Aprons For Gayle Ch. 03

"You did a crackin' job down by the lake."

"Well, that was out of anger, Sir, and I will watch my outbursts." She added the last bit to appease him

"That would be wise." Something was beginning to bother Hamish, though he couldn't put his finger on why. "Ms. Boyce, you no longer have to use Sir in every sentence, just when you address me."

She let out a sigh of relief because she felt the word never came out as naturally as she expected. "Thank you. Oh, may I get a clock for my bedroom, please?"

"Yes, of course, a battery-operated one. I'd offer you a radio, but I'm afraid reception is non-existent in your room."

"What was that room used for?"

"Your room was part of the original tower, and the only part of the ruins that remain usable, except for the dungeon and wine cellar. It was once the keep, or prison, I believe you Americans call it."

That would certainly explain the feeling she got earlier, but she wasn't about to press him further and tell him what had happened.

"If you have a date out or I'm not really sleepy and want to stay up and read, may I sit in the small drawing room?"

"Yes. I'll be sure to inform you ahead of time if I will be bringing any guests home."

By the word 'guest' she assumed he meant woman, which was fine with her. The more sex he got from his dates the less he'd want from her.

She looked out over the garden trying to think of what else she wanted to ask now that she had the chance. "At what types of events will you need me to accompany you?"

"A charity event here or there, maybe a rugby match if you'd like."

"I've never seen a rugby game so that might be fun. But why wouldn't you take a date to the charity event, if that's not too personal to ask."

"It is," he replied curtly though not harshly.

The truth was he was looking forward to showing her off around town. His thinking was that every man's ego inflates when there is a beautiful woman at his side and there was nothing wrong with him doing just that.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

They were silent for several minutes in the quietness of the countryside and the warmth of the sun. She ran her toes through the grass, loving how good it felt. "Oh, will I have to wear my heels while I clean?"

"Yes. It completes your outfit."

She turned to him sharply. "Seriously, Sir?"

"Quite serious."

"But I haven't been able to wear them for more than two hours at a time."

"You will get used to it." She could tell from his tone he was becoming annoyed with her.

Hamish, you try wearing heels for five hours and see how your feet hold up, she thought. "May I clean barefoot, then?"

"No, and I would stop arguing if I were you."

"I'm just clarifying the terms and conditions." She smiled innocently at him. "Okay, Sir."

"Much better. We will be going out Monday for some shopping ... and things."

"Really? I'd love a robe and slippers --"

"Don't get too excited. One simple outfit to wear around Mrs. Harrower, some socks --"

What she needed to ask was so personal she was embarrassed to even bring it up, yet it had to be done. "I will need underwear and ... um, some things for Eve's curse."

He frowned at her sharply, completely oblivious to who Eve was and what her curse entailed. "Speak plainly. What are you trying to say?"

She sighed heavily and loudly. "I'll need pads for when I get my period. There were none in the bathroom nor my bedroom."

"Blast it, girl! Was that so difficult to say?"

She chuckled. "Yes, it was."

Hamish hated the fact that he'd totally forgotten about the, as she put it, curse. A week of no play would be torture for him, but he would find a way around the predicament. "Duly noted.

"Thank you. What else would I need? I can't think of anything."

"You will be having a proper waxing."

"Wha'? Sir, I know I made a mistake at leaving stubble, but can't I just shave with a razor? I promise I won't lapse again."

"No," he replied resolutely.

"But, Sir --"

"Keep it up and I'll shave you myself with a straight razor," he warned.

"I heard a hot waxing hurts like hell, though!" She wasn't going to give up easily.

"Then you will remember to follow through on your instructions in the future, won't you?"

"Well, yes Sir, but please! Anything but -- I'm sorry. That is the worse pain I can ever imagine!"

Quite the opposite, lass, he thought. He then glared at her. "And yet you persist. Kneel before me, Ms. Boyce."

Oh, shit! Not again! she screamed to herself. That time she didn't hesitate at all. Getting on her knees slowly, she bowed her head and pulled her arms behind her, clasping her hands together.

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He'd never requested her to do that. While he was pleased and considered not punishing her, he wasn't about to waste such a prime opportunity to spank her.

Leaning forward slightly, he hooked his finger through the collar ring and pulled her to him more gently than he had earlier. "You are naturally submissive, I see."

She frowned and looked at him. "No Sir. I've seen others take this pose." Gayle hardly believed she had a submissive nature, regardless of what Mrs. Monroe told her.

"Very good. At least you are trying. Now, I believe you know better than to argue with me. Isn't that right?"

"Yes Sir."

Being so close to his face for the first time she noticed bits of gold flakes streaking out from the pupils. Her eyes were the same, though the flakes weren't as dark as his.

Breaking her out of her thoughts, he asked, "How many spankings do you think you deserve this time?"

What a question! she thought. Too many and she wouldn't be able to sit for a week. Too few and he might add twenty just to make a point.

Thinking a moment, she replied, "Eight, Sir."

"Only eight? Really? How did you come up with that figure?"

"You gave me five for not using your title several times, and I think arguing is much worse, to me, anyway."

"I would disagree with you on that." Locking his knees together, he ordered, "Over my thighs."

She stood and awkwardly bent over his thighs; her stomach rested on his right thigh. She had nothing to hold onto, and it was incredibly awkward. But then again she knew it wasn't meant to be comfortable. All she could do was dangle her arms.

Placing his right hand between her shoulder blades, he ran his left hand slowly over her full, soft ass cheeks. He loved feeling her muscles tighten from his touch. They felt very cool from sitting on the rock, but he had no doubt he could quickly warm them up.

"Count them off as you did before."

"Yes Sir."

Rubbing her flesh again for a moment, building up as much angst as he could, he brought his hand back, flattened it and slapped her cheek as if swatting a fly -- quick and deadly.

Her legs straightened, and she whined loudly. "One."

He smacked each cheek twice in quick succession, each one harder than the one before. She gasped, dug her toes into the grass and fisted her hands at the pain. Tears filled her eyes but none escaped.

"Twoooo. Three. Foooour. Five," she groaned through gritted teeth.

Two more solid slaps, one on each cheek finally made the tears begin to fall.

"Six. Sevvvven." Her body shook as the stinging began to burn hotter with each passing second, and she began to shake more violently as she cried, the tears pouring out.

Rubbing her cheeks again, he finished her punishment with the one remaining slap.

"Eight," she cried out, relieved it was over.

"Stand up."

Doing as she was told, she kept her head down and stood up, not bothering to wipe her tears but did wipe her nose. She handled the five spankings fairly well before. That time, however, it was worse. She hadn't realized how sensitive her ass still was until she'd had the eight on top of it. And that time she knew she was wrong in defying him. She was learning how to behave rather quickly.

He patted the space beside him for her to sit down. She looked at him incredulously, but by then she'd learned her lesson not to argue. Finally wiping her eyes and taking a breath, she sat down slowly and carefully, keeping her arms in front of her, staring at her toes.

Bessie stood and rested her chin on Gayle's knees; her eyes went back and forth as if waiting for some encouraging words. It made Gayle smile. "I'm okay, girl," she said as she scratched between the dog's ears. Her soothing the dog made her feel a little better.

"I don't like to punish you, Ms. Boyce," he lied. "But I will continue to do so if needed."

"Yes Sir. I ... understand."

"Good girl." Bessie wagged her tail and nestled her nose against Hamish's side. "Not you, Bessie." He patted her head then said, "She likes you. She's usually protective over me with other women."

Then I would really love to see what kind of skank you end up marrying, she thought. She was grateful he couldn't read her mind. Being so wrapped up with the conversation and the resulting punishment she hadn't noticed the sun was then hidden behind clouds.

"Sir? Can we go back inside, please? It's gotten a little chilly."

"I noticed." She wanted to die from embarrassment when she saw him staring at her hard, perky nipples. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Maybe just something to nibble on."

As they walked back inside she put on the dreaded heels and followed him. Again she looked over the portraits adorning the walls. Passing one that looked much, much older than the others, she stopped and read the words, 'King Robert I, 1306 - 1329.'

The king was in a sitting position, showing only the upper half of his body and wearing what appeared to be a one-piece iron suit with a cap on his head, holding a medieval ax. He had a long, pointy nose, small eyes and a long, bushy beard. The paints were cracking in some spots, but not enough to ruin the whole painting.

"Sir? Is this King Robert the same as Robert the Bruce?" she asked as she turned to look at him, but he was already waiting at the banquet hall door.

"I don't have all day to wait for you," he said impatiently.

"Sorry, sorry, Sir," she said as she hurried down the hall.

Her ass cheeks were screaming at her, and she found it easier to relax them than to keep them flexed. Walking so quickly in the heels, she found it difficult to keep her breasts from bouncing, even if they were supported underneath. But from the sadistic grin on Hamish's face she didn't think he minded.

When she caught up with him, he explained, "Yes, that's Robert the Bruce. He stayed here in the ruined part in 1316."

"Holy crap!" she exclaimed. "That is just so cool."

He mumbled something then opened the double doors of the banquet hall. Walking in, she was in such awe she was speechless. The length of the room was at least sixty feet long, thirty feet wide and three stories high.

The first thing she noticed was the ceiling. It was definitely the grandest in the whole castle. The oak wood timber began at the top of the straight wall but then curved twice before the beams met in the center. On both sides were two sections high with smaller arched beams, and vertical boards were set in the center of each. The floor was white tile with small blue squares, and there were two very long wooden tables, each with sixteen chairs. The size of the room could easily fit seven tables with plenty of room to spare. The side walls and farthest wall were painted cream.

As she walked further into the room, Hamish noticed she was looking at the wood paneling about ten feet in front of the foyer door; a crystal chandelier was just before the paneling. There were two more portraits on either side of the door.

He explained, "The farthest wall is the main entrance from the foyer. The musicians would play on the second tier. It's called the Minstrel's Gallery. A court jester died after falling from the Minstrels' gallery while performing in 1529."

"I guess no one was laughing then, huh?" Instantly she cringed inside. "Sorry. That was tasteless."

He looked down on her, and though he wasn't smiling, she could have sworn he was trying to hold back a laugh.

"If it's haunted then I'm not coming in here alone at night!"

Hamish shook his head and finally grinned.

When she turned around to look at him she noticed the other side of the room, close to the door they'd come through. It was less decorated but still beautiful. It was dome-shaped with four portraits -- two in the center and one on either side. Underneath the bottom center portrait was a small ivory fireplace. On either side of the fireplace, only slightly taller than the fireplace, were two huge tapestries that covered the entire bottom half of the wall. In the corner on the left was a grand piano.

Turning around like she was a little girl showing off her poofy dress, she noticed that both of the side walls had four sections of two-level stained glass windows. Below each section were three-foot high columns that could be used as seating areas.

Hamish narrated the history of the windows. "The window frames are marble from Italy. The pictures in the glass on the top level are the coat-of-arms of the Duncanstones, and the lower sections are the McDougals. They were added in 1322."

Walking towards him to leave the room, Gayle shook her head. "You have no idea how mind-blowing your castle is, Sir."

"I was born and raised here. I've never found it mind-blowing at all."

Again when he spoke she picked up on the sadness in his tone. He was becoming more mysterious to her, and since she liked to play detective, she wondered if she'd ever get the truth from him. Then again, maybe she should let it alone.

They stepped out into the gallery hallway, and he closed the door behind them. "Why don't we go to the drawing room and chat a bit."

"I would like that, Sir." As she followed him, she talked away. "America isn't as old as Europe, of course, but some damned companies want to destroy a Civil War battlefield just to put up a freakin' strip-mall. Granny and Grandad were stationed at a military base in Heidelberg, Germany in the late 50s. One thing I remember Grandad saying was that Americans take everything for granted. Forget our history if there's money to be made. The way the Germans lived was simple, but they appreciated everything they had. We want more of everything and yet it's never good enough."

"That's what I've heard." They'd reached the door and he opened it for her. "Have a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Would you like a glass of wine?" He asked as he went to the bar.

"Half a glass maybe. Thanks."

She stood at the couch but didn't want to sit down. When he went to her and saw her still standing he frowned. Holding his glass of whisky, he handed her the wine glass and asked, "Why aren't you sitting down? I thought your feet might be sore by now."

"Thank you," she said as she took the glass. "They are, but um, I don't think it'd be a good idea if I sit without having anything ..."

"And that's why I brought this." He pulled out a hand towel that he must have had at the bar.

She smiled, relieved. "Thanks." Taking the towel, she laid it over the cushion then sat down.

"It's time for tea. Stay put and I'll be right back with some nibbles."

After he and Bessie left the first thing she did was slip off her heels. Taking a quick sip she set the glass on the coaster and sat back. She imagined listening to a crackling fire that filled the room, and within minutes her eyelids drooped lower and lower. Fighting sleep, she lost the battle when her eyes closed tightly.

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Someone was talking about an accident on the A92 involving a lorry that had the motorway blocked. Still being half asleep, she wondered what Laurie was doing on the highway in the first place.

Feeling blessedly warm from the blanket that Hamish must have placed over her, she realized she was lying stretched out on her side. She didn't want to -- she wanted to keep sleeping -- but forced her eyes open. First she saw the flat-screen TV where the tapestry had been over the fireplace. The tapestry was then to the right of the mantel; it must be on a moveable panel.

Then she noticed movement on the leather recliner at the end of the couch. Hamish had set a book on the side table and grinned at her. "Hello, sleepy head. Grinning guiltily for falling asleep, she mumbled, "Hey. What time is it, Sir?"

"It's half past six. If I bring the food back in will you fall asleep again?"

Sitting up, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders then yawned. "No Sir. Promise."

"Alright," he said as he stood then turned off the TV. "Be back in a tick."

She hoped he wasn't angry with her for falling asleep, though he didn't seem to be. But she was very ready to crash for the night regardless of the early time.

A few minutes later he came in with a tray. He set the teapot, cup and sugar bowl, a plate of interesting looking crustless, quarter-cut sandwiches and scones, along with small dipping bowls and a saucer on the coffee table.

"Oh, my goodness! What is all of this?"

Sitting back in his recliner, he said, "You've got cucumber, cress, egg salad and ham sandwiches. The clotted cream and raspberry jam are for the scones."

"They look delicious. I'm hungrier than I thought now that I see all of this."

"Help yourself."

She poured some tea and sipped that before she put a few sandwiches on the saucer. Only after she wolfed down one of each sandwich and a scone did she sip some tea. "Hmm. This is sooo good, Sir," she exclaimed.

"I can tell," Hamish said, grinning. "So, looks like your Dad won the bet."

"Yep. He did when I took my first nap."

When she had her fill, she finished the tea then sat back. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome. Would you like to see the dungeon now?" he asked wearing an evil grin.

She almost lost what she'd just eaten. "Sir? If you don't mind, I'm afraid if you did I'd never get to sleep tonight."

"Good choice. So, are you done eating?"

"Yes Sir. I know it's early, but would you mind if I go on to bed? I'd like to write in my journal first, though."

"Yes. I think you've had enough for today. There is one room I would like to show you, first."

She groaned inwardly for her poor feet. "Yes Sir."

Following his and Bessie's lead, she slipped her heels back on with a moan, stood and put the plate on the tray and was about to pick it up when Hamish objected. "Let that be. I'll get it later." She looked at him confused. "Until you begin working you are my guest, of sorts."

"Oh. Okay. Sir, may I walk barefoot?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I say no?"

"Then I will keep them on."

"Will you argue?" he asked, testing her.

She shook her head adamantly. "Absolutely not."

She passed. "You may keep them off ... this time."

"Oh! Thank you, Sir!"

Gayle was so tired she could hardly see straight as she followed him up the stairs and to the first door on the left. "Remember what I said about you getting a bigger, nicer bedroom?" She nodded. "This could be your room soon, if you can behave yourself."

After he opened the door she walked in and smiled widely. The walls were wallpapered a jade green with light yellow flowers. Immediately to the left was an arched doorway with a six-foot long alcove; two sitting benches were on either side. At the end was a small table in front of a nice-sized window.

She looked out the window and gaped at the view. "I can see for miles up here, Sir! I'll have a beautiful view of the garden, too."

When she turned around he was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and smiling as broadly as she was.

"I bet you I'll be in here by the end of the month." She had no idea why she'd said that.

"Not bloody likely. End of September."

"Sir? Is that a bet?"