tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe Young Irish Maid

The Young Irish Maid

byCAP811©

Many thanks to Sinead for helpful suggestions on this story. (BTW, the heroine's name is pronounced "Sha-vahn.")

-----

I am a man haunted. Driven to the depths of despair and raised to the heights of ecstasy by that girl: a slim young creature who bewitched me and made me half crazy as I careened between fierce lust for her and bitter remorse for what I subjected her to.

It was not always this way. For most of my life I was the soul of dignity, a true gentleman. My life was a tranquil sea, roiled neither by triumph nor tragedy.

But then I met her. If there is one true love for a man, then perhaps there is, as well, one true enchantress who alone among women can wreck his peace and bring out the devil in him. For me, it was that girl.

I first met her just over a year ago, on a dull rainy day in October 1887; the autumn of the year, the autumn of my life. My wife of 25 years, Irene, had passed away some four years earlier. I had settled into the comfortable life of a middle-aged widower who wore his 52 years well.

I lived in a brownstone in a fashionable area of the Upper West side, enjoying my career as an associate editor for Harper's Magazine. When the muse visited, I occasionally contributed articles and poetry of my own.

I had passed that quiet morning in my library, enjoying a briar pipe as I edited articles and caught up with correspondence. It would prove to be the last truly peaceful day of my life.

A knock on the door interrupted me. After a "Yes?" my housemaid Miss Winston entered. At her side was a young woman.

"Mr. Jennings, I've a young lady here applying for the maid-of-all-work position we have open. Do you have time, sir, to speak to her?"

"Yes, I suppose." I rose from my desk and approached the two. Miss Winston was a widow in her late 30s who had been in my employ for five years. She was a dutiful servant, although her habit of stuttering made her painfully shy.

"Sir," she said tremulously, "may I present Miss Siobhán Flynn. Siobhán, this Mr. Herbert Jennings, the master of the house."

With a nervous smile, the girl managed an awkward curtsy, saying, "Very nice t' meet ye, sir." Her Irish brogue was thick but nonetheless pleasing to the ear.

"My pleasure, Miss Flynn. Has Miss Winston advised you of your duties as maid-of-all-work?"

"Yes sir, she has," Siobhán replied.

As we spoke, my eyes roamed over the girl, seeing her scuffed boots; a rough wool dress and cloak of inferior quality; a thick mass of oily dark tresses, greatly in need of a good washing.

Only in the girl's face did I find beauty. She had luminous eyes, rich green and with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen on a woman. Her skin was soft and radiant, the pure cream of her complexion becoming a most pleasing rose hue coloring her cheeks. Yes, I thought, here is a true daughter of Eire; an uncouth girl from the wilds of County Mayo perhaps.

"Tell me, what is your previous experience? Your qualifications?"

Miss Winston spoke first, saying, "She has no experience, I'm afraid, sir." Now occasionally stuttering, the woman went on, "Siobhán is the granddaughter of the Casey's, our greengrocers. She came over here in '81, and has worked for them. She .. she didn't get along well with some of the customers, so I was hoping you'd give her a chance to learn to be a maid."

"I see." I gazed at Siobhán, who returned my look impassively. Yet I sensed a fiery spirit beneath her calm exterior. And oddly enough, that she was judging me every bit as much as I her. Even then, some part of me hoped that the little sylph would approve of the older man before her, his russet hair turning gray along the sides.

The tart's lively eyes were so distracting that I found it necessary to look out the window. "Well, this is a live-in position, Siobhán, with your quarters in the attic. You will be on duty from six in the morning to ten at night, with two and a half hours for meals and another two hours in the afternoon to attend to personal needs."

"Yes sir."

"You will assist my cook Ella with meal preparation, will learn to serve tea, and to iron the newspapers. And of course you will never speak to guests unless spoken to, and only then to say yes sir or yes madam."

"Yes sir."

Now came an awkward pause. "Siobhán, would you please wait in the parlor. I need to speak to Miss Winston in private."

"Yes sir," she replied, then murmured words in a different language to Miss Winston.

"Wait just a moment," I said with some asperity. "Miss Winston, you speak Gaelic, do you not?"

"Yes sir, I do. My mother's family is Irish."

"Listen, both of you, there will be no Gaelic spoken in this household; nothing said that I as your master cannot understand. Is that clear?"

With eyes cast down, both women spoke as one. "Yes sir."

After the girl had left the room, I relit my pipe. "Miss Winston, that girl seems little more than an alley cat. Can you not find someone better? And I'd prefer a younger girl. Fifteen or so, as was Dora. This little wench will run off to marry some lout within the year."

"Sir, she is rough around the edges, but I'll do my best to train her. She's energetic and is willing to work hard. She's only turned eighteen, and will give many good years of service if treated well. The Casey's begged me to offer her to you. She desperately needs the money."

"Something about her bothers me. You know how much I value a quiet, well-run household."

"P..p..p..please sir, I'll do my best to make sure she satisfies you!"

"Very well. But for heaven's sake clean her up! Give her a good bath; then let me see what she looks like in uniform."

Ah, I can only smile ruefully as I look back upon that morning! How ironic that I did not want that girl in my house; and that I actually expected my life to be serene even after I had met her!

I dismissed my housemaid, and shortly after dressed for lunch at my club. After making several social calls in the afternoon, I returned home at four. The clouds had lowered again, promising more rain.

Miss Winston approached me in her usual state, as jittery as a sparrow. "Sir, I laid in a fire in your library. Would it please you to take some tea there?"

"Yes, thanks, that would be most welcome."

I settled at my desk and was looking over a manuscript when a figure approached. I glanced up, and it was Siobhán. She smiled nervously, saying, "Sir, I have yer tea for ye."

I think perhaps in some way I was lost then, at the very moment I looked upon her. She was now well-scrubbed, a rich mane of raven hair spilling out from her maid's mobcap. She was wearing a black floor-length broadcloth uniform and a white apron. A stand up collar enclosed the girl's long neck.

As any man would do, my eyes were drawn to Siobhán's chest, where the fabric was stretched to the limit by her full bosom. Nature had chosen to bless this girl with most bountiful endowments, great mounds that seemed quite out of place on such a nymph.

I gaped for longer than was decent, and finally realized that Miss Winston was standing near the door awaiting my verdict.

"Why, Miss Winston," I smiled, "you have transformed the girl! She is quite lovely. If her service is as pleasing as her appearance, we have found ourselves a jewel!"

"T..t..t..thank you sir!" Miss Winston said, no small amount of relief in her voice.

Of course I looked back to Siobhán, indeed was helpless to do otherwise. She was now blushing as she poured the tea. Her full lips were a delicate pink hue, and as she drew close I savored the aroma of lilac perfume mixed with a more piquant fragrance that I would learn was the girl's natural body scent.

She was, all in all, a delightful creature; a flower that had bloomed in the desert of Manhattan. I felt no lust for her, but rather joy that such beauty would grace my quarters and add flavor to my life. It was the first of many thoughts that set me on my path to the unthinkable.

*******

As I awakened the next morning, my first thought was of the comely Irish maid. That should have warned me. Already she had piqued my interest more than was proper. But I ignored the sign.

In the days that followed, Siobhán proved to be a diligent worker and was quick to learn. Her youthful beauty and charm were too much for even a man of my years to ignore. I found myself instinctively tracking her whereabouts in the house. If I did not see the girl for a while, I would make an excuse to myself and walk to the kitchen or the sewing room just for a glimpse of her. Again, this was a warning sign to which I paid no heed.

Like any 18-year-old Irish lass, she was high-spirited, even boisterous. One day she accosted the bread delivery boy, declaring that his bread was stale, and refused to let Ella accept it. The incident ended with Siobhán shoving the lad out the door as she berated him. I was obliged to write a note of apology to our baker.

But the crucial episode came a week later. I returned home early with my cousin Horace Atkins and his wife Sarah, whom I had invited for dinner. We walked into the dining room. Just then Ella burst from the kitchen, with Siobhán in hot pursuit.

Their clothing and faces were dusted with flour. Siobhán grabbed the older woman by her fat arm, laughing and saying, "Hold on, ye big cow! I ain't powdered yer nose yet!" She threw a handful of flour at Ella, some of which landed on my guests and me.

The women's rambunctious play ended only when they bumped into Sarah, who cried, "I say!" Horace also was startled, exclaiming, "My word!"

I was of course mortified, shamed to my boots that my kin would see horseplay among my servants. My face red with anger, I growled, "What is the meaning of this!"

Both maids froze in terror, then began to apologize profusely as they brushed the flour from us. Miss Winston, who had been upstairs, came down and scolded the girls as well, herding them back into the kitchen. I ordered the housemaid to bring us drinks in the parlor, and later we enjoyed a pleasant meal. But I knew that Sarah, an inveterate gossip, now had an amusing story for our friends and relatives.

Our meal ended at nine. Siobhán, still blushing, helped the Atkins into their overcoats as I bade them goodnight. Miss Winston had returned to her own home by then, and Ella had fled to her quarters off the kitchen as soon as the dishes were washed.

Still fuming, I turned to the girl. "I'll see you shortly in my upstairs study."

I had a tall brandy then. Perhaps it was excess drink that planted the idea in my mind. An idea that seemed at once horrific and yet set my blood to racing. You must understand, dear reader, that an obsession like mine does not arrive with a trumpet blast that allows a man to recognize and resist it as would be his nature.

No, it steals upon you slyly, like a winter fog, enclosing you ever so gently until you become lost in its mists. Lost and helpless in the face of its allure.

In just that state, I waited in my study. There was a knock on the door, and after bidding her do so, Siobhán entered. She stood meekly before me, hands behind her back and eyes downcast.

"Young lady," I began, "you humiliated me in front of my guests tonight. I cannot tolerate that from my employees. Do you want to stay in my hire?"

"Oh yes sir! I'm happy here. Please don't discharge me! We didn't mean no harm!"

"Yet harm was done. I must punish you, to remind you I will not abide that kind of unruly play."

After a pause, she said, "Yes sir."

My heart was now pounding. Did I dare? Could I say the words? "Bend over and place your elbows on the desk there."

"Sir?" Then Siobhán's eyes grew bright as she understood what was to happen.

As if someone else were speaking, I heard myself say, "But first, raise your dress and petticoat above your waist."

The girl gasped, her eyes now flashing with anger. "I will do no such shameful thing!"

I grabbed her by the shoulders, and with a madman's voice said, "I am your master! I feed and clothe you and give you shelter! You will take whatever discipline I choose!"

"No sir! I will not!"

"Then leave this room. And keep going! If you walk out, then you are no longer in my hire!"

Our eyes remained locked together for a few seconds. Then a look of surrender came over the girl. I released her; she stooped down and pulled up her petticoat, dress, and apron, then bent over the desk.

She was wearing typical cotton bloomers, lined with pink lace and open at the crotch. My heart pounding, scarcely believing what I was doing, I placed my hands on the draws holding the bloomers at her waist. The girl looked back to me, her eyes like great saucers now. I expected another outcry, but she only waited, now submitting to this ultimate shame.

As if in a dream, I pulled the bloomers down to her knees.

I rose up and looked upon Siobhán's naked buttocks, spread before me in all their glory. I had never seen this part of a woman's anatomy save in paintings and sculpture. But what artist could capture the beauty that filled my eyes? Her derriere was perfection, as white as alabaster yet soft as Naples silk, inviting my touch.

I gently laid one hand on the trembling girl's shoulder, then brought the other down on her buttocks with a resounding smack! And oh, the ecstasy! I thrilled at the sound, which echoed off the walls, as my hand hit her supple flesh. To her muffled cry of "Ooh!" To the shimmy that spread through the fat of her cheeks. To the faint pink glow that marked where my hand had been. It was joy beyond words.

I leisurely spanked the tart. After several smacks I paused to gently caress her firm bottom, relishing the silky feel of her flesh, my hand eagerly exploring this virgin province. And when I once again came down on her cheeks with another vigorous whack, I felt a keen surge of electricity up my arm. It was quite the most amazing sensation I had ever known in my life.

Now I was no longer administering due justice, but was taking a man's pleasure. The feelings of domination mixed with the pure delight of Siobhán's naked bottom left me almost faint with wonder.

I tried to stop after a few smacks, but could not resist yet another and another. It was if some part of me had declared independence from my conscience, and must revel in just one more delightful whack of her sweet flesh; in savoring the spectacle of that bright rosy glow spreading across her cheeks.

Finally, gasping for breath, I paused to view my handiwork. The girl's round buttocks were blushing a deep pink. Never had I seen anything so beautiful as Siobhán's well-paddled bottom.

Siobhán then glanced back to me, her eyes damp with tears. "Oh please, sir!" she whimpered.

"Have you learned your lesson, young lady?" I asked, my hand probing and squeezing her soft red cheeks.

"Oh yes sir!"

"Shall I make sure of it?"

"Whatever ye wish, sir!" she murmured, her eyes telling me that she was truly in my power.

That look inflamed me again; I rained more blows on Siobhán's cheeks, these smacks more light and designed to sting. Each was accompanied by a faint "ooh" from the girl, her head now bowed in acceptance of my hand's will.

Finally I could take no more. Still in my trance, I reached down and pulled Siobhán's bloomers up, discovering yet another delight: the scent of her body and her pussy. The rich pungent aroma of Siobhán once again electrified me. Overcome with affection for this creature who could provide such sensory bliss, I planted a long loving kiss on each of her buttocks, my lips feeling the heat still radiating from my discipline.

As I stood back, the girl rose and lowered her garments into place. Her eyes suddenly began to blaze with fury as she stood before me, tears running down her cheeks. With a cry of, "You, you..!" Siobhán reflexively drew back her hand to strike me. But she could not. I was the master, she the maid. It was unthinkable.

So filled with animal lust was I that I exulted in the fact that there would be no punishment for my sin. I could satisfy my appetite for this tart without remorse or regret. Or so I thought.

Wiping away tears, the sweet lass turned and ran from the room. I sat down, my manhood throbbing with pleasure. I felt a gush of semen and savored perhaps the longest and most satisfying climax of my life.

*******

When I awoke the next morning, however, mortification at what I had done cloaked me like a shroud. I dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, where an unsmiling Siobhán served my tea. Ella, cheerfully ignorant of the outrage that had taken place last night, made my breakfast. Just before leaving for work, I called Siobhán into my library and locked the door behind her.

I sat at my desk, she across from me. Blushing with shame, I spoke. "Siobhán, I am so, so dreadfully sorry for what I did last night. It was inexcusable. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

She gazed at me coldly. "No sir, I cannot."

"Nor can I blame you for feeling this way. But my girl, let me pledge to you now that I will never again touch you, and will always treat you with the utmost respect. I humbly beg your forgiveness."

Her face still grim, she spoke. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, Siobhán, that will be all."

As the girl left, I felt a measure of relief. Every man, I rationalized, is surely entitled to one lapse in judgment. But now I had given her my solemn word, which was as good as gold. Ah, how little did I know myself!

Even so, in the days that followed I became yet more enchanted by Siobhán. Whenever she brought the tea tray to my library and walked from the room, I would gaze at her figure, recalling the sublime charm of her buttocks. It never failed to stir my manhood.

Siobhán alone saw the desire in my eyes that grew with each passing day. A short time later I hosted a small soirée, where the girl's beauty earned both her and me many accolades. I was thrilled to know that my friends admired this creature who was under my dominion. Such is a man's vanity!

As the party was breaking up, I found myself gazing at Siobhán with unbridled lust. She looked at me for a second, then lowered her eyes and briefly nodded yes. I blinked in surprise, but she raised her eyes and yet again nodded yes, a blush on her cheeks.

By eleven o'clock the house was quiet. I waited, still unsure, in my upstairs study. Then Siobhán entered. With a subservient look, she dutifully raised her clothing and bent over the desk.

We repeated our ritual as before. I drew down her bloomers and spanked her sweet young bottom, then tenderly kissed her nether cheeks, feeling that delicious mix of guilt and pleasure. Afterwards she adjusted her garments and gave me another blistering look; then she left the room without a word having been exchanged.

I lay in bed, wondering why Siobhán had submitted to me again. She had of course committed no offense that would warrant such ill-treatment. Her only sin was to be young and beautiful. Did she think it was expected to keep her employment? It was not. But to my shame I could not bring myself to tell her this.

Of course, the next morning I felt lower than dirt. I apologized profusely. But I made no vow to never repeat my disgraceful behavior. We both knew by then that it would be folly to do so.

So now our pattern was set. Each week I would thoroughly spank that darling girl. Our secret ritual became the highlight of my life. When work's dreariness oppressed my spirit, I would recall those delightful moments with Siobhán: her glowing naked buttocks; her delectable scent; her seething look when it was over. Of that period in life I can recall no other moments that gave such transcendent pleasure.

I spanked her supple young derriere not to discipline or teach her a lesson, but for the sheer pleasure it gave me. As time went on I spent more time fondly caressing her cheeks made warm by my hand. No less pleasurable was the feel of my lips roaming over their expanse. Never was a woman's behind more lovingly or thoroughly kissed than was Siobhán's.

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byCAP811© 26 comments/ 158758 views/ 27 favorites

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