On the Bare (21 page)

She wrapped the rest of the crystallised ginger in cling film. Then she stuffed it into the side pocket of her rucksack, along with another bottle of wine for good measure. Now that the hard part was over, it was time to clean up.

There was one open bottle of wine with about a glass left in it. She sniffed it. The wine smelled sweet and flowery. She was no connoisseur, but she could tell it was good stuff. Unable to resist, she held the bottle to her lips and treated herself to a taste. It was heavenly. She let the flavour dance on her tongue for nearly a minute before having another gulp.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?’

Jolted, Haley whirled to face her accuser, spilling wine all down her front. ‘Mr Bathurst!’ she gasped, wiping pathetically at her apron. ‘I … didn’t realise you were still here.’

‘Obviously.’ His sharp eyes swept the kitchen, taking in the empty ginger dish, the cling film and the bottle she’d been swigging from. His gaze came to rest on the bulging rucksack on the floor. The neck of a wine bottle jutted from it obscenely.

Haley began to tremble.

‘A connoisseur of good wine, I see.’ His tone made it clear he recognised the bottle.

She was busted; there was no point in lying. ‘It’s the first – the
only
time, Mr Bathurst, honest. I just thought no one would miss a couple of bottles.’

‘A couple of bottles? Young lady, do you have any idea how much “a couple of bottles” of Château Ducru-Beaucaillou costs?’

Haley lowered her head. ‘No.’

‘About £70 a bottle.’

Her mouth fell open.

‘So how many bottles have we got here?’

With a shudder, she sank to her knees and reached inside the rucksack as though she expected the contents to bite her. One by one she took the bottles out, setting them carefully on the stone flags. One. Two. Three. Four.

Mr Bathurst watched her, his arms crossed imperiously across his chest. ‘I trust you were planning to reimburse Lord Asquith?’

She opened her mouth and closed it again. What was she supposed to say?

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Mr Bathurst said. ‘But you’re going to pay for it one way or the other. Do you have that much money?’

Haley felt ill. ‘No,’ she whispered. She was really for it this time.

He walked the length of the kitchen, deep in thought.

‘I’ll work it off, Mr Bathurst,’ Haley said in desperation.

‘I don’t think that quite meets the bill, young lady. Not for theft.’

She lowered her head. Theft. It was such an unfriendly word.

‘You will stay here while I fetch Lord Asquith. We’ll see how he wants to settle the matter.’

Horrified, Haley couldn’t get up from the floor. She stared at the wine, marvelling that it could be so expensive. Bloody Matt. It was all his fault.

When she heard the second set of footsteps she felt as though the warders had come to escort her to the gallows. She remained where she was, kneeling like a penitent. Perhaps Lord Asquith would take pity on her in her wretched state.

A pair of knife-pleated black trousers stopped directly in front of her.

From behind, she heard Mr Bathurst’s voice. ‘Come on, girl. On your feet.’

Haley stumbled to her feet, unable to look up. She stared disconsolately at the floor.

‘And so we meet again,’ came the baritone voice of Lord Asquith.

‘You know this girl, your Lordship?’ Mr Bathurst asked, surprised.

Asquith chuckled. ‘Our paths have crossed before.’

Haley cringed. She prayed he wouldn’t tell Mr Bathurst the circumstances.

‘How poetic,’ he said in a sporting tone. ‘This time you’re the one covered in wine.’

She glanced down. The bright red stain on her apron might as well have been blood.

Asquith contemplated the row of bottles on the floor. Then he nudged the rucksack with his polished shoe. ‘What else have you got in there, my girl?’

Again she couldn’t read him. It was unnerving. His cut-glass accent made her squirm as authority always did. But no schoolteacher had ever stolen her knickers.

‘Um, just some ginger, sir,’ she mumbled, still too afraid to meet his eyes.

‘Just?’

She felt tears prick her eyes. Why were they torturing her?

‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, please.’ His gentlemanly phrasing only enhanced his authority.

Haley obeyed, fingering the edges of her wine-drenched apron.

‘What is your name?’

Swallowing audibly, she raised her head. He was dressed less formally than last time, but he was just as striking. His black eyes seemed to look right through her. ‘Haley Devlin, sir.’

‘Haley,’ he repeated. ‘Tell me something, Haley. Are you wearing knickers this time?’

She blushed furiously and darted a glance at Mr Bathurst, but he merely raised his eyebrows.

‘Well?’

‘Of course, sir,’ she said, realising the ridiculousness of her statement as she said it.

He chuckled at that. ‘Of course.’

She burned with shame, but it was a delicious sort of shame. He was toying with her.

‘Show me.’

Here it was. The gauntlet. There was only one way to reclaim some of her dignity. With a coquettish smile she raised her skirt to display the black French knickers she was wearing. Just like the ones he had confiscated at the party.

Lord Asquith nodded his appreciation. ‘Do they meet with your approval, Mr Bathurst?’

He inspected them with the same cold appraising eye that scrutinised her cap and apron and always found fault.

‘Acceptable,’ he said. ‘Just.’

His indifference astonished her. Then again, she
had
been shamelessly flirtatious with him when he’d first hired her. He knew she was a promiscuous little tart. He probably even knew the sort of games she and Matt got up to.

‘So we come to the issue of atonement,’ said Asquith calmly.

Haley gulped.

‘Oh, you expected to walk away scot-free, did you, my girl?’

She shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.’

Her cheeks burned. ‘No, sir.’ She glanced at the open door and then back at Lord Asquith. ‘What – what are you going to do?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Asquith said. ‘What do you think, Mr Bathurst?’

‘Personally, I think she needs a damned good thrashing.’

Haley thought she would faint. She squeezed her legs together in a vain attempt to still the throbbing between them.

Lord Asquith was nodding. ‘Yes, that might do her
good
, mightn’t it? Right, my girl. Remove your uniform, please.’

She blinked. ‘S-Sir?’

He smiled pleasantly and looked at Mr Bathurst. ‘I’m certain she heard me.’

‘Yes, she must have done,’ Mr Bathurst responded, mirroring his smile.

Asquith raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Haley? Are you going to remove your uniform or must I do it?’

Baffled, Haley glanced from one to the other. Both men were watching her expectantly. Sternly. She had no choice but to submit.

Her hands shook with uncertainty and anticipation as she untied her apron and slipped it off. Mr Bathurst held out his hand and she surrendered it. He folded it meticulously, placing it on the counter like a blood-stained exhibit in a murder trial.

Unbuttoning her uniform blouse was more difficult. Her nervous fingers could barely manage the buttons and the more she fumbled, the more awkward the moment became. At last she got it off and handed it to Mr Bathurst as well. It joined her apron and she reached back to unzip her skirt.

‘Just a moment, Haley,’ Mr Bathurst said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Have you shortened that skirt of yours?’

She bit her lip to keep from giggling. Suddenly she was back at school, caught by the headmaster for altering her uniform.

‘Yes,’ she said, grinning impishly. ‘I thought the customers might like it.’ She tried to meet his expression with cocky impertinence, but their scrutiny was too much to endure and she looked down at the floor again.

Lord Asquith sighed. ‘Well, well,’ was all he said.

She found the zip and stepped out of her skirt. Standing in the kitchen in her black bra and knickers, she felt exposed and aroused.

‘Your underwear too,’ Asquith said.

Haley glanced at the open door. ‘But – someone might come in, sir,’ she said plaintively.

Asquith didn’t respond. His silence was a command.

The fear of getting caught was half the thrill, Haley reminded herself. She unhooked her bra, baring her pert breasts. The hard buds of her nipples advertised her excitement. She hesitated, then shyly slid her knickers down, looking over at the door once more before stepping out of them.

She gathered enough courage to draw herself up and hold them brazenly out to Lord Asquith. He took them from her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he offered her the slightest of smiles. He held them to his nose and sniffed deeply.

Mortified, Haley buried her face in her hands. Asquith seemed determined to quash every shred of confidence she managed to muster.

There was sound and movement behind her, but she didn’t dare look out from behind her hands. Mr Bathurst was opening drawers and rummaging through them. She heard the clink and clatter of knives and other cooking utensils.

‘I think this will do,’ Mr Bathurst said.

Asquith voiced his agreement.

Haley stubbornly resisted the urge to look.

‘Right, my girl,’ Asquith said in a maddeningly amiable voice. ‘Up you get.’

She peeled her hands away from her face and saw him patting the large butcher’s block in the centre of the kitchen. Mr Bathurst stood beside it. He was holding a long wooden spoon, smacking it lightly against his palm.

Filled with exhilarated trepidation, Haley climbed up onto the butcher’s block. The wood was cool beneath her naked bottom and thighs. She could feel the scarred surface beneath her, the work of many knives.

‘On your back,’ Mr Bathurst ordered.

Her fear forced her to make light of the situation. ‘If you’re planning a virgin sacrifice, I should warn you …’

‘Do we need to gag you?’ Asquith asked.

Her eyes widened. ‘No, sir,’ she whispered.

He smiled then, a divinely wicked grin that turned her knees to water.

She lay back, crossing her arms over her breasts, her legs hanging over the edge of the block. She stared up at the array of pots and pans twirling lazily above her. The harsh lights of the kitchen made them glint with a clinical chill. She could hardly breathe.

‘Legs up,’ said Mr Bathurst.

Haley gasped. What were they going to do to her? She looked at him pleadingly.

Asquith tutted with disapproval. ‘She isn’t being very obedient. Perhaps we should restrain her.’

Heat engulfed her like a wave, threatening to drown her. There was something strangely liberating in the casual way they were discussing her. She had no say in what happened to her. The helplessness was intoxicating.

Mr Bathurst glanced around the kitchen. ‘I doubt there’s any rope in here.’

Asquith was looking off to Haley’s left. ‘What about …’

He moved out of her line of sight and returned with the roll of cling film. Haley bit back a giggle. All they needed to do now was truss her up like a turkey and stuff her full of …

‘Legs up, girl!’ Mr Bathurst commanded, giving her a sharp swat on the thigh with the wooden spoon.

She yipped and raised her legs up, an obedient little maid, if a rather wayward one. She was seeing her boss in a whole new light.

Asquith held the cling film up to her right leg. He wrapped it around her ankle several times, spooling it out to reach the rack where the pans hung above her. He wound the plastic around the rack and tied it off. Haley tugged at it, surprised at how strong it was.

He repeated the procedure with her left leg, pulling it to the side so that her legs were splayed. They would be able to see absolutely everything. She prayed they couldn’t see how wet she was.

Asquith didn’t stop there. He pulled her arms up over and behind her head. Then he wrapped her wrists together and secured them to the legs of the block. The position thrust her breasts up like an offering. Finally, he passed a
wide
strip of cling film over her waist, around and underneath the surface of the block, pinning her tightly to it. She tried to struggle in her bonds, but the plastic was much stronger than it looked.

‘Jolly good stuff, this,’ Asquith said with a chuckle.

‘Just the thing,’ Mr Bathurst agreed, tapping the wooden spoon against Haley’s upraised backside.

She flinched, dreading the first smack. She’d been spanked before, but only as a prelude to sex. This promised to be far more intense.

‘This is what happens to naughty maids who steal from their masters,’ he said sternly.

Haley had fantasised about Mr Bathurst before. In her mind he rebuked her for her cheekiness and punished her in childish ways. It was safe as a fantasy. Because then she was in control. Now she was completely at his mercy.

The spoon connected sharply with her bottom, delivering a potent sting. She yelped. Another stroke. Another sharp report of wood against flesh. Another cry of pain. She pictured the precise little red circles it must be leaving on her pale skin and she writhed on the butcher’s block, unable to escape the stinging blows.

‘Oh, please, sir,’ she whimpered between strokes. ‘Oww! I’m sorry, really – I’m so – oww! – sorry!’

They ignored her.

Lord Asquith walked round the butcher’s block, watching calmly as Mr Bathurst spanked her. He stopped directly behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

He held her down firmly while she tried to wriggle away from the wooden spoon. Then his hands crept slowly down her front until they were cupping her breasts.

Through the pain, Haley moaned and shivered at his touch.

His attentive thumbs brushed back and forth over her nipples, making them stiffen. He pinched them between thumb and forefinger.

Then the wooden spoon directed Haley’s attention back to her burning backside. She howled with pain as Mr Bathurst increased the force and tempo, scolding her for
her
indolence, her impertinence, her indiscipline. She had forgotten all about the stark view she was presenting to him. She struggled against the cling film, causing the rack to shake. Above her the pots and pans clanged and clattered together in raucous accompaniment to her cries.