Page 14 of The Christmas Nanny

I gave Slim Shady a rawhide bone to gnaw on and then went to the basement, where he wasn’t allowed. I flipped on the blue light and crossed the room to the unfinished painting. I sat on the padded stool and stared. In the picture, a man, me, had a young woman, Sabrina, in a pillory. I glanced at the photo of Sabrina and me attached to the canvas. The picture had been taken several days ago behind me. I glanced back at the pillory sitting in the middle of the room. Before I had Sabrina enclosed in the device, she’d become wet and unable to breathe. She was shocked to find something that seemed so brutal to be liberating, exciting, and, most importantly, sensual.

Those who agreed to come down found the experience life-changing. They tell me that eventually, a head fog sets in. They get lost in the scene: the devices and toys hanging from the walls and the paintings around the room. The room is sexually deviant in and of itself. I need not do much more. You either enjoy the darkness, or you turn from it.

“It doesn’t look very comfortable,” the naked Sabrina said of the pillory that night. I set the camera to a thirty-second delay. I never took videos.

“The hardest part will be staying bent over. If you tire, I have something to rest your knees on.”

Sabrina placed her neck and wrists on the curved openings of the pillory. The camera snapped its first picture.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, bent over at a ninety-degree angle. I used a leather crop to spread her legs, tapping her ankles until they moved into the perfect position.

“I’m going to lower the top board. When I do, the scene begins.”

“I’m scared.” She giggled and made eye contact. “I’m also wet as fuck.”

“Don’t be afraid, Sabrina. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Another picture snapped. I lowered the top and locked the pillory, giving it one last tug. “You understand you will be spanked, whore?”

“I do, Sir.”

“You understand you will not be freed until I decide, whore?”

“I do, Sir.”

“You understand you will become sexually aroused, whore?”

“I do, Sir.” Another picture snapped.

I moved Sabrina’s red hair to one side and raised her chin, her mouth inches from my cock. She eyed the thick shaft. Not every woman is the same. Each had to be treated differently. Sabrina, a local district attorney, wanted to come in, give herself over, and leave the legal world upstairs.

“It’s time I said.” I moved across the room, hit a button, and the room filled with Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. “We’re going to start, whore.”

“Yes, Sir.” Another picture snapped.

I selected a paddle from a dozen hanging on the wall. Shiny, well-worn leather covered the wooden paddle. I stepped beside Sabrina and brought back the paddle. She cried out when leather met ass.

“Do you request another, whore?” The camera went off again.

“I do, Sir,” she said with determination. Nothing should have been a surprise to Sabrina. We’d discussed her first scene for weeks. I gave her homework, showed her videos, and assured her everything would be okay. An unhappy sub is a sub that never returns.

I repeatedly spanked Sabrina, each time waiting for her to ask for another. She did not disappoint, and when I moved behind her, I could see the wet floor beneath her. I knelt and ran a finger through her cunt, soaked with a white lather.

Thirty photos were taken in Sabrina's nearly fifteen minutes in the pillory. The best of those photos were of me sliding my finger between her legs, admiring what she had given me in return for my discipline. When I released her, she grabbed my cock, begging for sex. I told her no. I told her that wasn’t how things worked. I told her the next time, we would take things a step further.

I spent the next hour putting the finishing touches on the painting. Tomorrow, once the paint dried, I would place it with the other paintings and take all thirty to the art gallery in the Dark District, where purveyors of erotic art would pay good money to have the paintings in their homes.

It was never a chore to find a sub interested in scenes. Even subs new to the lifestyle gave freely of themselves. Each agreed to be photographed and waived rights to the paintings. In return, I taught them the lifestyle. And since most wanted to keep their interests secret, I taught them how to hide what they really were. I was a good teacher at hiding.

Chapter five

Christine

“I’m telling you, he’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met,” I told Annette. “I thought he was going to kick Jeremy and his friends’ asses. He opens doors. Pays for meals, and he’s a fucking artist.” I chose the following words carefully. “And he’s fucking hot!”

“You barely know the guy. I’m just saying maybe slow down a little. If you get the nanny job, you’ll never have time to see him again. Problem over.” Annette was like the big sister I never had. I knew once we got off the phone, she’d do a little more checking on Jacob.

“So tonight, we’re going to some sort of sexy Christmas festival.” I watched Wigglebutt threaten to knock his dish off the counter. The cat’s escapades with Slim Shady showed he would never be happy with anyone I brought home.

“See, that’s concerning. What kind of decadent person goes to a sexy Christmas party? Christmas is supposed to be wholesome, remember?” she said. “Wait. Where is the Christmas festival?”

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