They’re tight, form fitting, and definitely fit… like a second skin. I go to the mirror to check myself out—and holy shit, these are hot as fuck.
My ass has never looked better. They’re black sheer with a grey diamond pattern in the fabric, and enough of a pouch that it shows off my junk and doesn’t squish it.
I stare at the watch, unsure if I am supposed to keep it on or take it off. On the note it says to only wear the uniform provided, but that was before he gave me this watch which I know was a last minute decision—and I do need to know the time, right?
I’ll keep it on.
I leave the room, glad it’s warm in his house, and hurry to the dining room and into the kitchen. I get the tray set up, put the plate on it, along with the silverware that’s rolled up into a napkin.
The menu on the fridge is detailed, telling me how many glasses to provide and everything. I take the bottle of water from the fridge, the water glass, then the bottle of Macallan and the rocks glass. I make sure everything is balanced on the tray while looking presentable. When I have one minute left, I carefullycarry it out to the dining room ungracefully.
I’m going to need some practice doing that, for sure.
Harmon isn’t here when I get to the dining room, but I figure setting up his meal will be good. I’m sure he’s starving by now. It’s already almost seven and he hasn’t eaten dinner yet?
When everything is set up on the table, I stare at the tray and have no idea what to do with it. So, I hurry back into the kitchen and leave it on the counter, then hurry back, standing beside the table with my hands clasped behind my back.
I stare at the door, waiting for him to come through. Seconds pass like hours. My heart is pounding. Why am I so nervous?
After what feels like forever, he walks into the room like he owns the place—ha-ha, hedoesown the place. But it’s not in the way someone typically walks around in their home. It isn’t relaxed or comfortable. It’s intense. When his eyes land on me, he stops short. His eyes widen slightly, and he takes me in from head to toe, then does it again.
My dick stirs, and I hope he doesn’t get offended if I get hard… it’s just been a while since someone has looked at me at all, never mind likethat.
He clears his throat, tugging on his tie, as he keeps moving and sits in his chair.
“Does it fit okay?”
“It’s comfortable.”
“It looks amazing,” he says, scooting in.
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, holding back my smile but failing.
“Kneel for me,” he says, out of nowhere.
“Uh…”
He turns his gaze toward me, waiting patiently.
Clearing my throat, I carefully get to my knees.
“Sit back and place your palms on your thighs.”
I do as he says, resting back on my calves and putting my palms on my legs. It’s comfortable, but I can feel how tight my legs are, so I bet soon enough, my feet will start going numb.
Guess I’ll have to start working out and stretching too.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks, reaching for the napkin and not looking at me.
“Yes.”
He unrolls the silverware from the napkin and places it on his lap, before pulling the cloche off the meal and setting it aside. He pours water into the glass, and a finger of whiskey into the other glass. Then he starts to eat.
Silverware scrapes against the porcelain as he cuts the steak, and I hear him chewing, but other than that, it’s silent. And a bit awkward.
“Come closer,” he says.
I scoot closer, so there’s about a foot or two between us.