How I found my last Servant

A working day for a charity that neither of us could get out of.

The job was to pack small objects into boxes, these into larger boxes of 6 layers of eight, & these, in turn, to be taped up and packed into crates.

The work was divided up among tables of box-folders, box fillers, and me at the end taping the boxes and packing the crates.

Her job was at the final table, to bring the full boxes to me - all four hundred and something of them, each delivery was acknowledged with a grunt, or a smile, or ignored, or a conspiratorial swearword, or and combination thereof.
As I checked out her ass as it receded each time I noticed that its behavior mirrored exactly the nature of the preceding interaction.

A juicy sway when I'd say thanks, a locked level march when I wouldn't, a whore's strut when I gave her the opportunity to concur it was about time for a cup of tea, but the confirmation came when I called her back, pointed to a box on the bench as said 'that one's only got five layers'.

She look at me as though I'd just slapped her face, she went red & her nipples sat up. It was a long graceless walk (head down, shoulders slumped, ass moving sluggishly) over to the bench and to where she saw the full horror of her wrong-doing.

Poor wee sub, she knocked the box on the floor and gave me a look I wouldn't see again until well into her first whipping.

The bitch pup had good instincts though; she turned away from me and bent over, straight-kneed, to repack the box.

I watched the dancing denim until I started getting harder than I could hide.
So I went back to taping up boxes to take my mind off her butt.

At the screech of the tape dispenser she made one of the sexiest sounds I've ever heard, a mixture of a grunt & a whimper that told she was available to be owned.

I could have put a rope around her neck and taken her home then & there.