The Maid's Tale Ch. 09

Phillip, The Baron Rothsmere, stretched out his long legs and leaned back on the chaise-longue, watching the dying embers of the fire. It had been a busy few weeks. Thomas had been an entertaining houseguest, always full of ideas on how to occupy their time. Phillip had thought that he was an experienced man of the world, but Thomas had opened his eyes to a whole new wealth of adventures. Phillip knew would still always prefer the soft warmth of a woman, but now he had another avenue to continue exploring, and turned his mind to how best accomplish this.

Mary, on the other hand, was worried about Betsy. She had greatly enjoyed their time together, but she wasn't sure she wanted to continue. She had enjoyed the soft lapping tongue against her sex, the gentle probing and the butterfly light caresses, but knew that she really wanted the pounding of a solid meaty cock, filling and stretching her. Betsy had come to Mary's room a couple of times since their night together, and had been content to lie close, the girls caressing each other. However, Mary knew that Betsy wanted more, but her heart lay with Jack, and her lust with her Master. Mary may have been young, but at 19 she knew what she wanted, and that wasn't Betsy. She sighed, her heart heavy, and got on with scrubbing the dishes.

Barlow, the butler, had been passing word of Jack's interest in Mary to his master. Phillip was greatly interested in this; Barlow had told him they had gone for a walk after chapel unchaperoned. Surely Mary wouldn't have had the nerve to couple with Jack, considering her masters interest in her? Phillip remembered the pleasure he had got from outdoor coupling, both with his many women and more recently with Thomas: the feel of the breeze over his naked flesh, sweat cooling on bodies, the possibility of discovery heightening sexual tension. He could feel his manhood begin to stiffen at the thought of this, and wondered what position Jack had taken her in. Phillip knew she best liked being taken from behind, he thrusting deeply into her, admiring the smooth flaring curve of her hips, and she able to play with her sex, bringing herself to ecstasy. He could imagine the weight of her breasts as he leant forward to cup them, imagine the feel of her hair as he entangled his fingers in it to pull back her head and kiss the back of her neck and back.

As he lay on the chaise, he felt his cock rise to attention, pushing almost painfully against his breeches. Loosening his fastenings, he released it, gently stroking the bulbous engorged helmet. Would he ever be free of the tyranny of his cock, this drive to fuck, to explore every aspect of his sexuality? He hoped not. Feeling his shaft stiffen under his touch, he began to manipulate his thick reed in earnest, slowly smoothing his fingers down to the base, caressing his testicles, feeling the weight of his globes, and back up, to rub over the slit, already oozing fluid at the tip of his manhood. He wondered vaguely where Mary was, wanting her lips on his cock, wanting to feel her tongue fluttering against his shaft, urging him to come. He groaned and closed his eyes, feeling his cock twitch eagerly. He needed to fuck, and didn't want to content himself with this lonely act of self-pleasure. With a determined effort, he released his hold, and refastened his breeches. The next day was Sunday: after church, the household staff was free for a couple of hours. He would seek out Mary then and relieve himself with her.

At staff dinner on Saturday evening, Mary couldn't resist throwing glances down to Jack. He was seated with the other outdoor servants at the lowliest end if the table, but he smiled up at her, raising his glass in lazy salute. She realised that he still wanted her and smiled back. Betsy, catching this, frowned a little. She knew that Mary had lain with Jack, but surely now this didn't matter? Betsy, for the first time in her quiet existence, had become close to another: Mary didn't love her, but surely she could see how much Betsy cared about her? Betsy, in quiet agony, sighed, her head bowed, wondering what would happen between her and Mary. Who would Mary choose?

The vicar's long sermon had seemed to go on forever. Betsy hadn't been able to concentrate. She had tiptoed into Mary's room late on Saturday evening, only to be rebuffed by Mary, who told her that she was too tired. Betsy, unable to articulate her dismay, had returned to her own room, and spent the night in broken sleep, tossing and turning, wanting to feel Mary's lips on hers, to caress the smooth flesh of her only lover. But it was no use: she could feel Mary withdrawing from her. At dinner on Saturday, and again in church, Mary had deliberately taken her seat by one of the other staff and avoided any conversation with Betsy: it seemed as though Mary's choice had been made.

Mary, oblivious to Betsy's anguish, was again unable to concentrate on the vicar's words. She was thinking about Jack and counting the minutes to when she would be with him again. It wasn't long now-the vicar was drawing to a close and in unseemly haste, Mary raced back to the house, eschewing the gentle pace of the other house servants, and made her way to the wooded copse to find Jack. In her excitement, she didn't realise that her movements had been closely followed: Barlow was watching stealthily, and following orders, he relayed this back to his Master. Phillip, dressed in his riding gear, immediately set off to the copse. He wanted to see Mary: he had, unexpectedly, missed her company while occupied with Thomas. He had missed her eagerness, her unpractised caresses, and her wide blue eyes so gentle and strangely familiar.

Jack and Mary fell into one another's arms, hungry for each other after a months enforced separation. In the warmth of the early afternoon sun they undressed each other, Jack marvelled at the smoothness of her ivory skin, stroking the silky hair nestling under her arms, and nibbling at her rosy tipped breasts now taut with desire.

Mary's eager hands caressed Jack's strong shoulders, firm with young muscle. She held his head to her breast as he nuzzled like a hungry infant, drawing her nipples to aching peaks. She felt the thrust of his manhood pressing against her stomach, and parted her thighs, drawing her knees up so he could guide his throbbing manhood into her. Mary, awash with desire, was running with honeyed juices, and he slipped in easily. She groaned under the familiar weight of him, and arched her back to grind herself against his plunging body.

Suddenly, Betsy came to her mind; little Betsy who had licked and probed at her secret entrance, and had shown her a new route to pleasure. She laid her hands flat against Jacks shoulders and pushed him away a little; he slowed his thrusts and raised his head from her neck. 'I want you to do something for me Jack', she asked, and she eased herself out from under him. He knelt up, and watched as she turned over, thrusting her rounded buttocks high and slightly parting her knees.

Looking over her shoulders, she called to him. 'Touch me Jack', she commanded. He reached forward with both hands, and began to play with the firm flesh presented to him. As he fondled and caressed, his fingers slipped between the pale globes and nudged at her amber furrow. As Betsy had done before him, he felt Mary quiver under the touch, and knew that Mary wanted more. He slipped a finger into her glossy slit and using her juices as lubrication, he pushed gently, watching in fascination as her greedy entrance gave way. Mary groaned at the intrusion; half pleasure, half pain, wholly wonderful.

He watched as Mary's hand slipped between her thighs to play with herself, and found this lewd display so intensely erotic his cock reared up, the engorged head almost glistening. He pushed another finger inside her, feeling her ring contract tightly. Mary was lost in a dreamlike state-her mind awhirl with pleasure. Then she felt Jack remove his fingers and cried out in protest, only to mewl with delight when she felt the bulbous head of his cock press against her. There was a momentary pain as he entered but soon he was wholly inside her, marvelling at the tightness of her. Mary felt so full that she could hardly breathe, but her fingers didn't cease their manipulations of her own sex. This was so much better than before; her Master and his friend had each taken her this way, but they had been without care for her pleasure, rough and vigorous. Jack was determined that she would enjoy this as much as he, and his movements were slow and steady, his thrusts timed to her fingers movements. Jack could feel her tunnel begin to contract around his cock, and as he moved slowly, pulling back slightly, the sensation was overwhelming. He could feel his crisis approaching rapidly and knew he was going to spend, pumping his juices into her. Mary was close too, and the sudden sharp contraction of her muscles around him was all that Jack needed. Both of them cried out hoarsely, and Mary could feel his cock jerking inside her.

As he pulled out from her, he could see his seed spilling from her, oozing slowly. He helped her settle again on her back to rest. Her legs were trembling still and her nipples were still stiff peaks of joy. He took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips, sucking at them gently, tasting her juices.

Phillip, watching from behind a tree at the edge of the clearing was shocked and aroused by what he saw. He knew where Jack's plundering cock had found pleasure, and was surprised that Mary had so readily allowed him to enter-indeed, she had seemed to welcome this, actively encouraging Jack to partake of that dark ecstasy.

His own cock was again pressing painfully against his breeches. He wanted so much to join the young couple beneath the shelter of the trees. He had enjoyed watching the thrust of Jacks firm muscular buttocks and was wondering how far Jack could be encouraged in his explorations. He would have to play Master of the house and find out. His plans made, he turned quietly to leave, throwing one last glance at the two young lovers curled in each other's arms.