The Boss. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.

      What the Maid Saw

      Justine Elyot

      They looked like an interesting couple. I watched them sidelong while I dusted a bust of some ancient lord or other, as they checked in at reception.

      They had booked separate rooms, but were allotted the ones with the connecting door, whether by chance or prior arrangement I didn’t know. Their dress suggested a working partnership, with him in the superior role. She was perhaps a PA or less senior member of the organisation. She let him do all the talking at the desk and hung back, fidgeting with her phone.

      I admired her shapely bottom in its tight-fitting skirt and the curve of her calves, displayed to advantage by her strappy black heels. I imagined my hands on that arse, squeezing little dimples into the cheeks with my thumbs. I imagined those sky-high heels over my shoulders while I licked her sweet little pussy. Was he going to do all that? Or were they genuine colleagues? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

      I was still in the lobby with my polish and dusters when they came down from their rooms for tea on the terrace. I applied a final wipe to a vase and hotfooted upstairs, keen to indulge my favourite hobby.

      I am making a collection of photographs – call it an art project – of the guests’ belongings. I think it will make an intriguing exhibition when it is finished. All the detritus of life is in it: the pill bottles, the discarded novels, the ripped stockings, the binned pregnancy tests, the dying anniversary flowers. Once, a gun. Another time, a crack pipe and a wad of money. But most of what I photograph is sexual. Vibrators, used underwear, handcuffs. He looks like a handcuffs man.

      I opted for the room on the right, which appeared to be hers. It had all the typical feminine fixings. An evening dress hung on the outside of the wardrobe. Perfumes and lotions on the dresser. I opened the drawer, hoping for something shocking, but found only some electric chargers and a Gideon bible. Her underwear yielded no latex or leather, not even anything cheekily crotchless.

      Perhaps I was wrong and they were simply a boss and a secretary spending a post-conference night here.

      Footsteps on the landing threw me into panic. Had they changed their minds about the tea? I considered hiding in the wardrobe, but seconds later realised that they were both going into the room nextdoor.

      His was the voice I heard first. ‘I’ve told you about this before,’ he said. ‘You do not give orders. You leave the ordering to me.’

      ‘But you were in the lobby, seeing about your newspaper. And they came to take the order. And I knew what you wanted.’

      ‘None of that alters anything, Mara. You have broken a rule. And you know what happens when you break a rule, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said with a resigned sigh.

      Mara might have known what happened when she broke a rule, but I didn’t, and I very much wanted to. I tiptoed to the connecting door, knelt down and put my eye to the keyhole.

      He stood by the bed with his arms folded while she – Mara – was rummaging in a dresser drawer. She had her back to me and, as she bent to retrieve whatever it was, her bottom was thrust out, tautening her skirt to maximum stretch. He was looking at it too, the dirty bastard, getting a good long eyeful.

      She straightened up again, turned and handed him something. It was a leather strap, about half an inch thick, with a grip for the hand at one end.

      I took a deep breath. I was in for a treat.

      When he took the strap, he slapped it into his palm, as if testing its painfulness, then he nodded.

      ‘You know what comes next,’ he prompted, and the lovely Mara dropped on her knees in front of him, head bowed.

      ‘Please, Sir, I’m sorry I broke a rule and I beg to be punished for it.’

      ‘I’m considering it.’

      ‘Please, Sir. I really need it. Please punish me.’

      ‘How hard?’

      ‘As hard as you think I deserve.’

      ‘Good.’

      He was good. Very good. Making her beg for it – nice touch. I’d have to add it to my repertoire.

      She bent to kiss his shiny shoes, her silky hair falling over her cheek. I pictured her bending like that to lick my clit, all so sweetly submissive and obedient. I raised my skirt to my waist and put my fingers down my knickers. Damn this stupid country-house hotel and its inconvenient uniform.

      ‘We’ll start with my hand,’ he said, seating himself in the armless straight-backed chair by the bureau. ‘Remove your skirt and place yourself over my knee.’

      I watched her unzip, my mouth watering as I wondered which view of her I would have. Perhaps her face, suffering and contorting in pain. Or perhaps her bottom. I rather hoped for the latter.

      Her tight skirt had been tugged down over the swell of her hips before I glimpsed her milky thighs, with their suspender straps interrupting the smooth expanse of skin. She stepped out of it and laid herself gracefully over his lap. Joy of joys, I had the most perfect view of her upthrust bum, the flesh spilling from her silky shorts.

      Not that the silky shorts lasted long, for he peeled them down until her bottom was bare and they rested just above her lace stocking tops. Now her arse was cunningly framed by the suspender belt and straps, with the froth of silk and lace three-quarters of the way down her thighs.

      She was ready to begin. And so was I. My finger was on the button. Three, two, one …

      But he wanted to lecture her first, it seemed, while his hand moved idly round and round her vulnerable cheeks. He spoke about mindfulness of rules, respect, discipline and duty. She chimed in only to say ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ but he seemed satisfied with this.

      His palm flattened against her buttocks, which tensed immediately. I imagined her teeth and fists clenched in concert.

      ‘Now this is just to start us off,’ he warned her, starting in with quick, sharp smacks across the centre of her quivering bum. He did not seem to be putting a great deal of effort into it, lifting his arm only to chest height before swooping his hand down to meet her flesh, but