Naked for all intents and purposes, bent double, scouring out the ash and soot, I felt like a slave. I’d expected to be put to work, but I hadn’t expected the work to be this dirty. This was not the kind of filth I was here for.
My blackened fingernails and knees dismayed me, especially when three men entered the room, speaking in loud and confident German and taking their seats in positions that afforded the best view of my wriggling bum. These must be the men who had kept Her Ladyship up all night. Perhaps they would be too exhausted for anything other than breakfast and chat.
I looked up to see Liv enter the room with coffee, which she poured for the men. They continued to talk in German, as if they hadn’t noticed her, but from the corner of my eye I saw one of them slide a hand inside the slit of her skirt and keep it there until she had put the cafetière down on the side table. He pulled her over his lap, lifted her petticoats and proceeded to spank her, almost listlessly, until she couldn’t stop herself from crying out. Then he pulled down her drawers, spanked her some more and fingered her until she came with a tiny sigh and a gasp.
‘What are you looking at?’ one of his companions asked me suddenly.
I spun back around, furious with myself at getting sucked into this moment of voyeurism.