The Young Irish Maid

Instead of the desk, I would occasionally bid Siobhán place her knees on the seat of my chair with her back to me. With her thighs vertical and her calves horizontal, she would hold the chair and instinctively thrust out her buttocks, which gave me a full and most delightful view of all her feminine charms. This so inflamed me that I would spank all the harder, then kiss and worship her buttocks all the more affectionately.

One night just after Thanksgiving, Siobhán came to the study wearing her outer cape and bonnet. "Have you been out?" I asked.

"Yes sir. I was running away from ye."

A shudder went through me. "But you came back."

"Yes sir. I packed me little grip, walked down the alley and was on me way down Amsterdam Avenue to me grandparents." As she removed her cape, she paused, a bleak look on her face. "Did ye know, sir, that me sister Deirdre was beaten most every week by her husband before the bastard left her?"

"No, I'm sorry to hear that."

"And even grandfather Séamus now and then strikes Bridget." Wiping a tear from her cheek, she went on, "It seems a woman's lot in life to suffer blows from men. I decided that if all I have to do is let you spank me bum now and then, it's no worse than I might receive from any man."

She eyed me keenly. "Is that all to which I must submit?"

"I wish I could promise you that, Siobhán, but I cannot." Her eyes were now filled with dread as I stepped behind her and began to unbutton her maid's uniform. When the dress was undone, I grasped the sleeves and pulled it down to her waist.

Siobhán was wearing a short chemise, trimmed in lace. As I unbuttoned it she realized my new fascination. I thought she would look down in shame, but instead she gazed at me evenly, never wavering.

I removed the chemise and stepped back to look at Siobhán, who was now nude from the waist up. I had thought her buttocks to be sensual perfection, but no, that honor belonged to her breasts.

"Siobhán," I breathed, "you are truly beautiful." She seemed unreal, as if she had stepped out of a painting by Manet. Her great creamy breasts were nearly the size of honeydews, flawless in every way. They sagged ever so slightly from their sheer weight. Her nipples were fresh rosebuds, surrounded by wide areolae of warm pink suffused with a hint of tan.

Like her buttocks, Siobhán's breasts wanted a man's touch. I sat down in my desk chair and gestured to my lap. "Come, girl, sit."

Her eyes wide with fear, she came and settled into my lap, trembling like a frightened doe. The tension in the room was almost unbearable. I placed one hand on the back of her neck and the other gently on her bosom, feeling an electric thrill as my hands roamed over the most delightful globes that a man can be privileged to touch. Their soft, yet firm and supple feel left me breathless.

Our eyes were locked together, just inches apart. "What am I doing, Siobhán?" I whispered.

"You are feeling me boosom, sir."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"No sir."

"But you accept it?"

"Yes sir, you are me master."

My cock leaped in my pants as I bent down to place my lips on her soft skin, so translucent that I could faintly discern veins beneath. For long moments I savored the taste of her nipples; the scent of her body; the indescribable pleasure of my hands gently kneading her firm young breasts.

Having satisfied my appetite, I looked once again into her eyes. "Thank you, Siobhán."

Now blushing intensely, the girl quickly got up and began to put on her chemise and re-button her dress. She eyed me with that curious mix of obeisance and defiance that I had come to know so well. She could not have known that her helpless indignation merely fueled my desire for her.

This, you see, is where an obsession takes you. It teases and tantalizes, always suggesting yet more and baser pleasures, daring you to go farther, to taste it all. Now firmly in its grip, I could do nothing but obey.

*******

There are some moments in a man's life so vivid that he remembers every detail. One such moment for me came in late December, on the night of our first heavy snowstorm of the season.

I remember sitting in my study, silent except for the hiss of coal burning in the fireplace and the occasional muffled sound of a hansom cab passing outside. I watched snow swirling down outside my window, then glanced down to watch Siobhán's pink lips glide the length of my stiff manhood. For the first time in my life, a woman was pleasuring my cock with her mouth.

The idea had come to me a week earlier, and had driven me mad with passion. Could a divine creature like Siobhán bring herself to offer this most obscene of pleasures to her lord? The thought of her submitting to me that way thrilled me almost as much as the act itself.

When the girl had slipped into my study that night, I was waiting in a stuffed chair in my robe and pajamas. The pajamas were unbuttoned, and as she approached I pulled out my semi-hard manhood and testicles.

She let out a sharp gasp, saying, "Oh, no, please sir, not that!"

I made no reply, only laid a small pillow on the floor in front of me where she was to kneel. With a look of abject acceptance, the girl settled before me, placing her hand and then her soft lips on my manhood.

I had thought that Siobhán's buttocks and her breasts gave the ultimate in carnal pleasure. But I was wrong. It was her sweet warm mouth, now engulfing my cock and sending me into spasms of ecstasy. Never had I imagined that such delectations were ours to enjoy this side of Paradise.

The tart dutifully kissed, licked, and swallowed my manhood. I closed my eyes, now experiencing all the more intensely the sensations that her lewd mouth provided. "Go slow, girl," I whispered feverishly, "ever so slow. Please your master."

The nymph did just that. She withdrew from my cock and slowly moved her tongue around the head and down the shaft, then opened her lips to welcome me again. She eased her lips down my shaft in the most delightful manner possible. Her only purpose was to please her lord, to use her silken mouth for his pleasure.

Indescribable moments of bliss were followed by a quivering in my manhood that raised me to new heights. I all but exploded in her mouth, gasping as jets of semen flooded out of me. The angel obediently gripped my manhood with her lips and never spilled a drop.

Still out of breath, I drew out a handkerchief and gave it to the girl. She took it and released my semen into it, wiped her mouth, and then rose and threw the soiled cloth into the fireplace.

I placed my still-tingling cock back in my pajamas and rose to my feet. Siobhán looked at me, a mix of fury and humiliation in her eyes. "Why must you abase me so!" she cried in a low voice.

"I am helpless to do otherwise, my girl. How can I explain it?"

"Try!"

"Siobhán, you are in my power and must obey me. Yet I am just as much in the power of this passion I have for you. I cannot resist it any more than you can disobey me!"

Did part of her understand? She shook her head, saying, "God have mercy on us." Then she left the room.

*******

I fought, dear reader, against what I knew was the ultimate degradation of Siobhán. I truly did. But weeks before it actually happened, I knew that it was as inevitable as death.

Each time I spanked the maiden, I saw the lush tufts of her pubic hair, as black as night, and the mystical cleavage that it covered. On a bitter cold night in January, with the wind howling outside and making my spirit just as wild, I paddled Siobhán's naked bottom as was my wont. But I could not stop there, not on this night. I took out my throbbing cock and, spreading her legs, placed it against her damp labia.

She gasped, crying, "Oh no, sir, please! Not that! Let me take it in my mouth instead, sir! I beg you!"

"It must be, my girl," I whispered as I bent over her and felt my manhood glide into her wet sheath. Now we both cried out, helpless to stop this primal ritual of a man satisfying his animal instinct with a woman.

I was made literally faint by the luscious velvet feel of Siobhán's pussy; by the rich musky fragrance that engulfed us. Mustering all my willpower, I withdrew, determined to make our ultimate pas de deux as satisfying as possible.

Pulling the girl up by her shoulder, I turned her around, saying, "Take off your apron. And your dress."

She gazed at me, that look of defiance again in her eyes. I think she was mere seconds from dashing out of the room. But she could not. Her eyes never leaving mine, she disrobed as commanded.

"Please sir, not me petticoat too. Leave me something."

"Very well. But take off your chemise."

The tart obeyed, then stepped to me, knowing my thoughts. Our eyes again locked together, I caressed her breasts, probing and savoring her womanly charms. I planted loving kisses on her cleavage and her nipples, then drew up and grasped her shoulders. She willingly let me turn her around and bend her over the desk.

The thrill of once again entering the girl's warm citadel was almost unbearable. I thrust ever so slowly, but the sensation of my cock sliding deeply into her wet flesh drove me closer to climax. In desperation I withdrew and bent down, caressing her buttocks and kissing them unabashedly.

Adding to the thrill was the strong musky aroma of her pussy, now in service to my cock. I saw that her nether lips were open and slack, glistening in the dim gaslight. This most carnal feature of the girl was, to my eyes, as lovely as a dew-covered flower. Helplessly I rose and again took the maiden, sliding my cock the length of her, even as my hands reached forward to cup her soft globes.

How long I repeated this cycle of entering her and then pausing to worship Siobhán's nether region with my lips I do not know. I was somehow transported to a place where time did not exist, a paradise where sensual pleasure obliterated all awareness of anything other than this adorable girl's body.

My eventual gush of semen into her was bittersweet; a sensation beyond bliss yet marking the end of the most intense pleasure a man can take. Afterwards I pulled her up from the desk and for long moments held her from behind, kissing the back of her neck and caressing her soft bosom. Captivated by the feel of her warm body against mine, I felt as if a mere mortal were holding an angel.

Finally I buttoned my pants as Siobhán collected and put on her clothing. She glanced at me then, a look of great sadness on her face. "Are ye now through with me, sir?"

"Through with you?"

"Yes sir. You have taken every pleasure I can offer ye. Is that not enough?"

Once again came the inevitable feeling of remorse. "Ah Siobhán, what can I say? Considering who you are and who I am, a single moment enjoying your charms is too much; and a lifetime is not enough. I do not know how to answer you."

I cannot understand divine Providence. Why does it place before us such irresistible earthly delights as a woman's buttocks, her breasts, her mouth and best of all her pussy, and yet say that only with a wife can a man satisfy his carnal needs?

A week later Siobhán slipped wordlessly into my study. The look in her eyes told me. She knew that I would once again bury my manhood in her warm body. She was now resigned. Her entire body was mine, a willing vessel for my pleasure.

And so the winter passed. The colder the nights, the hotter burned my passion for that sylph. She faithfully submitted herself to me. I allowed her one liberty, that of choosing how to please me. Entering and kneeling before me meant that her mouth would render pleasure that night. Bending over my desk meant that a good spanking was in store. If she removed her bloomers before she did so, then I was invited to enjoy her pussy as well.

I never demurred in her choice. There was, quite literally, no way that the nymph could fail to satisfy. Siobhán Flynn was beauty and eroticism made flesh. There were times that I thought her so delightful that sin lay not in enjoying her body, but in denying oneself the pleasure. Such are the depths to which a man can sink.

In early March I left New York to spend a few days at the retreat of a banker friend, Elliott Stearns, north of the city at Stony Point. I passed many pleasant hours with his son Edwin Stearns, who had just entered Yale and like myself had a great love of poetry.

I returned home on a Monday, arriving late in the afternoon. The house seemed oddly quiet. After I called for her, Miss Winston appeared, trembling and her face ashen.

"Where is everyone?" I asked. "Tell Siobhán to bring some tea to my study."

"I cannot, sir. She has disappeared."

"What!"

"Yes sir. She ran away the day after you left. I made inquiries, and she's not at her grandparents' house. No one knows where she has gone."

"But why would she leave?"

The woman looked at me in icy reproach. "C..c..can you not guess, sir? Did you n..n..not ever know?"

*******

The next few months were a nightmare. I searched for the girl. So much did I ache for her that my health began to suffer. I began to have headaches; to break into night sweats; to have colds and bouts of flu that lingered for weeks. Worst of all were the uncontrollable fits of coughing.

But that was nothing compared to the emptiness I felt without Siobhán. Only in her absence did I realize how much that maiden truly meant to me. She had given her body to me; but in so giving, she had taken. Taken some essence of me; now I felt little more than an empty shell.

In desperation I turned to professional sleuths. The Pinkerton Detective Agency proved tenacious. On August 1, 1888, they located my nymph in Philadelphia. She was working at a bakery in the Carroll Park area of the city.

I ordered them to not contact her, but to maintain watch and to deliver twice-weekly reports of her from that point on. By then my health had become so poor that I was obliged to take medical leave from Harper's.

On a bright day in late October, I traveled by train to Philadelphia. Just before sundown, I knocked on a first-floor apartment on Brandywine Street. Siobhán answered almost at once. She had gained a little weight. Beneath her peasant blouse, her breasts were swollen, even more full than I remembered. Her features were well defined, more that of a woman.

She looked at her caller, and after a few seconds said, "You."

"Hello, Siobhán." My pulse was racing; it was difficult to breathe. She seemed too beautiful to be real. So often had I dreamed of her full lips and her deep green eyes that now I could scarcely believe that I was once again gazing at her in the flesh.

"And what do ye want?"

"I came to visit you. And to see my son Thomas."

A startled look crossed her face. "Come in," she said, and then added, "so ye know that I bore ye a child. And that his name is Thomas."

I entered and sat on the worn sofa to which she directed me. "The agents I hired are quite thorough. A week ago, a lady stopped you on the street to admire and ask about the babe. She was in my employ. I also know that you have agreed to marry Robert Ferguson, who owns the bakery where you work."

With a wry smile, the girl rose and brought a sleeping infant from a tiny bedroom. She glanced at me and back to the babe. A look of pure love for my son came to her face. At that moment, Siobhán Flynn was more beautiful than I had ever seen her; a lovelier Madonna could not be imagined.

She handed the babe to me. "He is your son. Do you believe me?"

"Yes. You told Miss Winston that I was the father." I gazed in awe at the tiny creature, my own flesh and blood. I noted the russet down on his head, the faint dimple in his chin that marked him as a Jennings. Turning back to Siobhán, I continued, "You told her that you felt life begin to quicken within you just days after the first time I ... we..."

"Yes," Siobhán smiled dryly, "How would you describe what ye did to me?"

"We did not make love. But we did make this child."

"Aye, we did. Shall I tell him some day that the seed that gave rise to him was planted as I was bent over a mahogany desk, with tears running down me cheeks?"

I lowered my head in shame. "My treatment of you was unforgivable."

She eyed me dispassionately, having heard it all before. "Would ye like some tea, sir?"

"Yes, that would be most welcome."

I held Thomas as Siobhán made tea and brought it into the living room. She poured me a cup, almost as if we were master and servant again. "Are ye well?" she asked. "You look like death warmed over."

"You are not far from the truth."

"Meaning?"

"I am dying, Siobhán. I have tuberculosis. It seems to be a rather virulent kind. At the moment it's in remission, but the doctors give me no hope. They say I have a year to live, two at the most, and then only if I go west to a dry climate."

Siobhán's face went pale. "Is this true, sir?"

"Yes."

A mix of emotions came to her face. To my surprise, her eyes became wet with tears. "I'm so very sorry, Mr. Jennings. You seem awful young to die."

"But die I must. Which brings me to the real purpose of my visit."

"And that is?"

"As you may know, I have a grown daughter who lives in Chicago. But no male heirs. It would mean the world to me if you would give Thomas my name. Thomas Jennings. In return, I will acknowledge him as my true son, and make him heir to half my estate."

Siobhán took a sip of tea. "You surprise me, sir. I thought ye'd pretend that yer little maid and her poor babe never existed."

"Nothing could be farther from the truth." Looking out into the street through chintz curtains, I went on, "When a man's life draws to a close, he wants to know that something of him lives on. The Jennings family name is an old one; we've been in New York for generations. I would like to do my family duty. To pass the torch, our name and blood carried into the future. That is what I most fervently desire."

"Rob was saying he'd adopt the lad. A proud one is me Rob."

"I cannot be a father to the boy, Siobhán. Robert must be. But this is what I can give you and my son. I have retained a lawyer here in Philadelphia to administer a trust fund for the boy. It will cover all your expenses in raising him. If and when you and Robert have children, the same amount will be given to each of your own children."

"If Thomas or anyone in this family falls ill, you will be cared for in the finest hospital. Should the lad have a quick mind, he can attend the best private schools and eventually college, preferably an Ivy League school. At the age of 25 he will receive his full inheritance."

"How much do ye think twill be?"

"My accountant says on the order of half a million dollars."

"All this, and after ye gave me no help when I was carrying the babe?"

"That's not entirely true. Do you remember Mrs. Parsons, who befriended you in August and just so happened to be a mid-wife? She looked after you, helped deliver the boy, and never took a cent for her efforts."

"That was you?"

"Yes. She too was in my hire. The night you gave birth, I received a telegram from her, informing me that I had a son."

"So ye'd do all this just to have the lad bear your name?"

I smiled bitterly. "And perhaps as one final apology to you, my girl; unlike all the others, this one is truly sincere."

Siobhán smiled. That smile caused a great sadness to overwhelm me. Tears began to fill my eyes and trickle down my cheeks.

"Sir, why are ye crying?"

I looked at the girl in abject misery, now fully understanding for the first time. "Siobhán, I spent so much time thinking only to use you for my pleasure. I should have been thinking of ways to make you laugh, to bring that wonderful smile to your face! You cannot imagine the regret I feel!"

The girl watched me in silence as I drew out a handkerchief and wiped the tears from my face. Finally she spoke. "Sir, I will tell ye something I never told anyone and hardly admitted to meself."