Catamite

There was a steaming bath tub, almost large enough to swim in, flanked by decorative marble swans and an enormous urn holding an overflowing bunch of lilies. He slowly eased into the water, his first bath in a month, nervous even to be hesitating at one of Annette’s orders, though she seemed unruffled.  She was rolling up the sleeves of her navy blouse, up to her forearms, smiling her small smile. He saw that as she periodically did her hair colour had changed, though this time only a few tendrils of green and chocolate brown escaped the neat confines of a charcoal grey and black scarf.

Hot water soaking in, he didn’t resist as she took his head in her hands, gently sloshing water over his scalp. He felt her palm laden with something cool and viscous, a shampoo that she worked into the short regrowth of his hair. She soaped and rinsed him, using a rough white wash cloth to scrub his shoulders and down his back and belly, massaging and rubbing.

At her instruction he stood up, and she did the same to his buttocks and legs, turning him so she could reach. Splashes of water stained the front of her dress, turning the indigo darker in splotch patterns over her breasts. She left his crotch alone, but the washcloth found its way into the split between his buttocks before Annette told him to sit down again.

A heavy lather patted into his face with a brush was followed by the soft rasp of a razor as she took off his beard stubble.

“You know, I’ve shaved my father often enough, when he was dying,” Annette said to him. “I remember when I was so scared to do this, that the straight razor would slip and cut him, but he said he trusted me better than a servant.”

Phillip tried to remember which of the numerous, highly intermarried families had sired her. Sagrova, or was it Penning? The times he’d seen her it was always “Lady Harrington”, the afterthought to her heavy featured and loud presence husband, tucked back with other dignified married ladies and too young yet to have a daughter to be pushing on people.

Annette was washing the stubble and soap from him, stroking the smooth skin she’d revealed.  “Haven’t lost my skill, I guess. No hair missed. Up you get!”

Other grooming followed, tooth brush, trimming his nails to the square, short shape with a file, though he’d bitten most of them off, and his cuticles too. She clucked at this, and the maid, Maya, brought her a bottle of lotion she massaged into his hands, a fruity scent that made him want to lick his fingers.

Mystified, and wrapped up in an enormous bath towel, his bare feet on warmed  tile, Phillip waited and was rewarded by a neat stack of clothing, delivered in the arms of busy Maya.  Gentleman’s socks, shorts, trousers that were a tad loose and a shirt that was a tad too tight. She did the buttons up on it, smoothed  it out and tied a deep blue tie around his neck. Lastly there was a silk vest and shoes, that she pulled tight on his feet and deftly double knotted the laces.

“You may stand” Annette surveyed her handiwork. Her guards stood out of the way, and Maya off to the side. The 16 year old maid with a large bouffant of bubblegum pink hair was the only one who acted  remotely cautious around him.

“Now we shall go to breakfast.” There was a pause and Annette coughed pointedly. By habit, Philip had his arms behind his back.

“Manners, Adam.”

“My Lady?” The bottom fell out of Phillip’s stomach. What had he done wrong?

“Arm, Adam.”

With less confidence then he’d ever made the gesture before, Phillip extended his elbow out, so that she could loop her arm through his. Then, though protocol usually demanded the reverse, she led him into the next room again.

There was a cloth covered table laid, now, fussily covered in ornate china and cutlery and three beverage glasses to a place setting. Another maid stood waiting with a cart laden with good things, tureens and a teapot, breakfast liquor in a cut crystal decanter, juice, and silver domed dish covers. There were two seats, embroidered cushions and hard backed cherry wood on spindly legs. Annette gently steered him to seat her, and then he stood awkwardly by the table, not sure what to do next.

“Sit down, Adam. It’s good that you are waiting for my signal.”

Phillip took his seat carefully, trying not to drag his chair too much. The smell of the food was making it hard for him to sit still.

The older maid served up a small plate of fine ground oatmeal, garnishing it with a brown sprinkle of cinnamon and a drizzle of golden treacle, finally followed by a thick cream. First there was a bowl for her, and then one set down for him. He leaned forward in his chair, debating if he should put his face into it or pick up his spoon.

Annette coughed again.

“My lady?”

“Wait until I begin eating. You know that.”

Only after the first delicious spoonful had passed Annette’s lips did he risk picking up his spoon and starting eating. In no time what so ever, he’d finished the porridge and scraped the bowl clean of even the least little bit left. Annette was still leisurely taking little spoonfuls. There was tea as well, which he finished in two gulps, a small gilt teacup with strong tea he gulped down in a few mouthfuls, and a water glass he drained in one long gulp.

His appetite only whetted by the starter, he watched each mouthful of food pass into Annette’s moth, knowing that she had to finish before he’d get anything else. Her lips were small but pump, her teeth marred by a slight space in the front. Annette noticed him watching and put down her spoon.

“It’s not polite to stare.”

“Sorry my Lady!”

“I know mornings are very trying, but you could at least make an attempt at conversation.” Annette’s voice was tinged with teasing.

“Ah…” Phillip’s face took on a deer in the headlights expression.

“The weather is a popular starting place, I’m told.”

Phillip bit his lip. Being chained to a radiator below the line of the window gave him no idea of the temperature or much else about the world outside the room, for that matter.

“Or maybe you could ask after my night’s rest.”

Phillip cleared his throat. “Did you sleep well… my Lady?”

“Excellently, despite last night’s soiree. I had intended to spend another night in town, but of course there was the unexpected engagement party for Dekovic’s youngest.”

Phillip was reasonably well versed in gentle conversation, but never with someone who’d just last week held a cattle prod to his scrotum. “Really, my Lady?”

“Yes, it’s not the usual sort of schedule, but I suppose one must call it young love and put a good face on. Dear Agatha, she’s managing as best she can in the household, given that her eldest stepdaughter is the same age as she is, and I think that she’s been very discreet in tying up loose ends in regards to any hint of scandal.”

Annette finally finished up with the bowl, and the maid cleared up their places and revealed steaming hot plates of sausages and pancakes, garnished with fresh fruit in decorative shapes. A heavy country breakfast, about the amount of calories Phillip had eaten in a day for the past few weeks.

Phillip ate so fast the glutinous, syrup soaked pancake stuck in a mass in his throat and he had to gulp the fresh squeezed orange juice to clear it.

“So tell me, do you enjoy walking?”

Phillip thumped his chest lightly, voice more of a croak than he intended. “Yes, my Lady?”

"Good then, I've needed a walking companion for a while."

It was a better meal than he’d had on a long time, though eating too fast gave him indigestion. After the second course he’d tucked away a large bunch of grapes, three strawberries and an apple, the latter of which Annette neatly segmented for him with a little knife. Finally there was the breakfast liquor, a thick and pungent beverage quaffed from tiny glasses, fermented with the after taste of metals. Most women drank it for their health, more men abstained, but under Annette’s watchful eye he took it down with one swallow.

“Adam…”

Phillip shifted in his chair, belly distended with all the food he’d gobbled.  The maid was clearing up the dishes from the table. All this time the ever present body guards had lingered in the background, one of them holding the threatening alarm-orange picana.

“I don’t think the cut under your eye left a trace,” Annette said, standing  up. She gave Phillip another pointed look. He leapt up from his chair and offered her his arm, which she waved away. “Come here, over by the desk.”

“Yes, my lady.” The delicious meal was slowly digesting, nobody was hitting him and he wasn’t alone in a room with only a view of the sky and a foam mat. Standing, he swayed a little, knees sagging underneath his immaculately pressed trousers.

The cherrywood desk she sat behind was clear, covered only in a padded blotter of deep burgundy and a small jar of pens in the shape of a sterling silver and topaz peacock. Annette posture was ramrod straight and her hands were placed on the blotter, right over the left.  “Adam, you have been here for several weeks.”

Phillip had his hands behind his back, ever anxious. “Yes, my Lady?”

“You have probably realized that it is my intent to train you. I had despaired of your progress initially, but you seem to be showing some compliance. You will be what I want you to be.”

He could not tell if it was an order or a prediction.

“I will conditionally allow you some privileges. Understand that if you fail me, your punishment will be all the harder.” She left a long pause, cuing him to respond again. He saw her expression was cool detachment as usual, with the smallest hint of a threat behind her little smile.

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Say it, Adam, say you will obey.” She enunciated every word clearly.

ay it, Adam, say you will obey.” She enunciated every word clearly.

“I will obey.”

Her next moves were completely unexpected. She dismissed the maid with a wave of her hand and took a scarf from around her neck, a long piece of navy and green striped silk. Taking both his wrists in her hands she backed him into a plumply upholstered sitting chair chair, shoving him lightly so he was forced to sit. She placed him so he sat straight and upright with his forearms resting on the arms of the chair. Then she fastened the scarf over his eyes, letting the excess fabric drape to seal out light gaps and winding its length twice around his head.

“Stay.”

Blinded but not deaf, he heard her ask for rope, and felt her loop it around his chest and arms, securing it to the chair. Then she began to rub his thighs, massaging from his knees to his hips and playing with the waist of his pants. Her fingers found the buttons of his trousers, loosened, then pulled and tugged his underwear. A warm, feminine and soft skinned hand on his penis made him gasp.

She wasn’t precisely deft of experienced, but she gave the right mix of gentle and firm, gripping and jerking him to an erection. He squirmed in the seat and mumbled. “What…?”

“Enjoy it; I’m not going to make a habit of this.” Annette was teasing again, and friendly. “Just relax, Adam.”

Hot and sticky, viscous ejaculate followed after another few minutes of her massage and he gasped again, and bucked his hips. He felt the lip of something plastic scrape the head of his cock.

“There, I missed a drop. Now stay put Adam.”

She told him outright that the sample of semen was to test his sperm count, and the first of his new privileges was a bed with a mattress. As yet, no pillow or bedding, the narrow wooden bed frame his only piece of furniture. He stretched out in comparative luxury, over stuffed and drained in more ways than one. She’d taken his clothes back, but the mattress was the right mix of firm and soft and his belly was full. Now he had time to wonder what she wanted again.