#marcel barthel

Days passed by and I was most pleased with my new handyman. I managed to keep him occupied with plenty of fun little tasks (well, fun for me, anyway), but, regretfully, I am a very busy woman and had to make time for business as well as pleasure. So I took a small step back, giving Eli some free reign to settle into his new position and work out his weekly schedule. I think he enjoys having a little control (I know the feeling!)

     Everything so far was going to plan. After wearing his self-esteem down the first couple of weeks, I'd slowly allow it to build back up again. Only this time, the foundations it was built on would be shaky and prone to crumbling. I'd allow that big ego to balloon right up before popping it under the heel of my Jimmy Choos.

     That's the secret to these things - it takes time and patience. You have to put in the ground work before you can reap the rewards. It's how I've achieved every success in my lifetime.

     One late morning, I parked up my sporty little number at the steps to my front doors and immediately pressed the button alerting Eli on the pager I gave him that I required his assistance. He's not allowed to use a cell phone during work hours - I don't want anything with a camera or listening device probing its way into my personal life. It also means he's unreachable while on my property, unless the message comes directly through me. I don't want him distracted while he's here - all of his attention should be on his Mistress!

     While I waited for him to arrive, I was welcome by my Personal Assistant, Marcel Barthel, coming down the steps. 'Welcome back,' he said, his chin up and hands behind his back. He's always so immaculate, not even a hair out of place. 'Did you enjoy your jaunt, Mistress?'

     Despite the moniker, relations between me and Marcel are strictly professional. He is a happily married man, and more to the point, is simply not interested in the opposite sex. Not to say that I haven't given it the old college try but he's unshakable and I can't blame him - if I had a man like Walter between my thighs, I would be relentlessly faithful too.

     'Just wait until you see it, Marcel,' I replied joyfully. 'It's his best piece yet.'

     'I have no doubt, Mistress,' he said with an air of elegance. 'After all he has an impeccable muse to-'

     'Hey! You called for me?' The small, tight smile fell from Marcel's lips the instant he heard Eli's deep bass voice cut through the air. The beautiful stud appeared around the side of the house, trying to clean the dirt off from his hands by wiping them against his bare thighs, which only resulted in him being even more covered in mud. I had him weed the flower beds this morning while I was away, in the hope he'd be in dire need of a bubble bath by the time I returned.

     'Why, yes I did, Eli,' I sang back, 'and you were very prompt in coming. Good boy.'

     He flinches whenever I say that now. So I say it as much as I possibly can.

     'Yeah, sure,' he smiled through his cringe. 'So what can I do for ya?'

     'Mistress,' Marcel cut in, scolding the new handyman. 'What can I do for you, Mistress!'

     Eli just stared back at him blankly. 'Uh, I... think he's talking to you,' he said to me. I merely smiled and got comfortable, ready to watch the scene play out.

    'No, you arsch mit ohren,' my PA fumed. 'I'm talking to you. You refer to her, our Mistress as Mistress!'

     'So you call her that too?' Eli looked the German up and down. 'Then how come she aint got you stripped down to your smalls?'

     Marcel stuck his nose up high in the air, as if he could smell something rancid in the vicinity. 'Because unlike you, I have some pride.'

     'Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Ludwig,' Eli teased with a chuckle.

     Marcel did not laugh. 'I've told you already, it is not Ludwig, it is Marcel. Your stupid little joke wasn't funny the first dozen times and it's still not funny now.' He turned sharply towards me. 'Mistress, if I'm not needed then I would like to return to my work.'

     'I'll find you when I'm ready, Marcel,' I said, dismissing him. I hid my own giggle well behind my demure expression, after all, I can't have the help thinking he's funny. 'Eli, be a dear and bring that package in the back seat in for me.'

     'Gotcha.'

     'Mistress,' I emphasised. Marcel had been right about that.

     'Fine. Gotcha, Mistress.' 

    I made my way up the stairs, Eli trotting behind me like a good little doggie, straining under the weight of the package but doing his best not to show it. Once inside, my main foyer I pointed to a spot high up on the wall, pride of place, right in the centre. 'There,' I said, 'I would like you to hang the painting right here.'

     'Oh, so that's what this thing is?' he said, lowering it to the floor with a grunt. It was a great, hulking beast, over half the size of Eli himself and probably weighed as much with its decadent ornate frame. 'What's it of?'

     'Have a look for yourself.' 

     His face quirked, showcasing the fact that he didn't actually care and was just being polite, but he shrugged his shoulders and opened it anyway. I watched carefully as he ripped the brown paper away, delighting at his reaction when the subject finally revealed itself and he jumped with a start.

     'Oh!' Eli stammered, his face going a deep, dark red. 'That's uh... pretty...'

     The "pretty" painting in question was of a female nude on her back with her legs spread wide open. He fingers held her folds apart, the artist honing in to capture every intricate detail of her pussy. Eli was clearly uncomfortable with the intimate subject matter and kept his eyes up, looking away. I wasn't letting him off that easily.

     'Isn't it wonderful?' I marvelled, stroking my hands across the smooth edges of the gilded frame. 'The artist, Shinsuke Nakamura, is something of a pet project of mine, one of many. I hold a tremendous love for the arts and have financed him for many years now. Every so often he'll repay the favour by letting me model for him.'

     I dealt the killer blow so softly that my target didn't even notice he'd been hit straight away. I could see the cogs working, slowly but surely behind those big blue eyes until at last, the brows furrowed and he side-eyed me curiously. 'Wait...' he said, his voice croaky, 'you mean to say that... this is your- I mean uh... this is you? In the painting?'

    'Yes,' I replied sickeningly sweetly. 'I posed for him a few weeks back. He captures the female body so eloquently, doesn't he?' 

     'Yuh-huh.' Eli still wasn't looking. I was sorely tempted to grab a fistful of his hair and shove his face against the canvas. But I found enough resolve to try a more delicate approach.

     'Look at the brushstrokes here on my labia,' I said, pointing with my finger. He creaked his gaze down, one eye scrunched in an awkward squint. 'And my dripping wet clit, look how well he has captured the beading on it.'

     'Real nice,' he replied stiffly (I wonder how stiffly!)

     'And how he's captured my fingers ever so slightly entering my-'

     'So, you want it up there, do ya?' he cut in, all hot and flustered and tetchy. 'I'll go find a ladder.'

     Certain interruptions I will tolerate. This was one of them. He was so red he looked like a ripe juicy apple, ready for me to sink my teeth in. So I let it slide, even the fact he forgot to say 'Mistress' before he left and waited patiently for his return. It took several minutes and by the time he came back, he radiated an air of composure, but I could still see the sheen of his blush beneath his tanned skin. He knew, and more vitally, he knew I knew, that he was about to be nose-to-clit with my painting for a good five or ten minutes at least. There was no way for him to avoid what lay between my legs... I love a sly spot of foreshadowing, don't you?

     I stood in the centre of my foyer and enjoyed the spectacle of him wrestling with my painting. Watching him sweat as he heaved the frame up the tall ladder, the muscles in his arms and legs bulging from the exertion. Admiring the way his asscheeks clenched as he thrust in the heavy-duty screws then hauled the painting up to hook it onto them. 

     I took a step or two back until I positioned the back of his head directly into the centre of my pussy, giving the illusion that he was licking me out. My clit pulsed at the thought, dripping as steadily as it did for the painting. I thought of Eli's big, wide mouth, his animated lips, envisioned them sucking on my folds like a starved calf suckling from its mother. I hadn't seen much of his tongue bar a small sliver here and there when he was trying to concentrate, but I remained optimistic that it too was nice and big and bovine, like everything else about him. His eyes, his mouth, his hands and shoulders and... I tilted my head slightly to appreciate the bulge dangling through the gap in his thighs. My fingers ached to squeeze it until he squealed.

     Patience, I reminded myself. Soon, I will be able to grab my pretty bull by the horns and wrestle him to the ground, but like the matador, I had to wait for the perfect opportunity. Wear the brute down, dazzle him with the folds of my cape before I dealt the final blow from my sword.

     Or strap in this case.

     But the thought of sitting on his face and refusing to move until his tongue had moistened my insides, the picture of his face glistening with juices was so potent I found it all so hard to shift. I pulled my thighs in close, trying to generate some friction between my legs. My underwear was already saturated.

     However, Eli finished his task and started his descent down the ladder. I shook my head to cool myself off, letting my thighs relax again. Even so, I found myself mesmerised by the swaying motion of his shoulder blades as he climbed back down, rippling under the unblemished golden skin. My flogger would ruin that perfect back in no time.

     'Well?' Eli queried as he walked across to stand beside me. 'Whattaya think? Mistress?'

     'Good boy,' I praised him for the moniker and noticed a buck in my peripheral vision. Glancing down I discovered a modest but very noticeable bulge in the front of his briefs. 'I'm very pleased with it. And it appears, you are too.'

     His cheeks instantly darkened and his hands shot out to cup the front of his uniform, hiding it from view. 'It's uh.. it's not what you-'

     I moved in front of him, emboldened. Gripping his wrists, I coaxed them apart and held them up, leaving his shame fully exposed for me to regard. 'You don't need to be shy in front of me, Eli,' I told him, keeping my eyes down, approving the generous curve of his cock hugging the black fabric. 'I'll ask again. What do you think of my painting?'

     His fingers twitched, a miniscule struggle against my grasp but he did not pull away. 

     'You know what?' he said, his voice softer, finally giving in. His chin tilted up, looking back the painting and studying it, properly this time. 'You aint half-bad. Mistress.'

     I too looked up and our eyes met somewhere in the middle. He was so close and so sweaty and red and his chest heaved so sweetly. 

     'Good boy,' I smiled.

     'So what did you find during your digging?' 

     Marcel glanced up at me sullenly over the top of his leather bound clipboard.

     'Are you really sure about this one, Mistress?' he asked with more than a hint of exasperation in his tone. 

     'Why, whatever's the matter?' I asked with a pout. 'Do you not like my new handyman? You liked the last one.'

     He shook off my jibe. He's infuriatingly good at that! 'Fabian had class,' he retorted, pretending to leaf through his papers. 'And more than just the two brain cells to rub together.'

     'Ah yes, he was something,' I sighed wistfully, remembering my previous devoted handyman. Just a pity the Immigration officers got wind of his expired visa, right when he was trying to extortionate me for a pay rise by threatening to expose my unusual work practises. Such unfortunate timing! 'But Eli has great potential, don't you think?'

     Marcel fixed me with a humourless look. 'That air-headed boy toy?'

     'Come on, Marcel, he's considerably older than you.'

     'Fine,' he griped. 'That air-headed man toy. The one who is currently swanning around on a lawn mower whilst smoking a cigar!'

     'Oh!' I exclaimed, leaning over to spy my latest employee out the window. He looked most care-free, zipping up and down the lawn, one hand on the wheel, the other on his cigar, holding it to his mouth as he took long, lazy drags. As well as his briefs and boots, he wore a pair of designer sunglasses (round ones, the kind John Lennon used to wear) to shield his eyes from the glare of the mid-day sun. They were new - it appears he'd treated himself with the money Greta had tipped him. 'I gave him that cigar to celebrate completing his first week. I'm so glad he likes it.'

     'Mistress,' Marcel's teeth were clenched tight. 'It is a diesel powered lawn mower. If even one spark lands on that fuel tank then-!'

     'Hah! Can you just imagine?' I giggled to myself. 

    'Mistress, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough!' Marcel argued.

     'On the contrary, I think you are taking this far too seriously,' I shot back. 'Don't play into stereotypes, Marcel, it gives the lovely people of your country a bad name. Now,' I held out my hand, warning him not to test my patience any further, 'what do you have for me?'

     He heaved a weary sigh before passing over a small plastic bag with two USB's flash drives inside. I glanced between them and Marcel curiously, before taking one out the bag and plugging it into my laptop. A few clicks and I opened the first file. I'm loathe to admit that I nearly collapsed to the floor with a fatal heart attack.

     'Ohhhh, Marcel,' I whistled through my teeth as I surveyed each file in turn. 'You have truly outdone yourself.'

     The snide little German couldn't help himself, lifting his chin up loftily, oh so proud of himself. 'I made duplicates and saved them to the other USB, in case one should go missing. I also have them saved on my own hard drive and have printed off several screenshots. Clear ones, so there's no doubt who's face it is.'

     'You wonderful, wicked thing,' I lavished the praise on him. 'When you go home tonight, tell dear Walter to pack his bags - I'm sending you both on an all-expenses trip to the Bahamas.'

     'Thank you, Mistress,' he said, gracefully bowing his head. 'You are most generous.'

     'I know,' I sneered as I watched the screen with unbridled delight.

     My patience would soon be rewarded. Everything was going according to plan.