Author's Note: It's Christmas! The days may be short, and the nights cold and dark, but the mistletoe is up, the tinsel is glistening, and the log fire is warm and cozy. So here's a Christmas treat! Pour yourself a boozy beverage and snuggle up with another Servant Day story. Merry Christmas!
The nights were drawing in. The wind had a sharp edge to it, and gusts threw freezing sleet into the faces of shoppers braving the seasonal crowds. Every day, the postman brought new Christmas cards, which were gathering on a pile on the kitchen table, waiting to be put up properly.
It was definitely The Season To, etc.
Their home did not look all that seasonal, though. In fact, it still looked pretty much as normal, and it was beginning to chafe at Emma.
"Babe," she said to her husband Jack, "can you get the tree and decorations out of the garage, please?" Emma didn't mess with things in the garage — there was always some project going on, with furniture in various states of restoration, and she didn't want to cause anything to collapse while trying to get to the back where the Christmas stuff was stored, including the artificial tree they'd used for years. It was a bit tired, but also comfy, like a well-loved jumper.
"Sure," Jack said, engrossed in something on his phone. "I can do that."
But he didn't.
A couple of days went by, and Emma prodded him about it again.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm on it," he assured her.
Still nothing. By the next day, she was started to get annoyed. "Babe, are you ever going to do anything about this tree?"
Instead of answering, he asked, "What have you got on this weekend?"
She blinked. "More shopping. Meeting Rebecca for coffee. Why?"
"Cancel that."
"What?"
"It's your turn," he said with a smile.
Emma looked blank. "My turn at what?"
Jack looked smug. "Your turn to be the servant. Saturday. From 4pm onwards."
It took Emma a moment for it to sink in. Then she gave a squeal of delight and launched herself into his arms.
Some time ago, Emma's friend Rebecca had introduced her to
Servant Day
, a sex game that Rebecca played with her husband Dan; it incentivised getting the household chores done, by providing excuses for lots of mid-chore sex. Having sort-of seen this in action, Emma had been
really
keen to try it with Jack, but struggled with how to raise the subject with her very-much run-of-the-mill husband. Jack was a dear, and she loved him to bits, but their sex life had been, well, boring.
After some
very
careful management by Rebecca, the game had been explained to Jack, and Emma had convinced him to give it a go. Emma had had a glorious — if somewhat terrifying — evening teasing, exploiting and getting rogered by Jack, as he acted as "servant", required to follow her instructions for the night. He'd promised to return the favour but, despite the occasional not-so-subtle reminders from Emma, it hadn't happened.
And now it was going to.
She gave another squeal of delight and hugged him close, her legs wrapped around his hips, as he laughed and struggled to retain his balance.
***
So Jack was planning something. Lots, Emma hoped. When she'd been the Lady, and Jack the Servant, she'd had a delicious time making plans for exactly how and where she was going to drive him wild with lust, and the anticipation had been fabulous. Rebecca had given her lots of tips gained from experience, which meant that Emma had been able to control the evening precisely.
This wasn't the same, but it was just as good. Emma was giddy with excitement all week. She didn't know what Jack had planned, but she was looking forward to several hours of being repeatedly pleasured. Or being thoroughly used and abused as Jack's personal fucktoy. Either. Both. She couldn't wait.
Some Mysterious Parcels arrived. When Emma casually asked what they were, Jack simply smiled knowingly, and said nothing. She sent the entire time in a frenzied state of pent-up arousal. Saturday just couldn't come soon enough.
***
Saturday. Emma could barely sit still all day. Jack affected a casual mood, as if he'd forgotten all about it, and laughed when she threw a cushion at his head. There was at least some distraction — if it could be called that — in the morning, as she'd booked a waxing; she didn't think Jack would object to the results.
Finally, it was Time. Four o'clock.
"Ready?" he asked.
"
God,
yes!" she said with feeling.
"Right then. Upstairs and in the shower with you," he said. "Clean and shaved, dressed and down here by four-thirty."
"Shaved".
Ha
, she thought. It was handy that men were so predictable, sometimes.
She couldn't resist touching herself while she was in the shower. She let one hand caress her breasts while the other slipped between her legs. She didn't know what Jack had planned, but she was imagining being screwed senseless in all kinds of different ways, all over the house, and it wasn't long before she was shuddering her way through what she hoped would be only the first of many climaxes that evening.
When she emerged from the shower, she found that he'd laid things out on the bed for her. There was a dress, which had presumably turned up in one of the parcels: it was a Santa outfit, red, with white fake-fur trim and a black belt with a large buckle. There was a hood, with a bobble on it. She held it up. Not too bad on the size, she judged, but short. Lord, it was short.
He'd also put out a white bra, knickers, suspender belt and stockings, and a pair of white high heels she'd forgotten she had. Where on earth had he managed to dig those out from? And
when
?
There was a stick of lipstick. Bright red. And there was even some perfume. When Emma had planned the Servant Day for Jack, she'd bought him some cologne, better than the antiperspirant he usually used, and he'd managed to track down the women's equivalent of the cologne, bless him. He was certainly putting in the effort.
And there was a little white drawstring cloth bag. When she opened it, she discovered a set of Kegel balls.
Okay, then
.
She spent some time putting on extra make-up, including eye liner and mascara and some eyeshadow, to balance out the bright hooker-red of the lipstick. She carefully rolled up the stockings and put them on, along with the suspender belt. She dug out the lube and put the Kegel balls in, though she didn't need
that
much lube, as she was already quite moist in anticipation. Finally, she put on the bra and knickers, stepped into the Santa dress, and put on the shoes.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad. The dress showed a bit of cleavage, although she wasn't really gifted (or cursed) in that area. And it
barely
covered her backside; if she coughed or shrugged, she was going to be giving the room a flash of white underwear. Which, given the circumstances, was no bad thing.
She checked the time. Twenty to five. Well, not too bad. And she thought the overall effect was worth the extra time.
It was dark outside by the time she came down the stairs, and the curtains were all closed — a good thing, given what she was wearing. She found Jack in the living room, sitting on the sofa in his jeans and t-shirt. He hadn't changed, she noticed. The lights were on normally, but there was a Christmas CD playing, some recordings of Rat Pack crooners doing the old standards.
His eyes popped a little when she came through the door, in a good way. She put a little sultry sway into her hips as she crossed the room to him, pleased with the effect she was having, and also appreciating the way it made the Kegels move inside her.
"Very nice," he said. "A bit late, but we can work with that." He gave her a hug and a kiss, then stepped back again. "Let's have a look at you."
She twirled, girlishly, a big grin on her face. "You like?"
"Oh yes," he said. "Me very like."
He pulled her close for another kiss, this time with two handfuls of arse, squeezing her butt as he did. She felt one hand slide up her back, holding her close, while the other slipped around to the front, She gave a light moan as he ran his fingers along her gusset. She wondered whether he could feel her dampness yet. He squeezed and rubbed his fingertips around her button, causing another moan.
"Okay," he said, releasing her. "First task." He gestured towards the boxes retrieved from the garage. "Putting up the tree and decorations."
Servant Day — The Basics: Whomever is playing the Lord or Lady determines what the Servant wears (generally something sexy: check!), and gives them a list of tasks or chores or housework to do (tree: check!). The Lord or Lady gets to admire their Servant being attractively attired while carrying out the menial tasks.
He sat back down on the sofa, and watched her go to work. He'd given her an outfit that would ride up and flash her undies to the world at the slightest movement, so she made the most of it, sometimes a little shrug or a movement to give Jack a momentary glimpse of white, gone before it could register, sometimes bending sensuously from the hips or crawling on hands and knees, her butt high, presenting him with a non-too-subtle invitation.
"I think this would be better with a drink, don't you?" he said, after ogling her for a while. "There's a bottle of mulled wine in the kitchen — why don't you warm that up and get us a couple of mugs?"
Servant Day — Rule One: the Lord or Lady can interrupt the Servant's current task by giving them new instructions. After completing the new instructions, the Servant returns to the interrupted task. Though normally the new instructions are a
bit
more spicy. She hoped that that would change, soon enough. She was hoping and expecting to be screwed silly before the night was done.
Emma straightened and went through into the kitchen, swaying her hips as she walked, and examined the wine rack. Sure enough, it had a bottle of supermarket pre-prepared mulled wine. Emma could see it right away, but pretended not to notice it at first, so that she could spend more time bent over as she "searched" for it.
She poured the bottle's contents into a saucepan and warmed it up on the hob, before ladling some generous portions into cups.
