“Kiss her body a little,” another said.
Florence swept kisses along my throat and stomach and they felt so good. They were the fluttery, feminine little caresses of a female partner worshipping me. In the background, I heard the moans and grunts of others. It was becoming too much for them. I sensed she was heading toward what the pinny hid and I finally deigned to look down on my own body. I saw Florence's head positioned above my navel, darting her tongue inside, and above that I saw the smooth curvature of my stomach bobbing up and down with my fast breathing. My breasts were still erect despite me being laid down and I decided this was the body of another woman. It looked far too beautiful and ecstatic to be mine. Laid down and prostrate, I felt possibly more attractive and sensual than I had ever done before. The pinny was becoming an excruciatingly annoying barrier over what I now needed to be unveiled and excited. I shook about in the shackles to stretch my body so that I might spread my legs wider. The men all took a sharp intake of breath. Florence knew exactly what to do. She pressed against my crotch over the pinny and I cried out. I wasn't sure if it was an orgasm, because as quickly as she had touched me, she had withdrawn her hand. I looked down and saw a distinct wet patch on the pinny. The men were all groaning and rubbing themselves in unison, quite rigorously, and the sounds of male groans and squelching was driving me insane. The twin rugby men were menacing.
Every inch of me was on fire, and my arousal was growing ridiculous, with my own body acting as the centre of all the men's pleasure. I could feel beads of sweat building at my lower back and at the gap between my breasts. I jiggled furiously and somehow the men's eyes were not an issue for me anymore. I simply knew I was missing out on what they were themselves enjoying. Their sinister play continued until I heard their more fractured, aggressive moans start. Florence swiftly released one of my hands and I did what my instincts told me to do. I reached down immediately and tossed the pinny aside. More noise from the gentleman. I reached two fingers inside myself and gasped, feeling relief at last as I was finally able to eradicate the painful heat inside me. With no pubic hair to impede me, it was unbelievably arousing. I even had to look down at myself and I whinnied, seeing my bald, protruding pussy lips and the sight of them deep-red and swollen driving all the men insane. I kept moving my fingers in and out, up and down, round and around. I was a madwoman with a few fingers of comforting relief. I thrust my hips as well as I could.
I made myself cum so bitterly hard that I threw my head back and lay struck by pleasure. I was absolutely delirious by that point. I still felt like there was more, but Flo locked my arm again.
“Which of the men would you like?” Florence asked, and I remember vaguely pointing in the direction of one of the rugby players. They were huge mounds of man and I wanted them.
“Both?” Flo asked.
“Yes,” I murmured.
“One at a time. Greedy Lottie.”
Florence flipped another layer at the end of the bed down so that I was splayed but with nothing between my legs to stop an intruder. The other men kept shuffling their hands along their manhoods and I considered these were practised masturbators because they had already been going at it for a long time then.
One of the rugby players moved toward me and bent down, beginning to lick my pussy. It was astounding and I was totally lost in pleasure. When he touched my breasts, I became panicky. The level of arousal was setting my heart at such a pace. Florence must have noticed. She looked a little fearful but she couldn't intervene. I came with the force of a truck slamming into my groin and screamed, shaking the table almost off its hinges as I threw myself about. The other rugby player sheathed himself and moved to the end and I really don't remember much of what happened next. The first blow of his cock inside me was exquisite, unbridled ecstasy. He moved slowly to start with before holding my hips in his hands and thrusting like a wild man. I woke up to find my groin throbbing with heat and pleasure and cum all over me. Mark had hit my breasts and throat, while the black man had decorated a foot, and the other rugby man and the fat man soiled my thighs and hips. They all left directly and Florence released me. She took a sponge and water and cleaned me, before redressing me in the basque and pinny. My stockings were ripped where I had thrashed and they were also stained a little from the men's cum.
“Nobody will bat an eyelid,” she said, whispering.
I began to cry softly and she held me, holding me close.
“Lottie, it's okay, I know how you feel.”
“I was completely lost, Flo. I've never been like that before.”
“Of course, but it will become more normal. And it's just that you're now coming down off a powerful wave of pleasure.”
I nodded and asked her to hold me for a while. She sat in a chair and I draped myself across her lap.
“How many times did you cum?” she asked, holding me.
“I am not sure!” I giggled.
“Oh my pure Lottie,” she said, stroking my hair. “You are a natural. I only came twice on my initiation.”
I thought long and hard about those words afterward. Natural and initiation. What was clear to me was that I had an imagination for this. My thoughts and ideas were what gave my pleasure flight. That I was a natural whore made me baulk. I was not that. I was simply looking… for something. And really, what was I being initiated in? I suppose, it was the possibilities. They frightened me more than anything because I realised that day, I would always want more. I would seek it from then onwards and that would be it. I was a pleasure seeker.
“How did the men last so long?” I asked Flo.
“Practise, my cherub. With time, you will become highly trained too. You will learn to stave off and control your pleasure. With practise,” she repeated.
After that, Florence and I clung on to one another for the rest of the night as we circled the gallery and other chambers. I might have sought other men's pleasure if it were not for the fact that my body was already ruined. That earlier rush through my heart had scared me. I knew mine was weaker than most and I would have to be careful. Instead, I allowed Mark to dine on me in the group chambers while Florence fucked him backwards cowgirl. His was a familiar and pleasant touch that I knew would not enrage me too much. A group circled us, touching each other in unison, and I felt all their private whispers were what were fluttering along my clitoris. I came with fearlessness.
Mark informed me that the bukkake scene had convinced the Grandmaster I was worthy of their group and I was handed a ring to wear on my middle finger that would signal my belonging to their house forever more. Who the Grandmaster was, I didn't think I would ever find out. It must have been one of those in the room.
I went back to Flo's house with her and Mark that night, too tired to go back to my own home. They gave me the spare room and seemed eager to have their own time together. When I heard moans coming from next door, I was intrigued. The noises seemed louder than was possible. Then I discovered a peep hole near the head of my bed. I came to the conclusion that Mark used this whenever Flo had other company with her in that room, or vice versa. I looked and watched.
Flo's legs were separated by a spreader shackled to both ankles. Meanwhile her wrists were tied together and a ceiling fixture held her arms up. She was totally naked. She was a slim woman with barely a scrap of fat on her. She could wear anything. I wished I were a little more like that but then we have to be happy for what we've got, don't we? I had learnt that after Alex.
“Florence, how many men did you have tonight?” he asked.
“Only two.”
He struck her with a paddle, across her bottom, and she moaned.
“Three,” she admitted. “One kissed my lady garden.”
“Don't call it that. It's your cunt.”
“My cunt,” she repeated, gasping with aching pleasure.
“Better. Now, how will you make it up to me?” he asked.
“Anything you suggest,” she said.
“Anything?”
�
�Yes, Master.”
“Recite Baa Baa Black Sheep you little fool,” he said.
She did and I squirmed. At first, I did not understand what was happening. He paddled her some more and she yelped every time, but not as much from pain as from the desire to have his body touch her instead.
“You aren't saying it right. You aren't,” he demanded.
She continued to sing but she was always struck out of sync by his thrashings.
“Stop!” he demanded, when she could no longer manage even a line. “You are a silly, idle little woman with only fucking on her mind, aren't you?”
“Yes,” she told him.
“Time to punish you,” he said.
He used the paddle to tease her. He massaged all her holes with it, before tracing it along her thighs, her buttocks, breasts and stomach. When she cried out with what I presumed was the onset of a volcanic orgasm, he shouted, “Bad Florence!”
He moved up behind her and placed his awfully large cock inside her tiny pussy. He held his hands at her waist and she screamed for mercy. Every time she communicated her delight, he reprimanded her with a slap at her behind.
“No more naughtiness, Florence.”
When he said her full name, I knew she became a little more aroused because her eyes bulged.
“Oh, but…” she pleaded.
“Shut your noise,” he warned.
Every time she wanted to cry out, she contorted her face with the energy it took to restrain her emissions.
“Master, Master…” she repeated.
He fucked her till she was near passing out. She hung there exhausted afterward, her chest heaving, all her energy having left her. He untied her bonds and carried her to bed, wrapping a sheet around her. His upper body hovered above hers and he kissed her tenderly. Her weak arms clung on to him, wrapped around his neck. He did love her, I realised. He really did. He rolled her into his embrace and held her fast against him.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, Florence. You were just right. Just right,” and nothing else was said. They fell into a stupor together, laced around one another.
I knew what it was, I thought. He was too well-endowed to enjoy sex without all that foreplay. He had to have a woman who was aroused as much as that, otherwise he would never be welcome. I felt sorry for him that he could not just take a woman and enjoy her easily, recklessly, without preparation.
Chambermaid's Rule No.2
Playing the Part
I realised one day, as I was taking a long, hot bath, that there were divides to be adhered to when it came to sexual preferences. This is what I wrote down in my notebook immediately and memorised (knowing it was a failsafe guide to achieving what I wanted in any given situation):
Categories of Men:-
Those who need to be dominated.
Those who need to be dominant.
Those with romantic notions (most of whom are clueless of their preference).
Subcategories of those categories:-
Submissive men tend to require:
- Being tied up and teased by their favourite parts of a woman's anatomy.
- Being tied up and being whipped or slapped.
- Being told what to do every step of the way, with a few cusses thrown in for good measure.
- Sometimes, outrageous lingerie.
Dominators tend to require:
- Tying a woman up/and or blindfolding, before licking and kissing her all over to assert their authority.
- A woman pretending to be the virginal darling who has never been so full of cock before.
- A woman on her front as they take her seemingly unwillingly.
- That their pleasure is in preventing or prolonging their partner's. Punishments may be handed out for too much enjoyment.
Those with the romantic notion of making every time special:
- A soft approach; feminine underwear, pleading whispers, their hands caressing and stroking.
- Cunnilingus or female on top (so she can cum first) before they get the go-ahead to fuck her senseless.
- A friendly chat to settle their nerves.
I discovered I could pretend to be the submissive very well. I knew how to fake my pleasure if required, or indeed, even find pleasure in the basest predicament. One such situation involved a threesome with Mark and Florence where they both enjoyed my body together. I was tied up and Mark sprayed his seed all over my stomach. Florence was then instructed to lick it off. As she did, I imagined I was being cleaned by Cody's tongue (he still crept into my thoughts sometimes) and the very thought of that made me beg for her to make me cum. It ended up that she and Mark both worked on me; she licking my pussy while he probed both holes with his fingers. Oh yes, I could play the submissive little girl very well, taking whatever these men and women had to throw at me.
My natural inclination was, however, toward dealing out punishment. My own penchant for order from chaos, for control and physical exertion, was thus satisfied. For a lot of men who have erectile dysfunction or who simply cannot reach full tilt anymore, something they learn to enjoy is being engaged in a separate type of copulation. Something outside of soft foreplay, more communicative pleasure/pain. It seemed to me that this was definitely a more mature man's sport but I very much enjoyed it. Conjuring dormant desire is something of an art, after all.
The parlour maid version of me – an early incarnation of the Chambermaid – quickly learnt everything she needed to know.
Whenever we arrived at the Lodge, I nearly always left Flo and Mark to their own devices in the gallery rooms or communal chambers. I headed to the punishment chambers. I would wait in a suitably darkened dungeon in one of my many outfits, which mostly featured aprons or pinnys of various varieties. Sometimes I carried some cleaning equipment in my front pocket.
A gentleman and his wife entered and I looked up from where I sat on a wooden chair. The other woman stayed in the shadows but her husband stepped forward and admitted, “My wife requires me to be punished for my failures in the sack.”
In essence, they wanted something to get off on together. Perhaps that evening and maybe even when they got back home.
“On the table then,” I said, and he was strapped to one of the infamous Hambleton beds that were present in most rooms. Shackled down, I saw his penis was a little enlarged already. It pointed east in his leather pouch as if refusing to bend to the will of anyone but his own. He wore nothing else except a leather mask across his eyes and the slippers most of the men wore.
“What is his crime?” I asked the woman, who was dressed in a leather dress. I was in a red and black corset mixed with lace, satin and velvet bows. I could see his eyes darting to my clothing every now and again. He wanted punishment, it seemed. Those breasts which I had hidden for so many years out of shame and embarrassment were on show almost every night (whether at the Lodge or for Mark or other lovers) and were pushed up nearly right under my chin. But, only to taunt these men who I knew did not deserve my bosoms. They only deserved to look upon what they couldn't have and use the sight of them for their own gains or losses later.
“He played with himself,” the woman said, playing her part. “Alone. Without me.”
“Why was this? Such a disrespect!” I exclaimed.
“I am sorry,” he shuddered, aching for me to whip him.
“He wastes what few chances he has on himself!” she said.
“Vile pig. Ugh. That's very bad behaviour,” I said.
“I know,” he moaned.
I retracted a little feather tickler and started my work.
“Let's clean the muck off you, dirty little boy. Very bad boy.”
I teased his feet to begin with, before venturing to between his legs, across his stomach, under his armpits and up and down his throat. The insinuations were driving him to distraction. His cock welled in his tiny little pouch and his wife was drawn to the sight. She knew the ruse would need to continue, however.
“Let's rub down
our clean little participant, now, shall we?” I said to her, and she got up to take some massage oil from me that I'd doused my own hands with.
We rubbed his body all over, as though preparing him for some sacrificial rite. His wife even teased her fingers underneath the leather pouch to punish him, before taking away her touch as soon as it got too much.
“How would you prefer to be punished?” I asked.
“Against my back,” he said. “With you naked.”
“As you wish. And the lady?”
“She is in too much of a bad mood to join. She will watch.”
“Sure.”
I raised the table to a helpful height and then loosed the fixtures at his feet so I could flip him right over. He lay on his front, wrists crossed in front of him, legs free but his rear and back totally bare. From this new angle, I could see his scrotum and anus.
I took a clean crop out of one of the drawers in the room and asked, “Should I lock the door? The only thing is, we will be televised instead.” A screen outside the door would show our work.
“Oh… okay…” he said, the exhibitionist in him so eager that his cock was probably unbearably strained beneath him.
I went over to lock the door and then slipped out of my corset, which had built-in panties, making it easy to become naked. I was shaven bald still and was wearing a purple velvet mask with little jewels around the eyeholes. My hair was spiked and I felt deliriously sexual in that dark room, which was now closed off to us three strangers engaged in seeking mutual, consensual pleasure that did not necessarily need to involve direct touch.
He caught sight of me naked and groaned loudly; the menacing, guttural cry of a hunter seeking prey. I cracked the whip against the wood and warned, “I have no qualms over issuing pain, and, I deal it most brutally if pushed.”
“Oooh, uhh, yes,” he whined. He was panting and delirious. His wife's chest heaved at the sight of her life partner becoming so sexually aroused. A rare moment, I decided. They were a fifty-something couple and very much in love, but simply in need of an extra added little bonus to help them through.
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 13
