“Read on,” Harry growls. He then crosses his arms, watching me.
“And as per the tradition, I, Sir, have the day off. As does Miss Samantha.”
I look over, and Harry rubs the back of his neck. He mumbles “fuck,” and I read on, intrigued.
“For the next twenty-four hours, and bound by tradition, you must attend to us both.”
I look over at Harry, and he does not look happy.
“Please remember to attend to us both. And on hand and foot. Enjoy your day, Sir, and please note I would like my three mealsat eight, one, and seven this evening. Thank you for understanding.”
We share a look, and I get up and pace. “So, lemme get this right. Today, as per some old-fashioned tradition, you need to be my servant? And do what I command?”
Harry looks nervous. “Answer me!” I demand, lifting my chin.
“Look, it’s a very old and silly tradition.”
“A short answer, if you will, Sir.”
Harry sighs, and he seems to give in. “Okay, just for the day. I will be your?—”
“Have to be my…”
“Chef and whatever, and I shall also serve William, hand and foot.”
“Oh, this is good.” I beam, excited. “No! This is great!”
Looking even more nervous, Harry lifts his hands in protest. He is still naked, and he looks hot in the sun. “Now, now,” Harry says as the small Italian coffee machine whirs and works away. I can now smell the coffee brewing.
“You, Sir, are at my beck and call, correct?”
Harry puts his hands on his hips. He looks spectacular naked, and his eight-pack and thick cock are glorious. “Within reason.”
I toss the wonderful note high and theatrically, and itsailsin the air. I walk away, feeling hot, feeling powerful, and feeling completely unstoppable. I know it is time.
Time to mess with Harry as would any crazy woman.
I walk far away in the huge penthouse with rugs, paintings, antiques, and old books, and I think as I tap my chin.
Harry shakes his head in the distance, muttering away in terror. He then looks at his coffee project and crouches down at it.
I pause near a tall arched window, and I call back, loudly, “Here, boy, fetch my coffee.”
After hearing him grumble, I hear the clink of fine china. Inext hear footsteps. As Harry walks my way, I hear him mutter to himself, and I care for it not.
“Here we fucking go.”
I decide to spread my forming ludicrous demands out over the next twenty-four hours. I then realize there is no way I can control myself.
“There,” I say, “just there, man-servant.”
Harry sighs and places the coffee on an old antique rosewood side table. I next look around. Lifting a naked and shaven leg, I place my foot on the windowsill. I then look across the fine gardens and lake.
My foot is high, about thigh-height. My body is now exposed, completely visible.
In saying that, all I can see is the lake, trees, and fine gardens. No one can see me naked. Only him. “Now, boy, on your knees.”
“What?”
