Antique Store Maid Ch. 02

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Faulty goods can't be returned.
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Faulty goods can't be returned

Bridget should have been angry with the young man, for dressing her in a sexy French maid outfit. Looking in the mirror, she couldn't help smiling, at the obvious choice of outfit. Swinging her hips swirled the white ruffled petticoats around, which stiffly held up the hem of the black dress. It didn't take much movement for a tantalising glimpse of the sensible white panties, or even to reveal them.

Her breasts were pushed into a deep cleavage, and she wondered how far she could bend without the nipples falling out. Of course her bottom would be revealed with the slightest bend, with the hem held up over the petticoats.

Despite this, she wasn't angry, instead she found it to be a compliment being dressed like a sexy model at her age. She was thirty-eight, not old by any standards, but the guy was only twenty-four, and he wanted her. That surely was a compliment, even though it was dangerous, more so, as she found herself becoming horny when near him.

Her husband and Sebastian said she looked to be in her twenties. Had they been lying, or was it her pale, unlined skin, that kept her looking young. Coming up to a critical age, she fished for all the compliments she could get. Being sold by her husband wasn't a compliment, and she was still angry with him. That the young man had paid so much for her, was a point in his favour.

Adjusting a nipple that was trying to escape the low cut top, she decided it was time to find out what was planned for her. It would take a little while getting down the stairs in the high heels. Higher than she was used to, she wondered who in their right minds would wear such crippling shoes.

'I am, I'm the fool,' she quietly murmured, and tottered out of the dressing room to the stairs.

Holding the banisters tight, she carefully placed each foot, so as not to fall or twist an ankle.

Bridget stopped for a moment, half way down the curving staircase, to look in a large full length mirror.

'What in hell am I doing here?' she asked herself. 'That man has me dressed like an extra in a porn movie. Oh! Hell! I can't go home dressed like this, and I don't know where my clothes are. They were in the damn house somewhere as he said something about the laundry, wherever that was. Dare I complain, while we owe him so much money?' she asked her image, while swishing the petticoats around. 'Do I want to complain?'

Talking to herself wasn't a good thing. She needed confidence and determination to tell him she was going home. It was getting late, but not too late to go home and apologise to her husband. It had been silly going off with the young guy in the first place, and she only did it to get back at Bob.

If only she hadn't slept with Sebastian, this whole silly thing could be laughed away as a joke, and she could go home with a clear conscience. Now she was trapped in guilt, and trapped by a young man who wanted more of her. Did she have any more to give? Hadn't she given him too much already?

He said she was his slave because he bought her. They both knew it was true, yet it was still a joke, until she became carried away in a fantasy, and let him have his way with her.

'Oh! God! Why did I do that, it was so stupid! Having sex with him has changed everything,' she muttered, then walked into the dining room.

'You look so beautiful, my slave girl, I'll have you for dinner,' he enthusiastically commented.

The intense sincere look got to her, like an arrow to the heart, and she forgot about home for a moment. As soon as the novelty wore off they could talk sensibly and she would go home, where she could sort out a loan, or instalments, to pay him back.

'How may I serve my master,' she said, demurely looking at the floor.

The feelings from when they made love were reignited in his presence, leaving her feeling weak and vulnerable, in need of someone to protect her. Bridget was looking to him for protection, but who was going to protect her from him.

He was so powerful and manly, a lot of strength would have to be found to defy him. After dinner it would have to be said, that she had to go home to her husband. Surely he could see that.

Sebastian heard her call him master again, and wondered what she was imagining, for she was certainly getting something from this game of hers. He watched her whole demeanour change from being a tall confident woman, striding in on high heels, to head bowed with subservience.

'The food is ready to be served, it's in the kitchen,' he dismissively said.

'Yes, master,' she responded, and hobbled away on the high heels.

Sebastian stroked his chin, with a wicked grin on his face. He'd seen her hazel eyes flashing with temper directed at her husband, yet since here in his house, she'd shown him deference, acting almost submissive. He thought a person was either a firebrand or passive, not either depending on the situation. He wondered what was going on in that intelligent mind of hers.

Fortunately Sebastian had ordered Chinese food, as she was a terrible cook. Bob said she could even burn water. Not thinking about her husband was necessary, or she would run home dressed like a sexy French maid. What happened to her forthright, determined manner, she had no idea. She was thinking and acting like a pathetic slave girl, and found it difficult to shake off when in his presence.

Back in the dining room, she served dinner on eighteenth century porcelain. She'd only seen the pattern in books, and knew it was rare, yet he had a near complete dinner service. There was certainly a need for coordination in decorating the house, to make it into a home. She was just the woman to add a feminine touch, and had the knowledge to bring it all together. The house wasn't quite a blank canvas, but near enough to make it a highly interesting project.

'Is everything to your liking, master?' she asked, and curtsied.

Bridget couldn't help playing up to him, and it wasn't because they owed him so much money. He'd never mentioned it, otherwise she would have something to hold against him. Instead, he was charming, handsome, and desired her. That was the trouble, he was showering her with attention, which she wasn't used to.

She was responding to his flirting, when she should be planning an escape from him, and it seemed so silly when all she had to do was walk away. So why was it so hard to break away from his presence?

'Yes, you are certainly to my liking, slave girl. I wouldn't change a thing about you. From your beautiful shining long hair, to your wonderful small feet. I want to kiss you all over, and make love to you,' he said.

'Master! I, I can't. It's wrong, how can I,' she sighed.

Sebastian pulled her onto his lap, and cuddled her, telling her how wonderful she was with lips close to an ear.

'Your hazel eyes flash angrily when you don't get what you want, and they glisten when you are with me. When you tease, your nose wrinkles ever so slightly, revealing you want me. The corners of your mouth point upwards with a smile ready to burst upon your luscious lips,' he whispered in an ear.

'Here let me feed you,' he said, and used chopsticks to pull some noodles from the plate.

The plates were hot and kept the food warm, as Chinese food went cold too easily, and that she knew from experience. It seemed neither of them could eat much, with thoughts and fantasies racing around in their heads. She wanted a strong man to master her, but she was a married woman, so she couldn't give in to silly ideas revolving around this handsome young man.

***

Dinner was eventually abandoned, and Bridget soon cleared up the kitchen to a sparkling finish, just as it had been this afternoon. Unable to cook, she could at least clear and clean.

She handed him a brandy, and waited beside him, not for orders, but for him to finish the drink so that he was mellow. She held out the tray for his empty glass, but didn't go to fetch another.

Sebastian wondered how he'd refrained from grabbing her and simply using her for sex. The short dress, starched petticoats, stockings and suspenders, all contributed to her being a sex goddess.

She stood close enough that he could feel the heat of her sex in waves, as she swung her hips, rustling the petticoats. They had risen up revealing the golden triangle which was the source of so much attraction, he wanted to grab her hips and lick her candy.

'Master, may this humble slave speak?' she asked him, breaking in upon his contemplation of her.

'Yes, of course, slave' he said, playing along with her fantasy.

'I need to go home, and make arrangements to pay you back,' she pointedly said.

'Maybe. I thought you might want to stay with me. Just tonight, and we could see how it goes. Tomorrow you can pick some furniture and paintings to decorate this place, and make it into a home. It needs your feminine touch, as well as your good taste,' he said, not sounding insistent or desperate.

She was thankful he wasn't making a fuss.

'I will need my clothes, master,' she said, feeling embarrassed over the request.

'Ah! A bit of a problem. The Chinese collected them when they delivered the food. I've an arrangement with the laundry next to the restaurant. They deliver food, and collect my things to wash and iron. I guess they will be confused this time. They will bring them back in a few days. Won't that do?' he asked.

'Well, I guess, I just can't stay, sorry,' she blurted out.

He nodded his head, and wordlessly they walked to the door. He kissed her and she began to respond within his tight embrace. He opened the door and found it heavily raining.

'It's not far to walk on a fine evening, but not in this rain. I'll add to your debt by calling a taxi,' he said, with a look of amusement around his eyes. 'Unless you want to stay?'

She shook her head, not daring to speak. This was the right thing to do, despite how she was dressed. She had a husband and a business to look after, with neither of them able to cope without her. Leaving Sebastian was a wrench, though it shouldn't have been, but it was.

He picked up the phone, a cumbersome old fashioned dial up gadget, then yelled, 'The top floor! Get buckets, saucepans, anything! For the rain!' he shouted, and ran up the stairs.

Drips had started, and were becoming torrents, or at least continuous drips. He grabbed a small bucket and distributed smaller ones from inside it, placing them under drips and dribbles.

'The roof needs fixing. It's summer so I thought I'd get away with it, and this rain wasn't due this week at all. The roofer will be here Monday,' he explained, while they ran from room to room.

A larger bucket was available for a particularly troublesome flow, then they started emptying the first of the buckets and saucepans put down. It was a continuous battle to keep ahead of the flow. A small Tupperware container was full, and Bridget tipped it into the bucket she used, then quickly went to the bathroom to empty it.

Bridget abandoned her heels, to run around in bare feet, watching out for nails in the floorboards. She found one, and Sebastian took hold of her after following a trail of blood.

In the bathroom he sat her on a trendy travel trunk, covered with labels from the past, for exotic overseas countries and cities, though now it held the mundane, spare towels.

'I should of put something down over the floorboards, at least newspapers. There aren't any sensible shoes for you to wear on small feet. Let me have a look. Don't squirm, girl,' he told her.

She was trying to keep her legs together, as he pulled her feet up, to look at her soles. He may have mastered her, but old habits die hard. If anyone else called her girl it would have riled, but she calmly accepted it. After calling him master what did she expect? Fortunately the fantasy had subsided, as the rain seemed to be doing.

'I'll have to bathe your dirty feet, to prevent infection,' he told her.

'Damn! The lights! Sit there, don't move,' he ordered.

Sounds in the dark were amplified, becoming clearer, seemingly moving in on her as she adjusted to the inky blackness. An insistent drip seemed to be moving closer and closer, sounding like footsteps. Letting out a deep sigh, she realised she'd been holding her breath. At last she could breath normally, on seeing a flickering candle, and hearing him walking along the corridor.

Back with candles and a bowl of hot water, he cleaned her feet, then applied some antiseptic ointment to the cut. A dressing went on, then a bandage to make sure she didn't walk it off.

'Best not walk in heels, and my slippers are far too big for you,' he said, and picked her up.

'Where did you want to go?' he asked, while carrying her along the corridor.

'Barbados is nice this time of year,' she said, sounding serious.

'Tomorrow, after a good night of sleep,' he admonished her.

'Oh! The spare bed is soaked,' he announced, and they saw that a bucket had tipped over.

Had he done that on purpose? She really hoped this wasn't a ploy, but of course it wasn't his style, as he was used to taking what he wanted. Just as he had done to her, a simple slave girl. He walked back along the corridor into the master bedroom, and gently laid her on his bed.

'This will have to do, I can't send you back to the store damaged, I won't get a full refund,' he said.

Not knowing what to say, she did the sensible thing for a change and kept quiet. Her heart was racing, wondering what he was going to do with her, now he had her on his bed. She looked at him with big round eyes, not scared, it was from the mystery and wonder, over how this had happened.

It was a joke that everything in the antique store was for sale, yet somehow he ended up paying an enormous amount for her on his credit card. They couldn't pay it back, so he took her home, with her bought and paid for. He hadn't treated her like a whore, yet a slave fantasy she enjoyed was triggered, and that's when the trouble began.

He'd bought her, making her a slave, with him being the master. He mastered her by taking her, confirming her position as his slave. It wasn't as simple as that, or at least it felt far more complex and difficult to get out of. How she was going to get away from him, she had no idea, as he had a knack for getting what he wanted. At the moment it was her.

'How's the foot?' he asked.

Bridget cleared her throat, and murmured, 'Okay, thank you, master.'

The words slipped from her throat uncensored. Calling him master must be stopped, as it was pushing her deeper into a favourite fantasy, where it was too easy thinking of herself as his slave girl. Who was going to save her from this nice young man? Who was going to save her from herself?

He leaned over and kissed her lips. A gentle polite kiss, that lingered a little too long for an aunt, but not long enough for her, so she was left wanting more. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, engulfing her in manly smells and aftershave.

He deeply kissed her, and carried on until she was breathing heavily and heavenly. His hand went to her thigh, and his lips went to her breasts. She was right, her nipples would easily pop out, and they had for him. He kissed her nipples, and stroked her thighs. She should stop him, it was important to, but it seemed it was too late, for her legs parted letting him stroke her down there.

He was so good at everything, he overcame her resistance. Not that there was much to draw upon, not against him anyway. He was kissing her neck, while her head was back, mouth open, softly moaning. He unzipped the dress, undid the apron, pulled off the cap, and had her undressed before she was aware of it. She didn't want to be aware of anything, except the wonderful sensations coursing through her body.

Somehow he was undressed too, as he pulled the sheet over them, cocooning them in their own world of sensuousness. Did she pull him on top of her, or did he make the move? It mattered little, as she manoeuvred under him, getting what she wanted in place, and hefted up her hips in a strong thrust.

The head of his cock was inside her, yet she wanted more, she wanted it all. He thrust in, deep, and hard. He'd listened to her last time, and knew what she needed. The young man was strong and fit, ready to ride her hard for as long as she needed.

'Oh! God! Yes!' she yelled, becoming close to an orgasm.

The feeling was good, so vey fucking good! On the edge of a mighty orgasm, and he stopped.

'Wait!' he ordered.

How dare he! Not now! All she needed was a few more powerful strokes and she would be there!

'Wait!' he said.

She felt his penis large and a powerful slide inside her, all the way and more. Every inch of it could be felt while she was on a high, super sensitive, waiting for an orgasm, needing it, intensely concentrating on her sex from needing it so much. The feelings, the emotions, the electricity suddenly became so much more intense. A wave of sensations hit her hard, and bounced around in her mind.

He held still, and she felt his cock trembling, knowing he was spurting strings of hot cum into her vagina. The orgasm folded in on itself, doubling back upon her to catch her unawares, heavily landing on her, squashing her into the bed. Emotionally and physically it drained her, wiped her out.

She lay with limbs akimbo, unable to move. He began to kiss her body, and reminded her of his promise. He was kissing her all over, and all she could do was moan and tremble. Her body and mind was his. There was no questioning it, she was his slave girl, ready to serve her master. At least, once she had recovered and after he'd finished with her body.

***

They slept well, unaware of a wind blowing away the bad weather. The old curtains, left over from another generation where intricate patterns and fluffy pillows ruled, they instead were thick and plain. Thick with dust, it gave the velvet more substance, yet a man didn't consider curtains could be worn, or out of fashion, as long as they did the job.

It was dark in the room, though slivers of a bright morning slipped in through the cracks. In another crack a finger played. Another finger and a thumb had found a nipple to play with, then he gently stroked her thighs, sensitizing them. Sebastian watched expressions of disturbance on her face become passion, as she became almost conscious, half awake.

'You are beautiful, a lovely vision of elegance. I'm enthralled with you, falling in love with my slave girl. You are my slave girl, and I am your master,' he whispered into her semiconscious, sleepy mind.

Bridget didn't stand a chance against him. He meant every whispered word, and every touch was thrilling. The anticipation of what was to come kept her spellbound, unable to move, not wanting to, with her only response a contented sigh. She knew his touch would become exciting, and intense, so she hung on, waiting, shivering with nervous sexual tension.

His fingers stroked her slit, finding it wet, and opening up to him. He didn't need to find a way into her panties, as they had been lost last night. She quivered with lively excitement. A little gasp between her red lips escaped as he ran a finger over the most sensitive of places.

He'd dictated what makeup to use, as well as the clothes she must wear, taking her over completely as a true master should, making her into his obedient slave girl.

'It's not fair, you're seducing me, I can't resist you, master,' she whispered.

Last night she had tried to free herself and nearly succeeded, yet she ended up in his bed! She tried to stop him, and to resist him, or had she revealed she was ready to be taken by her master. Right then her body was revealing its true intentions by opening up to him, and he was helping himself to her private place to discover the truth.

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