Send her to her room

“That's it, Riya.” I tell the trembling young woman. “Gather your things and get to your room.” Clearly this abrupt dismissal is not at all what my new tenant/servant was expecting from me, but I want to make her position in the house perfectly clear.

“You heard me.” I drop the pitch of my voice about half an octave to add gravity to the command. “You have classes tomorrow, and then when you get home, I'll have a list of chores waiting for you.”

“Yes, Sir.” I watch her collect her stuff and head up the stairs just like Alison used to, and I smile in anticipation. After the past couple of disappointing girls, I am confident that Riya is going to be just what I'm hoping for.

The news is as depressing as ever with no sign of inflation going away and the war in Ukraine dragging on, but to be honest I don't even care. All I can think about is my new tenant/servant and how long it will take before I have her completely under my control. It is about twenty minutes later that I am climbing the stairs as quietly as I can, curious to see how Riya is settling in to her tiny new quarters.

The door to her bedroom is closed, and I don't see any light through the good-sized slit at the bottom of the door, so I figure she is already in bed after this trying day. When this had been my older boy's bedroom, I had considered replacing the poorly fitted door with a heavier version, but as a Parent I liked the fact that I could overhear parts of his phone conversations with his friends or know when he was playing video games late in the night. Now I'm glad I never replaced the door because as I stand silently outside the thin door, I can easily hear Riya's heavily accented words.

“No, Master.” Accompanying the words is a soft squelching sound that makes my cock stiffen once again in my khakis. “Please, Sir. I'll do better next time.” Is she reliving the moment where she knows she will be punished? I listen even more closely. “Not that Master, you can't! Oh please, you have to stop ...” I had heard Alison masturbating like this often enough to know exactly what was going on, and I could just picture Riya's slender body jerking on the narrow bed as she played with herself. The part that particularly interests me is her use of the word Master. Remembering what she told me about her sexual fantasies I can only assume that she is imagining herself as the property of a powerful man, perhaps that British officer she read about in the history books, but maybe she's thinking about me.

Riya's words become unintelligible, but the sounds of her grunts and whimpers is as loud as ever and I wish even more that I could see what she looked like right now.