Lady Carmen's Fantasies

My name is Carmen, though my correct title is Lady Carmen. The title is not through marriage but because my father is an Earl.

This is the story of how my downfall began.

During the long lonely School Holidays of my childhood, I was left to my own devices. I would explore the empty and dusty rooms of our vast house. I used to try and imagine the building in years gone by. I was obsessed with the intrigue of the house and the glamour of my ancestors and their servants.

I used to sit in the long-abandoned guest and servant's rooms, amongst the remains of the beds and imagine what their lives must have been like. I would invent fantasies of male visitors falling madly in love with the pretty maids and beautiful ladies being seduced on their wedding nights.

By the time of this story, all the empty rooms and corridors had gone.

Just before I started studying for A levels at my boarding school; the news came to be in one of mother's weekly letters. The House would become a hotel. As my parents had decided they could no longer bear to see their historic house rotting away.

The "Country House Hotel Company" would be taking over the building except for the West Wing. The part of the house where we'd always lived.

The hotel company would restore the grand rooms. The coach house was to become a sauna and pool, and they would take over half our stables for any guests who might want to bring their horses.

It was a shame that all the old rooms had gone. What would our ancestors have thought? What about the maid who had been whisked off her feet by a handsome officer, what would she have made of the army of workmen transforming the house? What about the beautiful Lady who, on her wedding night, had discovered her husband's sordid desires? What would she have thought of American tourists staying in her room?

But it had happened, the once ruined rooms, were no more, replaced with new plush modern spaces made to look historic.

The hotel looked good. Really good, better than I'd ever seen it.

x

I woke up, my first morning at home with a sore head; my parents had welcomed me home with a bottle of vintage champagne from our cellar.

It was a beautiful hot sunny morning, and there was a wonderful refreshing breeze coming through the window. Without leaving my bed, I leant forward and pulled back the curtains a little bit. That way I could watch the strangers coming and going into the Grand Entrance. Originally this entrance was only used for special occasions and distinguished visitors, it was even said that Queen Victoria had once used it, I don't remember ever having seen it used before.

I was naked, covered in only a thin sheet that smelt the way all hotel bedding seems to. I'd awoken aroused, it had been a whole month since my on-off boyfriend had last contacted me. He had no idea I was a Lady, I hadn't told him, in fact, I hadn't told anyone in Bristol University where I was studying. I'm sure he just thought I was one of many well-spoken girls that laughed like ladies and made love like whores.

He was hot though, and he liked me; he'd explained early on that he wasn't looking for commitment and I'd said that was ok. That had been a lie. I really liked him, and it hurt whenever he didn't call me.

By now I had given up any hope of hearing from him, and so my desires had no hope of release. Instead, they had been building up inside of me, getting stronger and less controllable.

My mind began wondering, I imagined it was a hundred and twenty years earlier. There would be a grand ball, perhaps my coming out ball, I was being introduced as a woman to Society and was no longer a girl. Later that day I would be laced into a tight corset and then poured into a beautiful gown, it would be a dark green to compliment my long red wavy hair.

The gown and bodice would push my breasts together giving the deception of a more considerable cleavage. It would be a daringly low cut dress. Too daring to be proper, my chest would appear enormous in it, pressed up together and pushed out as if offered as a gift. My parents would have been aghast when they saw me in it, but I would have convinced them to allow me to wear it.

I would be hopeful of meeting my future husband, a man so enthralled by my beauty that he would take me away to be his wife. No man would have touched me before, I would be a pure beauty, a virgin, the perfect bride.

Yet, I would be wild. As now, I would be lying in my bed, naked, not in a nightgown as a proper lady should. Only my maid would know about my nature, but I would know of her affair with her handsome officer. So we would keep each other secrets. She would not tell that I was a wanton whore who pleasured herself each night, and I would not tell that she was soon to be whisked away by her lover to lead a life of luxury.

I would be looking at the party preparations feeling the excitement building inside of me. Our coaches would be being going out to fetch guests, there would be gardeners ensuring the lawns were perfect, and maids would be polishing the stones and wood floors until they shone like glass. The whole house would be filled up by the smell of the banquet. It would all be for me.

Tonight would be my moment. My hand would slide between my legs, as I thought of the dress. The green gown would be so tight on my body. My red hair would be up, piled high on my head like a real Lady. My heels would be hidden under my dress, but they'd not be too high, I would not want to put off a potential suitor by being too tall.

I imagined that the corset would be tight, laced up tighter than ever before, perhaps so tight that I'd hardly be able to breathe. Maybe because of that, or maybe just because of anticipation of everyone's attention, underneath the skirts, I knew I would spend the night wet with excitement.

There was a thrill from knowing that everyone would see me as a beautiful innocent girl, but no one would guess at my true nature. No one would suspect that I, the innocent redhead was dark and twisted inside.

But what if my maid should walk in to begin to prepare me?

It would be such a scandal if one hundred and twenty years ago my maid were to walk in and catch me, her mistress, pleasuring herself in front of this window. That thought really turned me on. I imagined the horror I would feel at my maid catching me with my fingers deep between my legs. My fingers, glistening with my own juices, plunging in and out with my eyes closed in ecstasy.

I wondered how many fingers I would have inside, I'd be a virgin, but I'd be an expert at pleasuring myself.

I decided, as a Lady of a hundred and twenty years ago, I would have three fingers inside myself, and my thumb would be playing a dance on my clitoris. So I copied that thought

Back in reality, my fingers sank easily into my willing pussy as they had so many times before.

I don't remember if my pussy was ever neat and tidy. I'm sure my labia have always protruded either side of my entrance, but I'm equally sure that they were getting bigger. Was I ruining myself with my frequent masturbation? My on-off boyfriend had been surprised when he'd seen them. But maybe it was my labia that made me turned on all the time, could it be the reason I have a bad side?

I was just at the peak of climax when my fantasy changed, I imagined another person entering instead of my maid. Maybe the housekeeper or perhaps a guest looking for his room; a stranger who would step in and see me pleasuring myself with an open window in front of me. My reputation would be destroyed.

So much of my future would depend on having a good reputation, and here I would be risking it all just for a moment of pleasure. A good reputation would essential to get a good marriage without it I would be nothing. That risk would be driving me wild.

I would be just as much of a whore back then as I am now; was my final thought as I came.

My young body convulsed as my orgasm ripped through me. My head swayed from side to side fanning my red hair into a sheet of red.

It must have lasted for over a minute. A huge orgasm. During which my dripping wet pussy pulsated around my slippery fingers coating them with my cum. It just seemed to pour out of me, soaking my thighs and the bed beneath me. Further proof of what a dirty, depraved girl I was.

As if there was any doubt.

Even after it subsided, I was so sensitive between my legs that just the thought of touching myself again made me almost shiver. I'd just cum thinking about myself masturbating and being caught. I knew I should be ashamed of myself, but I wasn't.

X

I had a long, long, shower after that. Afterwards, I felt refreshed and reset, my bad side had been purged by orgasm. I made my way to the kitchen and ate a bowl of porridge and coffee alone.

Boredom has always been my Achilles' heel; I should have been starting my dissertation, that was the project for the summer and the reason why I wasn't helping my parents. However, it was my first day of holiday, the whole summer was ahead of me. What would it hurt if I started my work tomorrow?

I decided to take Patch, my horse, out for a ride.

The decision made, I bounced up the stairs to my room. I pulled open the drawer and found a new pair of black jodhpurs, complete with labels. I didn't remember buying them, but they were my size, so I tore off the tags and pulled them on. I put a light slip over my top and then added my school polo shirt.

I found my highly polished black riding boots at the bottom of my wardrobe, I pulled them out and with difficulty put them on.

Dressed and ready I walked out of our family wing and down the driveway towards the stables; I didn't look behind me but I thought perhaps there would be American guests eating their breakfast in the grand hall, they'd now be watching me, a real English Lady about to go for a ride.

They would have seen the posed picture of me in reception, it was in the display on the history of the house, our American visitors go crazy over that kind of thing. The picture had been of me, in a simple black skirt suit and a plain white blouse leaning on my father's desk. It made me look respectable, with not even a hint of my inner darkness.

I lengthened my stride as I thought maybe a handsome businessman would be having breakfast, he would be staring at my little bottom in the too tight jodhpurs. How could he not notice?

I smiled at the thought, enjoying being the centre of his attention. He'd be so taken with the view that he'd end up spilling his coffee.

I imagined him getting me drunk at one of the "meet the family" events that I had to attend, then we'd slip away, he'd take me to his room, tie me to the bed, gag me with my own panties and then fuck me into the next morning.

It was quite the fantasy, and I was turned on before I got to the stables.

Now I think back on it, it was the brief thought of the young American businessman fucking me roughly in his hotel room that led to the subsequent errors of judgment I made.

The interior of the stables that now belonging to the hotel were clean and modern; however, they hadn't touched the interior of our half. I liked it that way, the hotel had already destroyed so much of the history of the house, so it was good that these had remained.

I appreciate now that I should have just ignored what I was about to find; I'm sure on a typical day I would have. But when I opened the cupboard in the stables that contained my helmet, crop and riding tack, there they were. Curled up in a ball, where I shoved them in disgust almost a year earlier.

My cream jodhpurs.

They looked filthy, coated in the dried mud and dust of the stables, they looked as if someone had accidentally knocked them onto the dirty stable floor, kicked them up and down and then just thrown them back in. But, that's exactly how I had left them.

They were just an old dirty pair of jodhpurs, and I should have just thrown them away. But as I was entranced by them, memories from last summer came back to me.

I had been in the stable, having just put Patch back into her stall for the afternoon. I'd been lifting my saddle in place on the ancient wooden stand when I'd seen odd marks around one side of the legs. I looked closer as I'd not noticed them before; they looked like fingernail marks. They were old, the marks were as dark and aged as the rest of the wood. Perhaps one hundred and twenty years old.

Before I could stop it, my dark side took over and to dragged me into fantasy.

I imagined myself pulled face down over the top of the saddle stand with my bottom high in the air and my arms and legs tied to the stand. I had tried it for real, it was a perfect fit.

As I was stretched, I imagined the past version of myself, the Lady like myself, with all the privileges I would have enjoyed a hundred and twenty years ago. I wouldn't have been like this from choice, I would have been ordered to be like this by one of my father's friends. I imagined he was an army man, a man used to strict discipline. He wouldn't have liked my insolence and impetuousness. I would have been too smart for his liking; he wanted his women to be docile.

He would have convinced my father to allow him to discipline me, not yet having been introduced to Society I would still be considered young enough to take such discipline. So permission would have been granted.

I would have glared at my father's friend, but he wouldn't have noticed. With my skirts around my waist; I would be on the show to this man no matter how improper it might be.

As he started spanking me his face would already be red with arousal, and I would continue to glare at him. My eyes would have remained insolent, confident that he would not defeat me. Without realising I would be daring him to do his worst.

Despite my indignation, I would come to enjoy it, his spanking wouldn't be hard, and I would close my eyes in pleasure for a second. He would see it, it would enrage him further. Maybe he would also notice how wet my pussy was getting.

What kind of girl would enjoy this treatment?

His temper would have flared, and he would have reached for something to teach me a lesson. His hand would grab my riding crop.

He would have begun to thrash me cruelly with my own riding crop.

My virgin sex would be dripping. Even as horrible and demeaning as it was. It would have been the most erotic experience of my life so far. The historical version of myself was perhaps even more perverse than me.

Last summer my imagination was running wild as I lay on the stand imagining what my past self would have endured. The cream jodhpurs grew wetter and wetter as I fingered myself through the material. I was masturbating in a stable at the thought of being permanently marked by the cruel sadists riding crop.

I pictured my face streaked with tears and twisted in pain and yet at the same time clearly in pleasure.

"Ahhhhhhh."

I screamed out loud as the orgasm ripped through me. The orgasm had been a big one, and I lay on the saddle stand for ten minutes afterwards, just recovering.

As soon as I stood up, I started to feel disgusted with myself. I'd not had a fantasy as perverted as that before. How could I get off on a nightmare that involved me being beaten bloody with my own riding crop? I shuddered at the thought.

I had immediately stripped off the incriminating jodhpurs, they were covered in my cum and where the only evidence of my sick orgasm. If I hid them, maybe I could deny what I'd just done. So, brimming with shame, I balled them up and shoved them in the bottom of the cupboard.

Which is where they had remained, until now. As I looked at the jodhpurs remembering the fantasy. I felt my arousal beginning to build at the bottom of my stomach. I reached out and touched the filthy jodhpurs. I wanted to put them on.

I don't know what was wrong with me, no sane person would want to wear them. Who knew what had been on them, or had been done to them since they were abandoned here? They'd been left out in this stable for months. What if the American businessman had found them, assumed they were mind and had cum on them?

I held them up and looked at them, the cream material was stained with dirt, mud and god knows what else and when I looked closely, I could still see the mark my cum had made.

I didn't even try and fight the urge to put them on.

Almost in a dream state, without even daring to think about what could happen if I was caught, I pulled off my riding boots. My brand new pinstriped jodhpurs were next; I shoved them in the cupboard where the dirty ones had been.

I held up the old jodhpurs again. The dirt wasn't just on the outside. It was also there, right inside the crotch. If I put those on I'd get my panties dirty. I'd chosen to wear an un-sexy pair of light coloured shorts with circle poker dot patterns on them. I knew they would be ruined by the dirt on the jodhpurs.

Now that I'm calm I can admit that all that reasoning was rubbish, my shorts wouldn't have been ruined. My dark side was just trying to justify pulling on the jodhpurs with nothing on underneath. I just wanted the dirty, sordid material next to my body. As wrong as it was, I wanted the dirt against my pussy. I'm ashamed of it now, but at that moment I was a different person.

In moments the cute panties were in the cupboard. Shoved on top of the clean pinstripe jodhpurs. This left me now standing in the stables in only my polo shirt, with my hard nipples poking through it. The polo shirt wasn't long enough to cover my ass, so I was completely exposed.

It didn't cross my mind that this was a problem. I wasn't worried about the hotel full of guests, some of whom I'm sure would be exploring the grounds after breakfast. I was too aroused to think straight.

It wasn't easy to pull on the jodhpurs. Either I'd put on weight, or they'd shrunk. It took a lot of effort, but I was determined to put them on, so I didn't stop.

I wished I had a mirror so I could see myself. I must have looked incredible. Perhaps like a fallen angel. I couldn't help it, I slid my hand between my legs and felt my pussy through the jodhpurs. I imagined the dirt on the inside, pressing against my precious pussy and I pressed harder.

"Mmmmnnnnn," I let out a low moan as I imagined the dirt on my labia and lips and I pressed even harder, in turn pressing the filth deeper into myself.

Voices stopped me from going any further. I'd been interrupted and saved from my bad side.

I awoke from my arousal as instantly as I would from a bad dream. The voices were coming closer, a male and a female. There wasn't going to be time to change the jodhpurs back, I was stuck in them. I reached up into the cupboard and grabbed my smart dark red riding coat. It was too warm to wear it, but it would be long enough to cover over any dirt and wet patches that might be there. That was the important thing, hiding what a dirty bitch I was.

X

My arousal didn't return until I reached the edge of the woods that covered the east side of the estate. The wood was old, it had been managed by my family, so it probably hasn't changed for 500 years.

At the entrance to the woods, I passed a handsome man out walking his dog. The dog was a large light brown Bull Mastiff. It was a fine beast; initially, I was worried about how it would react to seeing the horse, I didn't want Patch to be spooked. I tried to act unconcerned and kept Patch walking. So that Patch didn't pick up any tension from me.

I needn't have worried, the man called the dog to his side, it obeyed his master and then sat down. I marvelled at the man's dominance and control. As Patch and I rode past I smiled at him and gave him a wave. The man, who had been watching my every move, returned my smile. He had a warm smile.