Bedtime Confessions (The Chambermaid's Tales - Short Stories)

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  An air of propriety is what I have. A propensity for indecency is what I will exhibit.

  “On the desk and splay yourself, Slave Girl.”

  She does as I say. She bares her crotchless garment to the man, whose eyes lift vaguely to see his prize. Ruby, as I call her inside my mind, looks enthralled. The man is handsome, well-known, rich, an entrepreneur and a TV personality. I am beyond that, however. To me, he is a thing to be tamed and controlled. I love it. He is not above me. I am more than a mere mortal, after all. I survived so much.

  At that point, I notice a door left open at the other side of the room. I also spot how it opens outwards, with a hexagonal crystal handle and a silver tassel hanging from it. I spot darkness within the hidden nook and I realise.

  Ah. I should have known. He has his own personal chamber of pain. Silly me. I clock the asset and I return my concentration.

  “Close your legs, Slave Girl. Silly girl.”

  She's abominably wanton. She sits up on the desk and eyes me contemptibly.

  “Slave Boy, what did you think?”

  As he lifts his head to speak, without looking either of us women directly in the eye, he seems weak. I sense something. Yes, he really likes the girl. I should have known.

  “She's a dream,” he says softly, and I feel pained. I feel empathy. I sense sincerity.

  How to play him? How to indeed? Either we go through with this charade of playtime or I finish my career on a high. Which is it to be? I wonder.

  I take my time to consider before deciding upon a tactic.

  The man is the subject now.

  “Slave Boy, why is it you like to be dominated?”

  “To extinguish my desires,” he says.

  “Slave Girl, why do you like to dominate?”

  “To enrage my desires,” she admits, on a sultry hum.

  “Slaves, we are in a mess. I see trouble.”

  They look at one another out of confusion and then back at me. Their expressions question me.

  “I feel…” I begin, “the pair of you may bond too strongly this day. I fear it. We must not continue until you have both considered this carefully. I fear you both may attach.”

  Of course they will. Anyone might see it happening. She's a stunning, tall redhead and he's a dark-haired stallion. I sense lust and heat pulsing around the room.

  There is silence for a while before she quells her desire and answers quietly, “I comply.”

  I turn to him and ask, “And Boy, what do you say?”

  “I heartily comply too.” On his knees, his head bowed, he looks in defeat. He's so done for.

  “Slave Boy, remain there. Slave Girl, up on your feet. First, we shall learn The Ruse. Now, are you in need of relief?”

  “Yes,” she moans.

  “Wrong answer. Very wrong. We do not desire. We only punish.”

  “We only punish,” she repeats.

  “Deceive him, make him think you do not want him. You are beyond need or want. Your mind will rise above it. Your body can be controlled. His cannot. He is too needy and he wants you too much. You must learn control.”

  “I must learn control,” she repeats.

  “Stand, Slave Boy, and look into the emotionless eyes of your new Mistress.”

  The handsome man stands and looks into Ruby's stern eyes. His solid erection is barking against his crotch, itching to break free.

  “Good, very good. Now, Slave Boy, strip. In the room. Wait there, yes?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says.

  As he moves into the room and follows my order, I look to the girl and ask, “Who are you?”

  “His pain. His control,” she tells me coldly.

  “Yes, good,” I say.

  Part of me figures I need not even be there a second longer, and the part of me that is a born grafter tells me to see the job out. See that they get what they deserve.

  Their happy ever after.

  It might not be for me, but they can have theirs.

  “Play the part,” I tell her, “arouse him, encourage him but never bow to him. Understand? Always wait for my say so.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she says.

  She and I walk together, hand in hand, and shut the door of his secret room behind us.

  Now as I ride the train home, I remember the events. I oversaw it all, but never once partook. Never once laid my flesh on theirs or had either of them use me or take me.

  She thrashed him with three shades of flog until she drew blood. She plied him with the cock ring and the pocket fanny until he could not control himself. She beat his backside with her hand for his impudence.

  She tied him up against a leather-padded wall and kissed every inch of his body. I watched it all. She rubbed his genitals with the gel. She eased a plug inside him. They maintained eye contact throughout, on my command, and her eyes remained as green as the trees of home, steady and strong-willed. Her iron will bore into his soul and he may have fallen in love with her right then. He came for the second time as he watched her use the dildo on herself. Without his touch. He orgasmed for her. Without her touch. Upon seeing her pleasure, his explosion erupted.

  As I left the room, I heard him ask her, “Can I take you for a drink?”

  I left with a smirk on my face and a sad remembrance of what I was missing.

  Now as I sit on the train in the quiet First Class carriage, I raise my right foot to rest on the bar behind the chair in front. My knees separate and I spread a satin scarf over my lap. I reach and touch myself and I orgasm quickly.

  I remember the way he looked at me, like the Slave Boy looked at the Slave Girl earlier that day, and I gush at the thought of his eyes boring into mine. I try to picture him, wherever he is, sat there thinking of me touching myself. Stroking myself. I imagine him caressing me gently afterward, whispering in my ear, telling me things I need to know. His fire, still, remains inside me. I took it and ran with it. I gave him nothing in return. He used to tell me I was his sinful angel and he'd never want it any other way.

  He's my fire and my light and his power is not fading. I am tormented more than ever before.

  A Small Request

  Back in the bath again…

  “Please tell me that you're finito with this silly game now,” Flo jokes, smirking.

  “Not quite. Ruby told the agency she will only work with that man. I am in the dog house. They let her go.”

  “What? What kind of people are you working for?” she asks, shaking her head.

  “The kind that have rules, just like me. You have to in this sort of world.”

  Flo grimaces and her eyes narrow. She doesn't understand why I do this work. Not many people do. To extinguish my desire. No, nobody understands why I do this. Not when I look like I do and have the potential for so much else.

  I have a need in me so desperate. I need to be pleasured all the day long. The job ‒ it gives me a bizarre kind of peace ‒ something to concentrate on. I find solace in it. Calm. My inner mirth and mayhem is reorganised in the process.

  If I am honest with myself, I only want one thing. But… he does not want to give it to me. I want a full life, with him. It's all I wanted.

  “So, what now?” my loyal friend asks.

  “The Baron,” I tell her.

  “You have to do him to get yourself off the hook?”

  “Yes, I have to finally relent and service The Baron. I could just disappear I suppose, but, it'll be too much fun. It'll keep the silly sods happy if I do one last favour for them.”

  “Oh,” she says, tapping her index finger against her lip.

  “I am nearly done. It's okay,” I say. I don't mind one or two more. Not really. What harm might a couple more do?

  She pulls her knees up to her chest as she sits on the toilet seat and hugs her legs. I see her eyes, telling me a thousand thoughts without a single word.

  “You think I am wrong. You think I should quit right now, don't you?” I ask.

  “That's not what I am thinki
ng,” she mutters.

  “What then?” I demand. She has a foreboding demeanour and I don't like it.

  “He called me today.”

  “He?”

  I don't need to ask, not really. Her guilty look says it all. At the very thought of him talking to her, my insides alight with jealousy and rage. She got to hear his voice. My body turns into a mess of emotions and I feel… alive. He made me feel alive. Nerves take me and I glare at her. She continues, “He calls me a lot, actually. He cries down the phone. I didn't tell you until now. Until now… because…”

  Shit, why is she telling me now? Why is she protecting me?

  “Why now, Flo?” I urge, sitting up straight in the roll-top bath to clutch the sides.

  “He says you were spotted today, in London. He says two men who want the reward followed you to the Tube, then you disappeared. He knows you're in Nottingham. He's desperate to find you.”

  “Why didn't you tell me that he'd been calling you? Why?”

  I struggle to move my mouth or raise my eyebrows even.

  “I knew you'd look like you do now.”

  Oh. Like shit. I probably look like I have been slapped senseless. I feel it. My face won't move. I am in shock. Numb. I am evading everything my body desires, and each day, I am desperately trying to escape Him. But with just one whisper of his name, there is the potential for a plethora of manic emotions, all of which flood me so that I cannot think straight anymore. I need to be able to execute reason. I have a lot more at stake now.

  “What does he say when he calls?”

  “That if I know anything, to ring him. He stays on the line, in silence, most of the time. I hear him breathing until I threaten to hang up and then he mumbles some more words that mean nothing. The man's a wreck,” she says, a kind of sadness sweeping across her face.

  She doesn't know the things I do. She hasn't seen the side of him that only I have.

  I rest back in the bath, wearily shutting my eyes. Even in the glare of the candlelight, she and I can read one another.

  “Today, when I was there, I felt Him,” I say. I keep my eyes closed but all manner of images swim in front of my vision… His arms around my body made me feel like I was encased in steel strength and immeasurable comfort. His eyes led me into paradise and his breath, his voice and his kiss were all I needed to survive.

  “He is living in my skin, Flo. Like the rain's influence on the earth, his fundamental nourishment is unrelenting. It's cyclical and everlasting. He quenched me, fed me his fire and it breathes in my veins still. That day as I drove back from Thoresby Hall, after Cody, I threw up in a lay-by. I coughed bile and phlegm until my eyes watered and I convulsed with the rejection of what shouldn't have ever taken place. It was a desecration. But before, when I had other men, I felt nothing. Because back then, I was in her guise. I was doing her bidding. You see, she's not me, Flo. She's not. I am just a girl who wanted a boy to love her. And he did, but it wasn't quite like I had hoped. In the beginning, I used her to avoid what I was really seeking and yet it found me when I least expected. He found me. Together, we found ourselves. But I wanted him to save me, and instead I learnt, he was the one who needed saving. And the coward I am… she wrote the book to tell him that he needs to do it himself… save himself‒”

  “Are you sure you are not overcomplicating matters?” she interrupts me, frustration etched in her brow.

  “There are things, private things, that I'd never write down. No. He has to do that, because they are his troubles. He has to realise his own issues, Flo. You have no idea, sweetheart, you don't,” and I take a deep breath. I kneel in the bath, pound my fist against the water's surface and look deep into her eyes, “He had the power to take me back, to before the cancer. He reversed everything that had been bad and then… he took that all away again so easily. His positive influence overturned just like that,” I click my fingers, “and it frightened me. It terrified me when he had a chance to make me his, and yet, he still didn't. You have no idea of the depths of my darkness, Flo, but he took all that away. That love,” I stammer, “t-th-that love of his is too much. Too hefty a burden for me. I see all your concerns Florrie, but please, trust me. I cannot go back to him. Not now. I don't know if ever.”

  I cry in the bath and she lets me. She doesn't hold me or say a thing. She's the greatest friend, just being there. Being with me while I mourn the love of my life.

  When I recover, she gets up and suggests, “Glass of the vintage, Madam?”

  I nod and splash my face clean.

  Two hours later…

  Flo and I have had a few too many glasses of her family's Dom Perignon. Her parents practically own a fucking section of France for goodness sake.

  We're a touch inebriated to say the least. We'd planned to have a little drink to send the Chambermaid on her way, and we weren't going to be deterred by my impending meeting with The Baron. More on that menace of a man later…

  We're laughing loudly in the conservatory at the back of the house. I am sprawled in my joggers and Blondie t-shirt and she's wearing one of her trademark tents; a bright-purple kaftan that slips over her head and that's it. No effort. And she still looks stunning, with her dark features, alabaster skin and not a scrap of fat or tissue anywhere. She's a walking mannequin.

  “In the book,” she says, holding a proof copy, “you mention a man called Ralph. Tell me about him. He sounds… tiny. Just how tiny?”

  “Ah, Ralph,” I say, smiling. “He was one of my first. He was fun.”

  She raises her eyebrows and I giggle. She wants to know. Perhaps she needs some titillating story to work herself up with in bed later. After all the bubbly, she will certainly be taking the guest bedroom. I'm generous. I shall give her something to think on later…

  “I remember the day he called me, saying he needed some help. I asked for specifications and he…” I smile, chuckling, “…sent me a photo.”

  Flo's eyes widen and she looks amused. “Tell me more,” she shrills, giggling like a teenager who's had too many alcopops, not the £3,000-a-bottle stuff we're currently lining our racing veins with.

  “It was really small. I mean, I thought he was joking when he sent me a picture of it. It was…”

  “Smaller than a pinky?” she asks.

  “Smaller,” I say softly, “but with gigantic balls. Huge balls. I mean, literally, tennis balls. No wonder he has six kids!”

  “But‒”

  “Ah,” I interrupt her, “I'll get to it.”

  I sit up on the wicker lounger I am sprawled on and cross my legs in front of me, playing with the flute in my hands a little as I compose myself, ready to tell her all.

  “So, I said to him, what can we do about that? You know, I mean, even a suction pump can only do so much! But he said his wife was getting difficult to please. I drew the obvious conclusions, of course.”

  At that point, Flo spews champagne from her mouth. Yes, my millionairess, artiste-extraordinaire friend, splutters all over my furniture.

  “Woman, will you control yourself?” I joke.

  “How could anyone possibly help him?” she asks, laughing her head off like a hyena.

  “We all know it's not about the size,” I remind her, with reference to Mark and his whopping prick, which did nothing to recompense his whopping ego and desire for kinky tricks of the darkest order.

  “Oh come on,” she says, “if a man is that small, surely?”

  “Well,” I say seriously, and take myself back, looking her in the eye again, “I did ask him whether I could really be any help, but he insisted we have our session, even if nothing came of it. He just needed to talk more than anything, I think.”

  “Go on, tell all,” Flo encourages, and she hits me with her glaring eyes, which are firmly fixed on me as I tell my tale.

  This was a long time before I met my lover. This was back when I used to help couples, only occasionally whipping or fucking if required. This was before too much confusion set in and the service becam
e polluted.

  I arrived in Ralph's hotel room and he let me in straight away. He was a well-built specimen with broad shoulders, and, he stood a little taller than I. He was handsome, with dirty-blonde hair cut short and a face full of cheeks and brown eyes.

  “So, Ralph, you want to learn something today, perhaps?”

  “Erm, could we just chat a bit for a start?” he asked me. “Cos, like, I have a few things to ask.”

  Essex boy. I liked his accent, however. It was different to the ones I heard everyday.

  I motioned for us to sit on the edge of the bed and I placed my bag on the floor but kept my coat on. I didn't really have a clue what his requirements would be and whether he would even want to see what I had beneath my coat.

  “If you like, I shall just listen.”

  “Okay, cos this ain't easy,” he said.

  “Take your time,” I encouraged.

  He stood up and walked the carpeted floor in front of me for a little while, pacing to and fro. I waited and watched, not really bothered. I knew I would get paid no matter what so I was in no rush.

  “What it is, is, this… right…” he stumbled, choosing his next words, “ma wife, she weren't that bovvered, ya naw. We had other ways. But since the last kid popped out, she ain't been getting any pleasure from anyfin. Get what I mean?”

  “Tell me, tell me all,” I told him.

  “We do, shag, ya naw, like any others‒”

  “Sorry, but I have to interrupt. I think I just need to see for myself.”

  He smiled, not offended, and dropped his trousers before me. He stared around the room as I looked at what he had and he didn't seem that insecure about it really.

  Well, he has managed six kids! I thought.

  “She always knew that you were rather small, did she Ralph?” I asked, because I was more inquisitive than anything. I have always liked a big cock for all it provides and could never imagine anything so small ever… but then I realised how shallow I was being.