Following my recent blog style, today I suggest another story that we could develop into a scenario that we could play out together:
The Nosy Cleaner
I was thrilled to have secured a part time job, cleaning a prestigious apartment owned by a famous screen actor who, for the sake of probity, will remain anonymous in my tale. So how did I end up needing a job? Well, after my recent disagreements with my parents and trying to explain my absolute need to party as much as possible, the inevitable happened and my credit cards were taken from me, hence the need for me to earn some money.
So, on Monday afternoon, I turned up at the apartment building and pressed the appropriate number on the panel by the door. A disembodied voice answered and I was buzzed in. The owner met me at his door and after a quick discussion on what he wanted me to focus on, he left me to it and went into town for meetings.
Most of the apartment was finished and looking good, leaving only the main bedroom. I am not sure why I felt uncomfortable about cleaning his room, but there you are, perhaps it was something subconscious. So, taking a deep breath, I went in and started cleaning and tidying.
Whilst remaking the bed in the master bedroom, I accidently kicked something underneath and not wanting to be in trouble so soon after starting, I felt it best to check to see if I had damaged anything. A quick look and all I could see was a large box, matt black in colour, with a bright pink ‘bunny ears’ logo in the corner.
What I should have done is put the box back where I found it and carried on, but this is not me, so I placed the box on the bed and slowly opened it. Inside were black leather outfits, chains and whips, more than I thought existed outside of Ann Summers. Torn between wanting to try them all on and the risk of losing my new job, I finally managed to overcome my curiosity, put the items back, close the box and replace it carefully under the bed. A few minutes later, I had finished and was letting myself out of the apartment, actually feeling pretty good with myself as I felt that I had done well with the cleaning.
On Wednesday, I was once again pressing the button to be let into the apartment and the same disembodied voice answered. Did the voice have a different tone to it? Difficult to say and I put this down to nerves, or possibly the poor speaker combined with the street noise.
When I arrived at the apartment, instead of telling me to make a start, he asked me to follow him in to the kitchen where, sat on the counter, was his laptop showing a recorded image, taken from a camera in his room, clearly showing me looking at the items in the matt black box.
It was evident that he was really upset about this – had he mentioned something about being very private during our interview? So it came down to this. I could take a punishment for breaking his trust or I could leave immediately, with the threat of legal action should any of this come out into the public arena.
Being the adventurous sort that I am, I had already dabbled with a little bit of spanking with a couple of my boyfriends, so decided it would be way more fun to put up with a bit of punishment instead or trying to find another job.
With a stern look, he told me to lift up my dress and to lay down on my front across a nearby dining chair. So, with some trepidation, I waited for his next move and looked around for him, only then noticing that the matt black box was open on the dining room table.
“Ready?” A simple question from him that held so much import. “Yes” I stammered and without having the time to actually make myself ready, with a swish I felt the multiple stings of a flogger. Then another and, multiple strikes later, I had lost all connection with time and the discomfort of the chair I was laying on, as only the feeling from my behind was all encompassing.
Suddenly I realised that the sensations had stopped but, before I could look around, suddenly my bottom seared with a new pain, a single point of impact, a cane? As this new feeling set in, I started to make blubbery pleas for clemency, hoping, rather than believing, that he would stop before he was satisfied.
You can decide what happens next, or even live out your own spanking fantasy with an ending of your dreams.
Love Lilly x