A Dripping of Butter

Tick, tock; tick, tock; tick, tock; the steady beat of the mantelpiece clock formed the background to the tedium of Trustram's afternoon. Dropping the newspaper to the floor he fished for his pocket-watch - an unnecessary action given the presence of the large timepiece on the mantelpiece - three-thirty or thereabouts: still half an hour before tea and, perhaps, crumpet. Trustram smiled thinly at the other meaning of the word. There was not much chance of that! No fillies down for the weekend and the servants (how should he put it?) rather stale: except perhaps the new under-maid but, alas, there was insufficient time for his wiles to have any chance of success with her. Not, certainly, in the very little time now remaining before he departed early Monday morning. Trustram was for foreign parts on active military service.

The newspaper was recovered and Trustram's eye was caught by a review. 'The Great Mesmo' was delighting audiences at the Palladium, bowling them over with his hypnosis act. Trustram did not for one moment believe in the reality of the show but, nonetheless, was amused by the descriptions of members of the audience thinking they were sheep or cats or famous singers. It was greatly diverting, so much so that he was energised enough to walk into the Library to see if there was anything on hypnosis: he was not disappointed.

'Method Hypnosis' seemed a little read, if it had ever been opened at all, volume and Trustram settled back in his armchair to read its virgin pages. Perhaps there was something in the idea, he mused, and was absorbed when a knock on the door announced tea and crumpets. Trustram eyes glanced up as the new under-maid set out the tea things. He nodded. The picture was not unpleasing. Severely tied back dark hair, pretty enough face in a common-folk sort of way, goodly bosom, wide hips and, yes, the promise of interest beneath the black and white uniform and lace. Nor were the crumpets unpleasing, dripping as they were with golden creamy butter. Trustram watched the retreating servant girl before returning to his book, tea and, indeed, the buttered crumpets.

Sometime later Trustram looked up from his book and mused. The book was more convincing than he had expected, perhaps indeed the Great Mesmo's act was not an act but the real thing. It must be entertaining being able to make people do things they would not ordinarily do and not remember a thing about it afterwards. Did perhaps the Great Mesmo use his abilities other than for his act, was he tempted to make improper suggestions to the young, pretty ladies and take advantage of them? Trustram's good white teeth showed through his lips. It was a pleasing idea.

The tea in the pot was now rather cold. Should he ring for more and an additional hot, buttered crumpet? All he had to do was ring and the new under-maid would come at his beck and call and do his bidding - up to a point, that was. There were things, interesting things, he could not bid her do. But could perhaps method hypnosis take the obedience rather further? Could he get her to loosen the black band around her hair, slip her uniform and lace to the floor and stand with her bosom and, no doubt, dark muff all on display for his delectation and delight? To go about her duties so much more pleasingly attired or rather not attired. He thought of getting her to bring hot water for his bath to his bedroom. Perhaps, alas, with the other servants around she would have to remain dressed as she fetched and carried but then...

Of course normally the servant would be sent away before his disrobing, though he still fondly remembered being bathed by a young governess as a boy, completely unaware at the time of the pleasures that would have given him as a young man. But, he had not forgotten and his imagination had rather embellished the idea over the years.

Indeed, the under-maid could wait on him as he undressed. How pleasant to disrobe and reveal his naked body to her. Would she be shocked; shocked at the sight of his Arbor vitae? Or would the hypnosis allow for no adverse reaction. Would he get her to wash him as his governess had done, yet, unlike the governess, so far as he recalled, getting undressed herself so as not to splash her own clothes with water. Kneeling by the tin bath, her fine bosom swinging as she applied the sponge and the delightful shock when her hand reached under the water and found he was most certainly not the little boy. He smiled as he imagined himself standing to allow her to sponge him the better, his tackle at the ready and his whirlygigs hanging full of mettle above her face. Her look a picture as she carried out her duties and raised the sponge.

The sheer delight of her soapy fingers and the sponge applied. Trustram could not recall but had the young governess soaped his behind when a boy, her fingers running soapily over his fundament? She must have done, and his then boy sized cock.

It would not be long, in his imagination, before he would suggest he bathed the young under-maid. Why not? Why should the young master not perform that duty? More hot water and then Trustram would enjoy looming over her, his tackle all at the ready, almost poking her in the eye! The pleasurable application of the soap to her diddeys, seeing the shock as his fingers found the crinkum-crankum, before laying her on the bed and rodgering her, his bottom rising and falling as he found himself up cock alley and probably a virgin cock alley to boot! It would make his last day or night at the hall rather more memorable.

Trustram fished again in his waistcoat for his pocket watch and his smile slowly spread across his face as he looked at it. He would try method hypnosis on the young girl. If it did not work, nothing was lost, if it worked there would be considerable gain. He undid the chain and swung it lazily in front of his eyes. Would it work? Trustram rang for more tea and an additional hot buttered crumpet.

The sun was getting low on the horizon but the rain had cleared and its light slanted in a washed blue sky through the windowpanes. Trustram had positioned himself in shade but the evening light caught the gold back of the watch and reflected it back at the girl's face. He could see the reflected spot of light moving to and fro on her face and carefully he aligned it with her eyes, mere dark pools until the light flashed on them one and then the other as the watch swung in an arc before her.

"Look at the watch, follow its movement as it swings to and fro. You do not need to do anything but watch, there is no hurry to run off and do your duties, just relax for a moment, I've said you are to rest, it has been a tiring day and it is good to just sit and watch the light go backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards."

Trustram was pleased at how soothing he was making his voice, saying the sort of things the book had told him to say.

She had not demurred when he had asked her to sit. Her face had not even betrayed the panic he had anticipated. His father, Sir Hew, was a strict disciplinarian. Something the back of his younger day breeches had known only too well. Sir Hew expected obedience from servants but was anything but a tyrant. Soft as butter in the reality but his reputation was fearsome. Servants on the estate certainly knew to do as they were told. The idea of sitting in the young master's presence should have completely unnerved the young girl. That it did not, he mused, might be down to her inexperience. She was a new addition to the household.

The under maid sat with her hands in her lap. Small hands showing somewhat red from hard work, scrubbing floors and the like, no doubt. Her eyes were downcast in a proper subservient way but there was no fast rising and falling of her bosom denoting panting and panic.

"Look at me."

The girl raised her head and Trustram was able to examine her face from close to. Beneath her severely tied back dark hair, hazel eyes stared up at him above a small, slightly upturned nose; beneath, her full lips were relaxed with, to one side, a white tooth or two showing, biting at her bottom lip and making the lip redden. It was the one sign of nervousness and it was very attractive. Yes, indeed, the girl was pretty enough, as he had thought, perhaps rather more so now close to. Trustram wondered if she had any experience of men. An illicit tumble in the hay barn perhaps with one of the farm hands and him getting his hands beneath her skirts, perhaps even finding cock alley there. Or, pleasant to think upon, a bit of flat fucking with another maid. He was sure the maids slept two to a bed.

"I wish to try something."

Was there a momentary widening of eyes? Did she think he was about to touch her?

"Just sit there and look at my watch."

His voice had begun and gone on in a soothing way. Trustram was not a man lost for words. A necessary attribute in the officers' mess and with the men. The girl's hazel eyes had followed the watch backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, the light flashing in such a regular way. Trustram's soothing voice went on and on until:

"Are you feeling sleepy?"

The reply had been a trifle slurred, just a "yes, sir" but drawn out. It was just as the book said. Exactly as the book said.

"Keep listening to my voice but go to sleep. Go to sleep."

The girl's eyes closed and her head lolled forward a little. Trustram sat looking at the steady rise and fall of the under maid's bosom wondering what delights were hidden beneath the black and white uniform and lace. It seemed as if The Great Mesmo's act was not a fake and 'Method Hypnosis' was the genuine article. It also seemed the remainder of the day might lack the tedium of the early afternoon!

He had not asked what she was called. He might have heard it but it had not imprinted itself on his brain. That lapse was not something his father would have failed to do. He was punctilious in ensuring he knew all about his servants and their welfare. It was a thing to admire and an approach Trustram tried to adopt with his men.

"What is your name?" It was as good a first question as any. Her head raised itself a little but her features were blank as if she was unconscious or asleep.

"Mary, sir, Mary Woollen." That was good. She was answering questions but was it really involuntary. Was she really hypnotised?

"Do you like it here? You must answer truthfully."

"Yes, sir, only I miss me mum and pa something dreadful and Billy."

"Billy?"

"My sweetheart, sir."

"Has he kissed you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Has he placed his hand on your bosom?"

Was there a momentary hesitation? "Yes, sir."

This was interesting, very interesting. Had this Billy done more?

"Has Billy touched you between your thighs?"

There was the hint of a smile as if the recollection was bubbling up inside her.

"Yes, sir."

"You liked that?"

"Oh yes, sir."

"Has he gone rather further, has he docked you?"

"Oh no, sir, nothin' like that. Me madge's just had his fingers, nothin' more."

It was all going so very well. Trustram was delighted. The idea of young Billy's fingers in her crinkum-crankum was giving him a most pleasant cock-stand.

"And how have you made your Billy happy?"

"I tried in many ways, sir, I do hopes he has not forgot me. I so wants to hold his whirlygigs again."

Trustram leant forward, "And fetch the mettle?"

"Yes, yes, sir, I so likes to see that. White as snow, all running." The girl slowly licked her lips.

"Do you," Trustram paused, his questioning was becoming very deep, "do you drink from the spring?" A nice allusion. Did they go gamahuching?

As he expected, he did not think her young swain would have been backward in his advances.

"Yes, I lets him spend in me mouth."

"You must miss your tumbling with young Billy."

"I gets the green sickness some'it rotten, sir."

Trustram smiled, the supposed disease of young celibate girls. He knew what a good doctor should prescribe!

"Have you the symptoms now?"

"A little, sir."

"I expect it is getting worse. You are thinking of Billy. Billy in the hay barn or Billy in the meadow. He has perhaps been swimming in the river..."

"He can't do swimming, sir."

"Bathing then. The sun is high in the sky, it is a lovely day and you and he have all the time in the world. You are at leisure. He sits with you and there is his lobcock all there on his thigh. He has a large willy does he not? "

"I thinks so, sir."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Lovely to see the girl with her eyes closed opening her mouth, a hint of fine white teeth but her lips forming a round shape, her tongue moistening.

"You want to suck, don't you?"

Mary's head nodded firmly. The emphasis had been on the 'you want to suck,' it had been a command

"I'll pretend to be Billy, sliding my hand up your thigh whilst you suck. His willy is before you. You will like the feeling of my hand."

There was nothing of the lobcock about Trustram's arbor vitae. No longer was it a little filled with blood, large but relaxed, the lobcock indeed - it was as if piss proud now, straining to be released..

The girl's mouth was open and moving as if attaching itself to Billy's erect organ. Trustram's hand touched the girl's knee and lifted the hem of the black dress preparatory to slipping it within to delve amongst petticoats. There was not the slightest resistance to his moving hand. The girl's head was rocking back and forth and within her open mouth he could see her little pink tongue moving as if it was stroking the smooth skin of Billy's knob end. The young farm hand had been a lucky lad but Trustram was now in the chair.

The girl shivered as his hand advanced, feeling for the young girl's bare skin and then touching her knee. This was much more what he had needed that afternoon. So much what he needed before his departure on the morrow. Trustram's hand began its ascent of her so smooth thighs. Thighs that parted - for Billy, not for him.

Mary was not wearing under-drawers!

The excitement of touching her private hair, that pleasant pasture the young lasses possess. A ground that grows at first as a few tentative fine shoots, like grass seed newly sown and, as the girl grows, turns into lush, strong growth covering her Mound of Venus and edging the narrow pathway down into the moist hidden dell. The hair Trustram felt was already grown thick and luxuriant and had that fresh springiness of good turf. His fingers patted the hair, feeling it push back against him.

He looked up and the girl's mouth was still moving as if on a penis, her eyes tight shut. Such a sight!

Trustram delved further, his fingers sliding down the little valley of her mound, down under her legs. He felt a delightful slippery moistness. Her sex, when he reached it was soft and slippery, so like pushing his fingers into a hot buttery crumpet simply oozing with melted butter. His fingers moved, exploring the secrets of the young servant.

"Can you feel Billy's hand touching your privates?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is it good?"

"Oh yes, sir, I am feeling all a-tremble, me cunny's all a-dripping."

"You want to suck again don't you. I am here, the young master is here. You want to serve me too, suck my staff, do your duty. It is good medicine for the green sickness. Tell me what do you want to do?"

"I wants to suck your willy something rotten, sir, and take the good medicine."

Trustram stood. Always a pleasure to reveal himself in the company of young women. His penis fine and strong. Trustram released his man, Thomas, out into the open, right in front of young Mary Woollen's face. Such a pretty little face, her skin a little browned from the sun. Not as innocent as she looked. Seemingly a maid but Trustram's penis was not the first to have stood before her or entered between those pretty lips. The lips were waiting, nicely parted in an oval. He knew when he touched they would open wide and slip forward, feeling for him and grasping. She knew the game. With her eyes closed she could not see his mettle was already rising, that his knob was ready moistened with a thin, clear stream running from his piss hole.

He pushed forward, his already sticky knob touching Mary's lips. They opened and slid and Trustram's penis was in the young servant girl's mouth. He looked up and out through the window, across the brilliant emerald of the lawn towards the stone gatehouse. Over the other side of the lawn old Bradshaw the gardener was hoeing. As Trustram looked the old man raised his head and evidently saw the young master standing looking out. The low evening sun no doubt illuminating him. Trustram raised his hand and the old man doffed his cap. He could not, of course, see what Trustram was doing, the high back of the chair in which Mary was sitting both obscuring his cock and Mary's head.

Trustram returned his gaze to the young girl. He had often thought a girl never looked prettier than when she had a penis between her lips. There was something so right about how the arbor vitae fitted as well into a mouth as into a quim or, indeed, though he was not really a back gammon player, a girl's arse - the windward passage!

The feeling of her lips sliding was excellent. There was absolutely no chance of his strength failing him. His mettle would come - and perhaps too soon. Trustram pulled away, his knob came dripping from the girl but she only leant forward and sucked it in. What a first rate wench, a real bobtail!

It was a game, a most delightful game. A game old Bradshaw could not have imagined being played there inside the house. Trustram pulled his cock away and Mary sought it out with her mouth, he pushing it against her cheek, even in her ear so her seeking lips could not easily catch it - yet catch it they did and held on with both a sucking and a clamping of warm, soft lips. It was a great game.

He was delighted with the success of the hypnosis. A pretty girl playing games with his willy, all smiles and laughter - so rude! Lovely to see the juxtaposition of mouth and strongly erect penis. He was leaking freely and could see it caught wetly upon her face: cheek, chin, nose and lips. Trustram had a great desire to spend and see his piss hole producing generous gobbets of mucilage all over her pretty face. That delightful release, that rising and falling of the ballocks as a man spent: alas too soon completed. Buttering her face indeed!

But he had a greater desire to unburden within her mouth.

He did not release too soon but, as the gardener worked outside, Trustram enjoyed the game with the girl and his cock for a goodly time. She seeming to try and make his spend: he to hold back and revel in the pleasure.

So pleasurable to not only feel but to watch when it finally happened. The girl's eyes looking up at him, her lips so spread around his pole, sliding too and fro as he spent in her mouth. She had learnt well with Billy - that tongue, that tongue!

Trustram looked up. Still old Bradshaw was at work, little knowing the young master had just had the most enjoyable suck. He did not move, just letting himself subside within her mouth.

She had taken the good medicine, the medicine for the green sickness. Trustram pulled, and his soft willy, no longer at cock-stand, came out from between the girl's lips.

She might have been a virgin. There was certainly no barrier he had felt, there would be no barrier to his pego's later inward journey. And making that journey up cock alley was exactly what he planned to do before his night's rest. He needed not just a suck but a fuck. He needed, before he sent the girl on her way, to arrange his evening's entertainment.

"Mary, you've been a very good girl. I am so pleased with you."

The lips that had so recently been so busy, smiled in pleasure. Her tongue slid across her lips.

"You will come to my bed tonight. How will you do that undiscovered?"