The Maid's Tale Ch. 12bychristinamonroe©
Phillip was in an odd mood: unable to concentrate on paperwork, or his extensive library, he had tried riding his mood away. However, the sight of Jack, labouring over the horses, had brought back the tumult of feelings that writhed inside him. He was losing Mary: what had started as a casual dalliance with an available housemaid had turned into something Phillip had only experienced once before. A woman who met his desires and exceeded them: a woman in whom passion flowed, who was driven by her desires, who needed him as much as he needed her. But he knew that this was hopeless, with his wife and daughter back his life would be curtailed. He would have to give Mary to Jack and try to forget about her. The couple could be married and move far away, away from temptation.
On the day of his wife's return, the entire household was dressed in their best uniform. Standing to attention on the broad steps leading up to the entrance hall of the House they made a brave show. Mr Barlow, the impressive and stately butler stood waiting to greet the mistress. It was his right to open the door of the carriage for them and escort her to the hall where her husband, the Master, stood waiting. Mary, sunk in depths of misery, was waiting in line with the rest of the maids. She knew she had no right to the attentions of their master. She knew that she was lower than dirt, that she was only a servant. But over the last few months she had been closer to him than anybody else in her short life. She knew that their association had started due to a temporary lust on his part. But this had developed, and now she didn't know what to do. As a grown woman, she should have known her own mind, but she was confused. She loved Jack: he adored her, he knew of her sexual drive and how to satisfy her; he knew of her relationship with the Master and that hadn't bothered him: indeed, he had taken part himself, and talked of this frequently. But she didn't want to give up her relationship with Phillip; he satisfied a need in her, a need to be dominated and controlled, a need to be forced. She sighed heavily, confused and miserable.
The carriage drew close, and stopped in a shower of gravel, the horses sweating in the summer haze.
The mistress descended, a stiff and formal figure in a high-necked matronly gown of dove-grey silk and taffeta. Mr Barlow welcomed her home, and she nodded condescendingly. Her daughter, slim and vital, pushed her way out of the carriage. Her long blonde hair coming loose, she ran up the steps to the house, ignoring the rules of decorum, and bypassing the servants.' Where's my papa?' she cried, her aristocratic tones ringing through the hall. Phillip stepped forward, his heart contracting at the sight of this, his only offspring, so lovely and so young. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Then, suddenly mindful of her manners in front of the Baroness, she drew back and dipped a perfect curtsy. 'How do you do, father?' she asked, the dimpling of her cheek the only sign that she was resisting a strong temptation to giggle.
He looked down at her, her bright blonde hair trailing down her shoulders and back, and then stood back as she looked up at him. Her wide, trusting, deep blue eyes held nothing but love and adoration as she gazed at him, and he was struck by the feeling that he had been looked at this way before, by a woman with a similar face, a similar youthful body, and the same deep blue eyes.
Then he knew. He knew what had been troubling him for the last few months, knew what had made him connect with a servant normally so far beneath him that she should have been nothing to him, but who had managed to take over his dreams.
In shock, he took a step back. What had he done? He was stunned at the implications of his actions over the last few months, what he had done?
His daughter, Victoria, named in honour of the Queen, did not realise that anything was amiss. She took hold of her father's hand and began regaling him with stories from London, of the handsome young beaux who had pressed their suit and asked her to dance at the many Balls she had attended, of the receptions she and the Baroness had been invited to and how much she had enjoyed London and all it's diversions.
Phillip, his mind awhirl, was only required to join the monologue with an occasional nod or murmur of interest. He was trying to rid his mind of images of another young woman spread beneath him, her knees parted, her sex glistening with juices of arousal, panting for him to take her. He tried to forget about the times in which he had driven his cock deep into her, sliding into her velvet lined sex or her most secret entrance, listening to her moans of arousal. Remembering the times in which he had encouraged other men to take her while he watched, revelling in her desires, he almost groaned: what had he done? He tried to rationalise his feelings: he had had no way of knowing who she was, what she represented. She was simply a maid who had enjoyed his advances.
Later that evening, after the family had been reunited, the master returned to his study for a moment's peace. What was he to do? Mary didn't know anything: she was an innocent in all of this.
The next day, he summoned Mary to his study. Mr Barlow had passed on the order, surprised that the Master would take the risk now that the mistress was home.
Mary, still miserable, stood, her eyes downcast in front of him. Her mood, however, couldn't dim the glory of her wealth of bright blonde hair or the glow of her deep blue eyes.
Phillip desired her more than ever, knowing now that she was forbidden. She was almost as tall as he, a statuesque figure, slim and supple, with full, rounded breasts that he knew ached to be caressed. He knew every inch of her body: her curves, the fullness of her rounded buttocks, the deep amber furrow between them and the sweet, moistness of her welcoming sex. He wanted to find sustenance there one last time, to bury his aching cock into her, to feel her womanly warmth clench around him, drawing him deeper, milking him of his seed. He wanted to take her peaking nipples into his mouth, to suck them to tautness, to feel them firm and harden between his lips and feel her quiver beneath him. He wanted to feel her soft hands upon him, to caress his shaft, gently easing back his foreskin to reveal the bulbous engorged tip of his manhood that was intended for her. He needed to feel her lips engulf him, to feel the flutter of her tongue against his shaft, and to unload his seed into her mouth, watching her swallow it down.
As these thoughts raced across his mind, Phillip could feel his cock rising. He wanted her; he wanted her so badly he didn't care if he was discovered; he wanted only to take her one last time.
Keeping his eyes on his desk, he shuffled paperwork nervously. 'Mary' he started nervously. 'Mary, you know why I asked you here'.
She shook her head slowly, and he continued. 'I want you to leave the house,' he said, and looked up at her gasp of shock.
'We can't carry on, not with my wife home. I want you to go away, with Jack, start a family.'
He stood up and strode around the desk, reaching out for her. They embraced, and he could feel her shaking. Stroking her hair, he tried to soothe her, and bent his head to kiss her gently on the forehead. But Mary moved quickly, and his lips met hers. She drew his head down, and against his will, he kissed her deeply, feeling her hands bury under his jacket, unfastening the buttons and ties of his shirt. 'Please' she begged, 'just once more...'
He pushed her away, and Mary's hands fell. Ashamed of the naked need for him she had just exhibited, she sank on to the chaise, then watched astonished as he crossed the floor to turn the key in the lock. Returning, he knelt at her feet, his hands sliding up her legs. He knees parted of their own volition, and he caressed the smooth softness of her inner thighs. She moved her bottom to the edge of the seat and spread her thighs further for him, allowing him access to her sex. Holding back her skirts with one hand, he leaned forward and for the last time tasted her bittersweet juices on his tongue. Nibbling at her pleasure bud, he used the other hand to finger her, trailing his finger tips gently through her crisp curls, stroking the moistness of her lips, and pushing in to savour the heat of her, feeling her muscles gripping him tightly. He couldn't resist her any more. Scrabbling to undo his britches, he released his straining cock. He sat on the chaise and she mounted him, her thighs spread across his. She guided him into her, revelling in the meatiness of his thick shaft filling her. With his hands on her hips, she began to move slowly up and down, her muscles grasping him as they had done his fingers. Her breasts, confined in her bodice, were within reach of his mouth, and she undid her laces quickly. He felt as though he could drown in the warmth of her abundant flesh, nuzzling at her and sucking delicately on her pink nipples in turn.
He needed to thrust into her, harder and harder. Knowing that this was what she had wanted, he lifted her from him, and placed her kneeling on the edge of the chaise, her hands braced on the back of it. She leaned forward, her buttocks separating slightly, and he plunged deeply into her. Slamming harder and harder, her buttocks grinding against his flat stomach, he could feel himself coming. He groaned as his juices burst from him, erupting against the neck of her womb, filling her with his hot seed.
He withdrew slowly, his cock still half-erect, and she turned to smile at him. He helped her with her skirts, and then told her again gently that she must leave. She knew this was right; she couldn't stay here, not now. Jack was a good man and would take care of her. Phillip knew that she now accepted this, and with a final farewell kiss she left.
The next day, Mr Barlow called her to come to his private parlour. He had been issued with orders from his master. While he wasn't happy about them, he had to comply. His master knew that Barlow had often sampled his leftovers, but had warned him not to touch this one-all of Barlow's plans for her had been thwarted. He had also to give her money, and Barlow professional demeanour had been jolted when his Master told him how much she was to get. Jack, the stable lad, was also to be sent for, and he too was to receive a purse of sovereigns.
Mary and Jack left the house together, their feelings confused, but both were happy. Mary had grown up in the house, but now, as a woman, with her own man, she could go where she wanted, at no-ones beck and call. When they were settled, Betsy was to come and join them. Mary looked forward to the new chapter of her life but she knew that none of them would ever forget their master.