by Celia Strapp
I pulled my fingers away, as if they’d just been burnt, and looked quizzically at Mary’s fearful eyes. ‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ I said, and found myself, rather stupidly, curtseying at her.
‘No harm done,’ said Mary, exhaling sharply, and then letting her shoulders fall. ‘I just got worried for a second there. The Duke doesn’t like people touching his art.’
I followed her into yet another plush room, this one with mahogany chairs around the outside of it, and the air of a smart waiting room rather than a living space.
‘Here we are,’ said Mary. ‘The Duke is in there.’ She pointed to a black door, with deep carvings in the wood. ‘He’ll call you into his study in a moment.’
‘He.. he wants to speak to me?’ I muttered, so nervously I was almost incoherent.
‘Well of course he does, silly,’ laughed Mary. ‘He needs to inspect you, doesn’t he?’
She curtseyed before she left me, and as she did so I watched her full breasts bob up and down, and felt that twinge of jealousy again. Then she walked away, her smart shoes clicking on the marble floor.
I was left all alone in the big, imposing room, feeling like something of a needle in a haystack standing there, so small next to the giant paintings on the wall. Even the wooden chairs looked like thrones fit for Queens, and I barely dared sit down.
I walked over to the window and looked out onto the back garden. To call it a garden felt a little misleading. What I could see out there was a whole estate. It looked like half the county of Bedfordshire was back there! There was even a fountain. Maybe he was the king, after all!
Suddenly, there was a creak behind me and I could see the black door being opened. A woman in a burgundy pinafore, tall and thin and blonde and beautiful, motioned for me to follow her in. The woman was immaculate and with perfect posture. Everyone smelt so clean here! What on earth did the Duke want with a filthy little orphan like me?
Chapter 5
The first thing I saw in the study was the sheer number of books. We’d had maybe six or seven books in our library at the orphanage, three of them being the Bible, and the others being picture books. This room was lined with books, from top to bottom. Big old leather books, with dark covers. I had no idea so many books had been written in the world!
Then I saw a desk over by the window. An enormous wooden desk, full of drawers and trinkets, with a golden lamp sitting on it. And then I saw him. My new Master.
Half in shadow, half drenched in sunlight, his thick black hair shone, and the shadows under his chin made it look as if his head was floating on top of a pool of darkness. His deep-set eyes sat atop razor-sharp jawline. His eyes were dark brown and steady, their gaze fixed firmly upon me.
I felt my legs begin to tremble.
‘Come closer,’ he said, his voice deep and commanding. ‘I won’t bite.’ Then, with a strange sort of half-smile, he added: ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Something about the way he said the word ‘bite’ made me stifle a nervous laugh, but I managed to stay silent and took a step forwards.
‘So you’re here to… enter my service?’
‘I… I…’ I muttered.
The Duke’s face suddenly darkened, as if a cloud had passed over his countenance. ‘Answer me, girl,’ he snapped. ‘Or I won’t be so nice to you from now on.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ I said, curtseying and bowing at the same time, making myself look terribly awkward.
The Duke smiled. ‘A shy little thing, are you? I’ll bet you’re a fiery little red-head deep down, once I get to know you.’ He looked up at the woman behind me, who I’d forgotten was still there. ‘That will be all, Gwendolyn.’
Gwendolyn left the room and closed the heavy door behind her.
‘Gwendolyn is my sister,’ he said. ‘Much as I adore her, this meeting feels rather… private… don’t you think?’
Remembering my need for obedience, I nodded quickly, and then took a moment to study the Duke more closely, amazed to be so near this powerful man, honoured but fearful that he actually wanted to spend time in my presence.
From head to toe, he was pure aristocracy. There was no way, with those features, that he could be anything other than one of the richest men in the world. He was strong and masculine, magnetic and commanding. He had the exact same features as a drawing of Napoleon I’d seen in one of our library books. Perhaps the Duke had once been a military man, too. It certainly seemed befitting of his stark and severe countenance.
‘I’d ask you to come closer still,’ said the Duke, his eyes piercing me now, ‘but I can in fact smell you from here. It’s quite, quite remarkable.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ I said, curtseying again.
‘I’d like you to stand where you are, and strip for me,’ he said, his eyes running down the length of me now.
‘Sorry, sir?’ not quite understanding him, or wondering whether I’d misheard his remark.
‘I want you to remove those revolting clothes,’ he said. ‘You will be given different clothes to wear, in due course. But I want to be quite satisfied, for now, that what lies under the clothes is…. well, less putrid, to be quite frank.’
I felt my cheeks redden and felt my heart thumping, hoping that he wasn’t so disgusted with me that I’d be sent back to the orphanage. I couldn’t be sent back now, not now I’d come this far! It’d be like returning to prison!
The Duke reached for a decanter on his desk, and slowly poured himself a glass of something dark and sticky-looking. ‘Hop to it then, girl,’ he said, casting me a dirty look. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
I looked down at my garments, which were in fact the nicest ones I’d ever worn, though I knew them to be ugly nonetheless. I was terribly afraid of removing them. No man nor boy had ever seen me without my clothes – not since I was a young scallywag, running about on the ship in my youth. I had no idea whether my body parts were even… pleasing to a man. Though I had seen Madame Nettlesford looking me over in a strange sort of way over the last couple of years when I bathed, but I suppose that could have meant anything.
‘Get on with it,’ urged the Duke, impatient.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, my fingers trembling, as I reached down for the hem of my garment, and then, fearfully, lifted it over my head.
‘The petticoat too,’ said the Duke.
The petticoat, if you could even call it that, resembled nothing grander than a sack, if I’m being honest, but still, it was a wrench to take that off too, for I was completely naked under that! We couldn’t afford vests and fancy undergarments where I was from!
I took a deep breath, and then lifted off the petticoat, and then stood there shivering, in the Duke of Bedfordshire’s study.
The Duke fidgeted in his seat for a moment. His eyes widened, then he leaned forwards, and then backwards, and then whistled, his eyes fixed on my chest. ‘Quite the specimen, aren’t you, Anya?’ he said.
It was the first time he’d said my name, and the sound of it created a strange, low flutter in the pit of my stomach.
I felt his eyes sliding over my slight frame, over the pink rosebuds of my breasts, still developing, a little slowly for my age, truth be told. Then over my thin, flat stomach, not so round and full and comely as a larger woman like Mary might be. Then, most shocking and disturbing of all, I felt his eyes sliding down to that private part between my legs, covered in a soft, very thin down of wispy hair, most delicate and subtle, with two, soft pink lips poking out between them.
‘Turn around,’ said the Duke, after a while. I noticed a thin layer of sweat on his brow.
I did as he said, feeling his eyes sliding over my thin shoulder blades, my spine, my arse, and then he commanded me to turn back again, full circle.
I could hear him breathing more heavily now, and noticed that his hands had disappeared form the desk and fallen into his lap.
‘You’ll do quite nicely’ he said, breathlessly. ‘Now it’s time for you to be taken up to bed.’
Bed? I remember thinking. But it’s only the mi
ddle of the day!
Chapter 6
Shortly after that, Mary guided me up to my new room, and I followed her up the stairs, cold and exposed and naked. Mary was good enough not to comment on it, although to be quite honest she appeared as unsurprised by my nudity as if I had come out fully-clothed. Had she had to go through this process once herself, I wondered?
‘Here we are then,’ said Mary, stopping outside a grand-looking wooden door. ’Your new chamber.’
She opened the door, and led me in to a fantastically grand bedchamber, with a four-poster bed, a porcelain chamber pot, and a fireplace. ‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed. ‘There must be some mistake…’
‘No mistake,’ said Mary, smiling. ‘This one’s yours.’
‘So your room is like this too?’ I asked, flabbergasted.
‘Oh no, Miss,’ said Mary, shocked at my question. ‘I’m just a humble servant. You…’ At this point, her eyes began to trail, slowly and deliberately down my naked frame… ‘you are special.’
‘In what way?’ I asked, wondering what terrible mistake there had been, some sort of grievous error and mix-up that had led to me being here, in one of the Duke’s most desirable chambers.
Mary shook her head and laughed heartily. ‘Oh dearie me,’ she chuckled. ‘You don’t know much, do you, Miss? You’re no maidservant. ‘She cast me a strange, dark look. ‘You’re to be the Duke’s little harlot.’
I couldn’t help it, despite the warning from my previous Madame, at this moment, dear reader, my jaw quite dropped to the floor.
‘Don’t worry about it. All will be revealed to you, in good time. First thing’s first, we need to get you strapped up in bed.’
Strapped? In bed?
I had no idea what Mary was talking about. Such strange and fanciful things had been escaping from her mouth ever since I had entered this house that I had half a mind to think this was some sort of elaborate dream, perhaps brought on by a fever, and I would wake up in my bunk at the orphanage any moment, and continue on with my old life.
‘Get in,’ said Mary, lifting back the soft, satin sheets, and motioning me to lie down.
In this strange, dreamlike state, I could do nothing but obey, and lay down on the sheets, aware of how rotten my body was next to something so clean, feeling regretful at how dirty I must be making the bed linen.
‘Time to strap you in,’ cooed Mary, as I have heard that mothers coo their children at bedtime, though, having never had such fortune as to have a mother in this world, I did not know.
Mary took one of my wrists, with quite a terrible pressure, if truth be told, almost making me cry out in pain, and then she lifted a leather strap from the side of the bed, and buckled me into place. She did the same with the other wrist, and then took my ankles in the same rough way, shackling them to the outsides of the bed too, leaving me lying there, splayed and naked.
‘What’s happening to me?’ I asked, terrified, feeling how exposed my sex was, split open for Mary to see.
‘What’s happening, indeed,’ chuckled Mary, as she walked to the edge of the room, taking a big jug and bowl in her strong arms. ‘What’s happening, my dear, is I’m giving you a nice big wash.’
Chapter 7
Mary looked at me and smiled. ‘Looks like today’s your big day,’ she said, and pulled a sponge out of the bowl, then poured warm water out from the jug into the large porcelain bowl. ‘We’ll get you nice and ready for him.’
She made an expression as if she’d just remembered something, and then walked to the edge of the room and procured a towel, then return to me.
‘What do you mean? What big day?’ I asked, wondering if I was about to be married!
‘You get to fulfil your role today,’ she said, dipping the sponge into the bowl of water.
‘You’re one of the lucky ones. He’s chosen you.’ Mary sounded almost jealous. It couldn’t be that she was jealous of me, could it?
‘Chosen me?’
Mary dipped the sponge in the warm water, and then lifted it out and squeezed out some warm water onto my stomach. The water smelt of violets. It smelt like water should smell, not like the stuff we’d been forced to bathe in at the orphanage
The warm, sweet, violet-scented water soothed my skin, and I couldn’t help watching Mary’s beautiful breasts, poking out of her top as she washed me. She was so pretty, and yet, somehow, it seemed, I was ‘the chosen one’. Whatever that meant. What was it Mary had said? I was to be his harlot? I wasn’t even sure what that word meant, but I knew it wasn’t normally used in polite conversation…
Mary sponged my stomach, my legs, my neck, my breasts and nipples, and then, finally, she placed the sponge on my soft, pink sex. She dabbed it gently over the sensitive lips, cleaning me thoroughly and carefully, making my slit tingle with delight. ‘Mary,’ I found myself begging, all of a sudden, ‘keep the sponge there a little longer.’
Mary looked up at me and smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said, and she rubbed the sponge up and down each fragile fold, moving it in tiny circles around my most sensitive part, making me moan out loud all of a sudden, so loud that perhaps the Duke would hear me! Seeing how much I was enjoying myself, Mary rubbed me harder and harder, pushing the tip of the sponge into my soft, moist hole, and then, just as I began gasping in great lungfuls of air, she took away the sponge, and squeezed the excess moisture in the bowl. ‘That’ll do,’ she said.
She put the bowl on the floor and then dried me thoroughly with the towel, careful not to let any wetness fall onto the sheets beneath me.
‘Looks like you’re all ready,’ she said, finally, with a satisfied cluck, and then she walked out of the room, leaving me lying there, naked and shivering, but smelling the sweetest and freshest I’d ever felt in my life. Not that that freshness was to last much longer.
Chapter 8
I must have been lying in that strange, expensive room, some twenty minutes or so, splayed out wide on the mattress,naked and fearful, until, finally, I heard a short rap at the door. Before I could answer, the door began to open, and then into the room, walked the terrifying and hungry-looking Duke of Bedfordshire.
‘Excellent,’ said the Duke, as he walked in, smoothing down his kilt and walking right up to the end of the bed, his eyes focused in on that one soft spot between my thighs. ‘You’ll do very well indeed.’
He then walked around to the side of the bed, and began touching himself, in his most private of parts, while looking at my body with such ravishing pleasure as it actually made me forget my terror for a moment, and I felt – I don’t know – almost proud.
‘My filthy, dirty little harlot,’ said the Duke, staring at me, and I almost wondered whether Mary hadn’t done a good enough job of cleaning me, and that the stench was still upon my skin. But then I realised that I contained a sort of stench that would never truly disappear – the stench of my upbringing, of my lowly beginnings in life, of my fishmonger mother and of the orphanage for wayward children. And there was something about that stench that pleased this fine, aristocratic man.
A moment later, the Duke undid something at the very centre of his pantaloons, and set free an enormous pink thing from between his legs, long and monstrous-looking, like a one-eyed sea monster, out to eat me. I almost screamed!
‘Hush hush, child,’ said the Duke, stroking the pink creature with a wicked grin. ‘Haven’t you ever seen a man’s manhood before?’
Something about the look of it triggered an early memory, of being back on the ship, hearing the sailors stroking themselves at night time, and the servant girls moaning as they lay in hammocks with the sailors. Maybe I had seen one of these before, from a distance, but I had never seen anything as big and strong as this one!
‘You do understand,’ said the Duke, stroking his member with one hand and freeing himself of his shirt with the other, revealing a chest of wiry hair, so coarse and different-looking to any female chest I’d ever seen, ‘you do understand what it means, once we’ve committed this act, don�
��t you?’
Lying there with my limbs splayed apart, I had nothing else to do, but shake my head. ‘No sir,’ I said quietly. ‘I do not.’ Was he talking about marriage?
The Duke took off the remainder of his garments, so that he was standing there before me quite, quite naked, and then he began to laugh. ‘So stupid,’ he said. ‘Such a wretched little fool, aren’t you?’ Then his expression lost all of its glee, and he said, with utmost sincerity. ‘Once I have entered you, and taken your precious little flower, without marrying you, you will remain my harlot. For as long as I should wish.’
I swallowed, feeling my heartbeat rising in my chest, aware of the smell of his sexual organ, almost overpowering my nostrils with its manliness. I noticed that my sexual organ had a smell too. I could feel a sort of moisture glistening around it, something I had not really felt there before, and noticed a sweet, fragrant, almost salty odour escaping from between my soft pink lips.
