He could smell the crisp linen of his chef’s whites that sat over the scent of the heat of his skin. He swallowed the moan that threatened to expose...the effect it had on his cock. “Get your own fucking eggs.” He growled and made to leave, stilled only by the iron on iron clatter of the skillet hitting the cooker, and the hand that grasped his shoulder and pushed him back down onto his seat. “Take your hands off me De-Roche, I’m not here to service you or to feed you.” Eli hissed out slowly as. The only sensible thing to do at this juncture was to curtsy as well as she could with her skirts held up and her knickers slipping down her legs, repeat her earlier apologies and meekly thank His Lordship for taking the trouble to punish her for her misdeeds. Finally, to underline the lesson, she would then be obliged to tuck her skirts up and take up a position to kneel on the chair with her hands behind her head. She could expect to spend up to an hour in this position in complete silence. More

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