His Lordship's Bedroom

"His lordship says his bed has not been made properly," the dour old housekeeper told me, with something in her eyes akin to pity.

I knew what this meant. At least, I had a vague idea. I had seen the other girls returning from having "fixed" his lordship's bed. They could barely walk, and would cry out in their sleep weeks after the lash marks had healed. I wasn't afraid, though. My mum's second husband had made a sport of beating me within an inch of my life. I could take anything his lordship could give me.

"He's awfully bloody picky about his bed, now isn't he?" I retorted tartly. I didn't need her pity. I wasn't like the other girls. Through all the beatings I had taken in my life, I had learned to remove myself from the pain. It was an easy enough trick once you learned it. It made the beatings at worst almost tolerable, and at best almost enjoyable. At times, they could become an escape from the hard reality of our one room house, with its dirt floor, and only a curtain separating me from the sound of my mother and that man grunting like two animals.

The housekeeper gave me a look, as if there was something I was missing, but left saying, "You'd best go up and fix it. I imagine his lordship will want to have a talk to you about this."

I made my way up from the lower floors to his lordship's bedroom. With each room I moved away from the kitchen, they became more sumptuous. I reflected on the nature of my employer as I climbed the stairs. He had more control over his staff than anybody I have ever worked for. He hired us all himself, carefully interviewing each of us. If he felt our speech or vocabulary wasn't up to par, he provided lessons for us to learn how to speak properly. I heard him tell a friend once that he loathed anything low or common, even among his staff. In fact, I had been rather surprised to learn that he beat his maids. He hadn't seemed the type, but then again, I suppose they never seem the type.

I had reached the main part of the house now, where his lordship and his wife lived. His wife was rarely in the house. She preferred to spend most of her time in London, attending numerous balls, and if the below-stairs rumors were true, collecting numerous lovers.

I stood outside his lordship's bedroom, and quickly checked that my clothing was straight as he always requested. Our uniforms were actually much less revealing than what most employers had asked me to wear. I had expected my uniform to show as much cleavage as I had to offer (which was considerable), but instead, it was modest to the point of restriction. There were so many layers of tight fabric that I found it hard to breathe on warm days.

Everything seemed to be in order, so I knocked on the door, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to be startling. Receiving no reply, I opened the door and made my way in.

I knew the room was huge, but for the most part it remained in shadow. Only the bed was bathed in the gray mid-morning light of an English winter. Beyond it all I could see were the shadows I took to be the other furniture of the room.

I made my way over to the bed and inspected it. There was no doubt that it was rumpled, but it was clearly rumpled from having been slept in.

"Well," I muttered to myself, "If his lordship wants me to remake his bed because he slept in it, I supposed that is what he pays me for. Bloody git!"

"I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. Did you just call me a 'bloody git?'"

I started at the voice coming from the shadows. Now that I knew where to look, I could see the outline of a man's form leaning against one of the back walls. I tried not to show that he had surprised me. I knew I would be beaten and probably fired, but for the moment there was no going back. There would be time enough for regrets when I was out on the street.

I raised my head high and addressed the shadow, "Yes, I did my lordship."

"And why would you do a stupid thing like that…ummm…what is your name again, girl?" He was slowly moving into the light.

"Name's Mary, your lordship. And I called you a bloody git, because only a bloody git would complain about his bed linens being in disorder after he has just slept in them. I know what you do to the other girls, and I'm not afraid of you. You can fire me, but you can't intimidate me."

"Oh, Mary, you're wrong on so many accounts. Firstly, you have no idea what I've done to the other girls. Only the guesses of an innocent creature. And believe me when I tell you that I can and will do more than intimidate you. When I'm through with you, you will be on your knees before me." His handsome face finally came into the light. Looking at him was a common guilty pleasure among the female (and some of the male) servants. His brown hair just reached his shoulders, but was always kept back in a neat queue. His face spoke of his birth, with a strong aristocratic nose and a chin that was anything but weak. He had the body of a man who spent the day at hard manual labor, but he was always dressed in the finest clothes. All that, I could handle with ease. But it was his eyes that unsettled me every time. They were a startling blue, an eye color I had always thought weak, but on him, they showed only his power and his passion for life.

He walked slowly over to me, moving with the grace of a wild animal. I watched his slow progress with a mixture of awe and fear. While I knew I could handle any beating he would administer, I also knew that he was far more powerful, in some way I could only barely understand, than any man I had ever known.

He stopped when he stood only inches from my face. I refused to back down, even from my lord and master. I would not flinch from my punishment.

"Make the bed, Mary," he said in a voice so low, it was barely more than a growl.

My resolve broke, and I jumped to obey him, happy to delay the pain, at least for a little while.

Making a large bed like his lordship's is not a graceful process. When alone in his room, I spent a lot of time in the middle of the bed with my rear in the air, trying to smooth out the impossibly large sheets. I knew his lordship was watching me as I struggled with his bed, and I could feel the heat of a blush staining my face. When I felt I had finished, I stood at the end of the bed and looked for imperfections. I noticed one small wrinkle at the end of the bed, and I bent at the waist over the tall bed to smooth it out.

It happened so rapidly that I had no doubt it was planned. The cuff was around my left ankle before I even realized he had moved. He jammed his knee in between my legs and forced them apart a few inches. Then with a swift gesture, the second cuff was on my right ankle. I turned to look at him, to make some form of protest, but he grabbed me by my neck and forced my face down on the bed in front of me. I was bent at an awkward angle, with my legs spread slightly apparent, and the entire top half of my body pressed into his lordship's bed. I felt him lean over me, his long body, easily covering mine.

"Nobody talks that way to me, Mary. You know better than to use course language in my household. Add that to the badly made bed…" I opened my mouth to protest, but he just pressed my head further down into the bed.

He began slowly peeling up my layered skirts, one by one, still holding my neck down to the bed almost effortlessly, "I know everything there is to know about my servants. I know about your stepfather, Mary. And I know you think I'm going to beat you, just like he did. But you know I hate anything base or common. I'm going to make it much, much worse for you."

His hands hooked over the waist of my drawers and yanked the material away from my body. I felt the pressure against my front tug and then release as the material ripped. I was naked from the waist down.

"In this house, disobedient, disrespectful girls like you need to be punished," he growled. "I think we'll start with a nice long spanking."

With that he brought his open hand down hard against my bare ass. I jolted forward in an attempt to escape the attack on my tender flesh, but all I succeeded in doing was pulling harder against my restraints. His hand came down again, and again, pausing only to build the suspense of the next strike. The pain was no worse than anything I had felt at my stepfather's hand, but the added humiliation of being so exposed to this man I hardly knew was almost more than I could stand. I held back the tears as his hand struck my already sore cheek again, trying to hold on to what was left of my pride.

After what seemed like hours, he abruptly stopped. My ass was burning with the pain of the recent assault, and I knew they must have been bright red in contrast to the rest of my skin. I felt his hand leave my neck, and I was able to relax my body.

When I heard the chains at my feet clinking, I tried to plan. Once he released my ankles, I quickly turned to run for the door. But he had obviously expected this. Before I was more than a step away, he grabbed me and spun me back towards him.

"Bitch," he growled, "Don't even think of trying to escape. Silly child! Did you really think I would let you go, when I haven't even felt that delectable mouth of yours?"

He grabbed both of my small wrists in one hand and with the other grabbed the back of my head and kissed me ruthlessly. He bit at my lip until I was sure I tasted blood. I tried to keep my lips closed, but his tongue plunged deep into my mouth.

He stepped back and sighed. "You've a mouth made for kissing, Mary. But I think it was almost made for something else.

He shoved me to my knees before him, and began to open his pants.

With his member in hand he asked me, "What would you call this, Mary, if I hadn't taught you how to speak properly?"

I looked at it and muttered, "I'd call it a cock, your lordship." His was massive. It was slowly stroking it in front of my face while he held me on my knees.

"You see, Mary, there are sometimes when crass language can be useful." He pushed his cock against my mouth. I was again helpless to keep my lips sealed, and his huge cock slipped into my mouth. He slowly began to move it in and out of my lips, while holding my head still.

"In this room, there are certain words you are allowed to you, Mary. You are currently sucking my cock. Have you ever sucked a cock before?"

I made a negative sound, which was all I could manage with my mouth so full.

"You're very good for an innocent, then. Right now I'm fucking your face with my cock," he pulled out and looked down at me, "Tell me you love having your face fucked by my cock!"

I looked up at him in revulsion, "I will say no such thi…"

He slapped me. Hard. "You will say what I tell you to say, slut!"

I shook my head and received another slap. "Say it!" he shouted as he rubbed his cock along my sore cheek.

My face burning with shame, I gave in. "I love having my face fucked by your cock."

"There's a good girl, Mary." He said as he slammed his cock back into my mouth.

"Here's how it's going to work, slut. You will make my bed every morning as usual, but you will stay here. You will serve my pleasure whenever I desire." As he spoke in his calm cool voice, his thrusts into my aching mouth were becoming harder and faster.

"If you do not do as you are told, I will tell the local police that you were stealing from me. If you think I'm a monster, just wait until you experience the touch of a liquor soaked prison guard who literally holds your life in his hands."

Even with my limited experience, I knew he was close to the end. His was forcing his cock so deep into my throat I could barely breathe.

"Just do as you're told, Mary. Who knows, I might even let you enjoy it someday!"

He pulled his cock out of my mouth, "Open up, slut, I'm going to cum." He threw his head back and poured the white, sticky stuff all over my face, into my mouth, and in my hair.

I was still kneeling on the floor, covered in his cum, near tears at what I had just experienced.

When he had caught his breath, he looked down at me again, "You're better than most, Mary, I'll give you that. Now go clean yourself up in the basin, so no one sees you looking like the whore you are, and be back here tomorrow at eleven."

With that, he pulled up his pants and left me to clean myself up.