Lords, Ladies, Butlers and Maids

by Various

  ‘Come in, sir,’ I said, smiling bashfully. ‘Please take a seat.’

  ‘Did I win a private concert?’ He settled into the leather chair, his male excitement already evident to my discerning eye.

  ‘More than that, sir. You’ve won a trip to France.’ I knelt before him and smiled into his eyes. He looked confused, which made me brave. ‘May I take down your trousers?’

  ‘What’s this then?’

  ‘You said you wanted me to kiss you, sir.’

  ‘That I did.’ Chuckling, he lounged back in the chair and let me attend to him, the confusion now turned most thoroughly to lust.

  First I fondled his long, slim cock and bollocks, until he stood stiffly at attention. Then I kissed his mighty soldier, starting at the base and moving slowly toward the sensitive helmet. Mr Maxwell seemed to enjoy this very much, for he whimpered and grabbed the arms of the chair. Finally I took the knob in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.

  ‘Good God, girl, he’s trained you well,’ he hissed.

  In reply, I slid my lips all the way down, sucking gently. Since I’d practised with the master over a dozen times in the past few days, my skills were far more assured.

  Mr Maxwell groaned and shifted in the chair.

  After that it didn’t take long. I bobbed over him just a few times before he spent helplessly down my throat.

  Well schooled as I was in the art, I didn’t spill a drop.

  My blood racing with my first taste of victory, I tidied myself up and waited for the next knock.

  I knew it would be Green Eyes, known to society as Mr. John Davis. This gentleman seemed more at ease in my presence. He smirked at my nightdress and fingered the pile of towels on the washstand with an appreciative grunt.

  ‘Stingy old Charles said I couldn’t have you below the waist, but everything above is mine to enjoy as I desire. There was also something about a trip to France?’

  ‘Paris, sir.’ I gave him a saucy look. If the master had primed this one for the game, so would I play it. ‘The boat departs when you take down your trousers.’

  ‘Indeed, but first I’d like you to take off that wrapper and open your nightgown for me. Only to the waist of course.’

  I blushed, but willed myself to untie the ribbons down the front of the nightgown with a steady hand.

  Green Eyes took the liberty of pulling the nightgown down over my shoulders to expose my bosom to his satisfaction.

  ‘Now let’s go to Paris, little Irene.’

  This gentleman’s manhood was shorter, but quite robust. While I pleasured him, he called out a series of commands – ‘slow now’, ‘use your tongue all around’, ‘take it deeper’–all the while kneading my bosom and flicking my nipples to points with his thumbs. Finally he barked, ‘Stop there, girl.’

  Timidly I obeyed. Had he not enjoyed my ministrations?

  On the contrary, as if possessed, the gentleman quickly pushed me back on the floor and straddled my waist. He began to rub himself furiously, his rod poised over my chest. I watched in fascination as a pearl of liquid appeared at his tiny blind eye. In the next moment, he shouted out a rude word again and again as he sprayed his burning spunk all over my breasts.

  In the end, Mr Davis did have the courtesy to mop me clean most gently with a towel from the washstand.

  Thus was I flushed with two triumphs when the master walked through the door. He embraced me as if we’d been apart for years. Laughing with delight, I pulled him to the bed and we lay entwined together while I told him everything that had passed. He caught his breath when I revealed how Mr Maxwell kissed my mouth deeply afterwards, as if to savour the taste of his own mettle. And my darling groaned and held me tight when I described the way Mr Davis made a naughty mess all over my bubbies.

  ‘You see, my love, I’ve had the soup and roast, but I’m still hungry for my pudding. It’s your turn to submit to these lips that were the undoing of your old friends. Oh, how those brazen gentlemen sang for me in the end – swearing and grunting and crying out as they spent. We turned the tables, sir, we did indeed.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes, Irene, show me just how you pleased them.’ The master was quivering like a jelly, but his manhood was as rigid as an iron bar. I took that dear appendage in my mouth and sucked it like the sweetest candy. Time and time again, I brought him to the brink of spending, then pulled him back again until he sobbed for mercy. At last, I relented and gave him the hard sucking he craved for his climax.

  And I let my favourite relish linger in my mouth for some time before I swallowed.

  ‘Lips like heaven,’ he whispered afterwards. ‘I swear no woman has ever understood me as you do, darling. But I must tell you …’

  ‘I know, Charles, our time will be over when you marry, but I’m still yours for three days more.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, no, my little nightingale, I won’t give you up now. Mine is no love match, and many a married man before me has made special accommodation for his true heart’s desire. Indeed I’ve come up with a wonderful plan. Would you like to hear it?’

  Basking in his gaze, which saw me and loved me for all that I was, I knew I could refuse him nothing.

  The Engagement Party

  Alegra Verde

  His hand was heavy, hard, and easily spanned the width of my backside. I closed my eyes against the quick, stinging slaps. The heat that suffused my face matched the throbbing burn that was spreading across my bare bottom. I was mortified. My curiosity, as usual, had got the best of me and I’d allowed this thing to go too far. I moved to rise, my hands gripping his hard wool-clad thigh, but the large hand that had been resting on my back, the feel of its weight enough to keep me still, pressed down firmly just as another stinging slap sliced at my bottom. The sound seemed to reverberate. I tensed. The long-fingered hand fell again, three times in rapid succession. To keep from crying out, my fingers gripped and twisted the thick stitching at the rim of the settee’s cushion, and the fabric of his trousers. I could feel the white-hot stripes it left. The walls of my sex began to clench, and the flesh began to swell and grow moist. I squirmed restlessly and the hand at my back grew heavier.

  Embarrassed by the growing dampness between my legs, I buried my face in the thick, dark cloth, only vaguely aware that it was the tail of his evening jacket. My teeth scraped my lower lip and held on. Tears crowded my eyes and I couldn’t breathe. The flat of his hot hand fell again, and his fingers slipped between the high round cheeks of my bottom, their tips sliding down to tease my slick opening, a brief reprieve before the sting came again. A tear slipped through a lash and ran the length of my cheek. The scalding hand fell again and the tips of my breasts tightened as the red heat streaked through my body. My heart beat faster and the soaking folds of my sex throbbed.

  In the other room, a low reedy flute was playing Waltz No. 1 from Mozart’s Three Waltzes, the cello close behind, trying to catch up; both seemed lost in time and tempo. The harsh pulse of hot hand against supple flesh was a far more thrilling music. I imagined the maze of long white marks his fingers had made on the reddened skin. A woman laughed, high and shrill. The brush of full skirts against narrow walls; the pungent smell of tobacco. The voices in the hall grew more distinct.

  ‘Ward made short work of him, he did …’ The sound of a hoarse male voice made husky by years of smoke. A quiet laugh then the soft thump and swish of silk like a woman being pressed against wallpaper. The sounds drifted through the closed door, but the searing hand paid them no heed. Slap, piercing sting; I gasped, my fingers knotting then flexing against the coarse cloth. Slap, slap, and then a long slow throb. Two fingers pinched and twisted a bit of plump flesh high on my arse. The shock ran the length of my body, leaving me trembling. My sex pulsed and tightened. I could feel the moisture seeping. His hot palm and hard fingers burned against the flesh of my thighs; again, quick and sharp.

  The image of the wooden rod my tutor used to use flashed on the inside of my closed lids. ‘If you’re going to be braz
en enough to demand that you be allowed to study Latin, you should at least put forth an effort,’ the bespectacled young man had barked as he wielded the thin length of wood. There was always the swishing sound and then the biting sting across my thighs. My breasts felt heavy and my nipples felt as though they were piercing the fabric of my bodice. I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress the moans. My fingers snagged between a layer of soft wool and coarser upholstery as I tried to bury my face, but sounds still escaped.

  ‘It would have been a better fight in 1829. Byrne was in better shape two years ago.’ The voice in the hall was light, playful and very female.

  ‘What bloodlust! An hour and a quarter of raw knuckles and bruised ribs not enough for you?’ the man’s whiskey-smoked voice again.

  ‘Shh, remember, I was never there.’ Silence, the rustle of fabric pressed and sliding against the wallpaper, a moan. Long fingers slid down the crevice of my bottom and slipped in, through the wetness that seeped from my sex.

  A giggle from the other room. ‘Not here.’ The shuffle of dancing shoes, the light click of heels on the wooden floor before the narrow strip of carpet claimed their sound. I trembled, my stomach pressing into the slightly open V of his lap.

  ‘You like that, don’t you?’ he whispered, his voice cold like the sting that followed as he raised his hand and let it fall hard and tart against the fleshy rise of my arse. Again, and once more, harder, before he shoved me off his lap and I tumbled in a whirl of lace and taffeta to the carpet at his feet.

  ‘You’re Ethel’s cousin Jen, are you not?’

  I nodded.

  ‘An unmarried girl of barely twenty.’ His eyebrows were arched and high as he spoke. ‘Are you accustomed to spending time alone with men who are not related?’

  I shook my head while surreptitiously rubbing cool fingers over a particularly searing spot on my bottom, but I couldn’t think. I was only aware of my stinging backside, the knowing tingle between my legs and the hard press of my nipples against the crisp corded pleats that ran the length of my bodice.

  He stood over me. Tall. Long legs in slim trousers. The brocade of his burgundy waistcoat beckoned me. I wanted to touch the thick swirling thread that made up its intricate design. I wanted to run my finger around the tight swirls and trail it down past the last gold button. It had worked its way free of its hole and shone like a brilliant jewel, a garnish at the bottom of his waistcoat that drew the eye to the two pointed tips of lush brocade. They framed and nearly touched the beginning of the long bulge that lay invitingly just beneath his waist, a plump sausage that trailed down to just inside his thigh. I reached out to touch it.

  ‘No!’ His voice was soft but firm, his eyes dark.

  Someone laughed, a man, deep, throaty, followed by a peal of feminine giggles. The sounds wandered off down the hall.

  I withdrew my hand.

  He unbuttoned the placket, reached in and tugged until the tip and just a little more of his thickly swollen sex peeked out.

  ‘Do you want to touch it?’

  I nodded, unable to speak as the muscles of my sex trembled and my nipples hardened further, straining against the uneven fabric.

  ‘Only your mouth,’ he said and held the plum out to me.

  Kneeling before him now, I leaned in and licked the purplish helmet. It was slightly salty and very warm. There was a faint savoury smell, musky, like the sea in summer. His hand trembled, but he said nothing. I slipped my mouth over the hot little hood and sucked. I liked the way it felt in my mouth, all warm, round and slick. I sucked harder, making sure that my teeth only skirted the tender skin. He held more out to me and soon I had a good portion of him in my mouth. I gripped one of his thighs with one hand and the edge of a tight round cheek with the other while I sucked at him. I tasted as much of him as I could. My mouth slid up and down the heated skin; my tongue lingering over the notch under the hood and the places where the engorged veins made the skin rise and swell tightly.

  He groaned and one of his hands fell to my head, his fingers sifting deeply through the tresses until they were snugly tucked into my curls, holding me in place but giving me enough room to continue sucking the ever-hardening length of him. The tugging way his fingers threaded through my hair reminded me of last summer, of the way Henry had held my head as we knelt near the pond.

  Henry and I had grown up together as his father’s estate abutted ours. We had spent the day together saying our goodbyes as he was leaving the following day for the requisite Grand Tour. He and I had always played like boys together, rough and tumble, and he didn’t let up when I began wearing long skirts, although the play had become somewhat amorous on his part.

  That afternoon, after some tumbling and much laughter, we had ended up sprawled on the grassy bank. I was flat on my back and his head was lost somewhere under my skirts. I whacked him with my fist to dislodge him, but I’m sure that the many layers of cloth stunted the blow because he continued to forage. His head nudged its way beneath my chemise and his teeth began to graze the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. An odd jolt ran the length of my body. I was so stunned and curious that I stilled, waiting for what might come next.

  He continued on his way, licking and nibbling, until he reached my sex, which he began to lave with his tongue. It was an odd sensation, wet and raspy, not unlike the kiss of a big dog. I laughed and whacked him again, but he held my hips and continued. I didn’t like the way his fingers dug into my hips or the afflicted way he was breathing. It sounded as though an ancient asthmatic was tangled beneath my skirts. I shoved him with all my might, kicked out at him and rolled away, leaving him panting a few yards off.

  To add to my discomfiture, he had unbuttoned his pants and his manly part protruded from the opening, thin but long and obviously aroused.

  ‘I need you,’ he panted. ‘I’ll come back for you, I promise. Just let me put it into you for a moment,’ he begged holding it in his right hand.

  ‘I’ve no desire to marry you, Henry Ledbetter,’ I said with a laugh. He was a fool and obviously thought I was one of his pack.

  ‘Well, you might at least lick it,’ he grimaced. ‘As I did you.’

  I rolled my eyes at him and began to stand.

  ‘Please,’ he begged. Henry was like that, always coaxing me to try something new, and while it might have resulted in a twisted ankle or having to hide under a heap of soiled hay, it was always interesting. So I’d crawled over to him and examined the offering. It looked relatively clean, rather pink really. I’d leaned in to smell it and in his eagerness he jabbed the knobby point at me, grazing a nostril. It was damp and smelled of heat, boy and, oddly enough, grass. It was not unpleasant so I licked it and found its saltiness appealing. I let the knob slip between my lips and Henry groaned. I liked the smooth round head so I sucked it as I would a lemon drop, savouring its shape and tartness. That is when his hand gripped my head and held me there while he thrust once, twice, and then he cried out as he erupted inside my mouth. Stunned, I had fallen back on my bum, as had he.

  But this was different. Although his fingers were threaded through my hair, he didn’t hold me stiffly as Henry had. He let me move, suck and taste him freely, only increasing the pressure when he especially liked the way my tongue or lips felt. Only then did he thrust into my mouth, and then it felt right, then I could suck him in earnest. I liked the way its smooth skin rode the roof of my mouth and the way he trembled against my lips. I liked the sounds that he made, husky moans of appreciation.

  ‘You’ve done this before?’ His voice was deep, throaty, almost hoarse.

  I nodded and then shook my head, but did not relinquish the firm morsel between my lips. It hadn’t been like this with Henry so I wasn’t sure whether it counted. I wondered: if I sucked him hard enough, would he erupt as Henry had? Would it taste the same, hot, creamy and somewhat sticky?

  His laugh was short and a bit strangled.

  ‘Have you ever had a man’s cock between your legs?’ he asked, as his fi
ngers slipped through my hair to my scalp, cupping my head as though to hold me more firmly.

  That stopped me, the tip of the plum poised just between my lips. It was time to pull back, time to smooth my skirts down and scurry away. Had I been born male, I’d have had all manner of amorous adventures by now, but having been born female I knew and respected my limitations. Well, the most important ones. Although I had admittedly pressed the bar, I knew when to release it. As it stood, I didn’t really know this man or his limits and he didn’t know me. Based on my behaviour thus far, he had every right to believe that I was both experienced and loose – when in fact I’d vowed to save the finale for my marriage bed. Just how far would he press his advances? I couldn’t very well risk crying out and being caught in flagrante delicto. So I sucked at the rounded tip once more, my tongue tracing the moist dimple at its centre before relinquishing it. I could still feel its shape in my mouth as I pressed my forehead into the warm wool of his hard thigh. His hand still in my curls was gentle for a moment and then it fisted around a clump of hair.

  ‘A tease,’ he said, tugging me up by my head and hair, his palm gradually opening to firmly cup my scalp, directing me until I was on my feet and standing before him. ‘I should show you just what …’ His words were a harsh whisper, but he was buttoning his pants. When he was done, he took me by the arm and yanked me towards a plushly upholstered armchair, where he summarily pushed me head first over its thickly padded arm. Briefly, I flailed about with my arms outstretched and my hands grabbing clumsily at the cushions, struggling to regain my balance, frightened but more than a little curious. Layers of cloth fell heavily over my head as he plucked my skirts from where they had moulded to my bottom and then tossed them out of the way. A brief waft of cool air assailed my bare nether cheeks just as the sting of his hot palm began its assault again. Stunned, my sex twitched, but I squirmed, trying to burrow through the layers of skirt, eager to find light. My bottom burned from the barrage of angry smacks.

  ‘Un-mar-ried-girls-should-not-play-grown-up-games-with-men.’ A pointed slap accompanied each syllable.