“Stand up.”
Beth rose, stepping up beside his chair. When he sat forward and shook out the corset, she raised her arms.
The corset was heavy reinforced satin, the black fabric seeming to glow with a muted shine. There were hook closures down the front and white satin ribbon lacing up the back. Smooth, cool fabric slid against her skin as Master James placed the corset around her back. Hook by hook he closed the corset down the front. The laces were loose enough that it wasn’t difficult. Once it was in place Master James rose and moved behind her.
Beth gasped as he started to adjust the laces at the back, pulling the surprisingly stiff corset tight to her skin, then tighter still, constricting her waist and chest.
“Hold on to the chair.”
Beth clung to the back of the chair as he tugged. She could no longer take a really deep breath, and the pressure against her nipples was sweet torment.
“There’s something very satisfying about putting a woman into a corset.” Master James’s voice was a low grumble, deeper and with a note of menace that hadn’t been there when they teased each other over breakfast.
“I’ve never worn one like this before.”
“What kind have you worn?”
“A waist cincher.”
“The ones that don’t cover the breasts?”
“Yes, Master.”
“For this particular scene I wanted to see you in a full corset.” A final tug, and he stepped away. “There’s a mirror over there.”
Curious, Beth moved until she could see herself. Her breasts were two plump mounds above the sweetheart top, her waist almost impossibly tiny. Her sex seemed very naked compared to the stiff black fabric.
Master James stepped up behind her, seeming to loom over her, his hands settling on her cinched waist. Keeping his gaze locked on hers in the mirror, he dipped his head to nip her shoulder, then cupped one hand over her sex and lifted, forcing her onto her toes.
She was panting—the only kind of breathing she could really do—when he stepped back.
“You have your corset now, but we’re going to kill two birds with one stone and take care of another checklist item at the same time.”
He pulled something from the bucket and brought it over to her. The short black apron was trimmed with white lace. He settled it around her hips and tied it in place. It barely covered her sex, and from side to side was only wide enough to reach her hips, leaving her ass completely bare.
“You make a lovely maid.”
“Maid?” Beth twisted, looking at her ass, which seemed rather large compared to her waist. The tails of the apron strings dangled along the crease of her buttocks.
“Chores are one of our checklist items.” Master James brought her the bucket.
It was a simple blue plastic bucket. There were a few spray bottles, cleaning cloths, and a short feather duster inside.
“Chores,” Beth repeated. She was turned on by the way he’d laced her in so tightly, but disappointed that now she was expected to clean. It was far better than being a footstool, and cleaning in a corset would at least be more interesting than the times she’d been ordered to help clean or set up playrooms while naked.
Master James returned to his chair, turning it so he could see the whole room. He placed one ankle on the opposite knee, resting his chin on his fist.
Beth placed the bucket on a side table and pulled out all the spray bottles, lining them up. Taking the first one, she started to read the directions for use on the back. When she was confident she understood that one, she set it down and picked up the second.
“Beth, what are you doing?”
“Reading the instructions.”
“It’s just cleaning.”
“I’m not familiar with cleaning products.” She kept her tone neutral.
“You don’t know how to clean?”
“I pay someone to do this.” This time her exasperation was clear. “I don’t want to damage the finish on anything.”
“Beth.” His exasperation was a mate to hers. “I don’t want you to actually clean anything.”
“Then why did you give me a bucket of stuff?”
“I grabbed it out of some closet as a prop. Pretend to dust.”
“Pretending to dust isn’t ‘chores’.”
He thunked his head against the back of the chair. “No. But it means I get to watch you bend over in the corset and then punish you for being a naughty maid.”
Beth’s eyes widened in horror. “This is…this is role play?”
Chapter Eight
“Why are you saying it the way people normally say ‘dead baby seals’?”
“I hate role play. I’m terrible at role play.” Beth’s most traumatic high school experience had been when her best friend had cajoled her into being part of the school musical. She had a hard enough time figuring out what she was feeling, let alone pretending to be someone else and then trying to show others what the pretend person was feeling.