She was about to go herself but remembered that right then she was not Jeff’s cleaner but someone far superior and actually in charge of him. She, therefore, remained seated, put her hands on her hips, glared up at Jeff, and ordered, “Go upstairs and get me the cane. Just be aware though, you have just sixty seconds to get there and come back or else I will be adding strokes to your caning.”Monica smiled at the look of concern on Jeff’s face as he turned and walked very quickly out of the kitchen. He was still rubbing his bottom as he walked, but she could see that once he got to the stairs he held onto the balustrade with one hand as he went up the stairs two at a time. She heard him rummaging about in the bedroom, and then quick steps back across the floor towards the door and into the hallway. He once again held onto the balustrade as he came back down the stairs, one at a time this time, holding the cane. He walked quickly into the kitchen and handed the cane to Monica.Jeff heard. I was shirtless, wearing jeans and barefoot. The room looked like a hotel suite, spacious, a huge bed behind us with four posters, and flowery patterns on the walls the décor. The bed looked rumpled, as if someone had slept in it, or ruffled the sheets, and I was sipping coffee, with some odd wind blowing in the background. I looked at a pair of French doors leading to the balcony, and saw you. Your curly hair was somewhat straight, dangling down over your seductive eyes and you wove a strand around your finger, licking the nail softly while staring at me like a jungle cat. You had one knee bend, leaning against the doorframe, watching me, smiling and licking your lips. The outfit you wore stood out: an athletic bra that for some reason had little or no support so your breast swelled up, a dimple of cleavage under your collarbone. Your C-cups jiggled and moved, and your perfectly flat belly had a small ring in it, contrasting the dusky color of your natural shade. The skin seemed to.
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