Matilda the Maid Ch. 04: The Butler

This is Chapter 4 of Matilda's adventures. You can read it on its own, but it makes more sense if you've read the first three parts. This is my first series on Literotica - please tell me what you think!

MATILDA AT DYMOCK MANOR

Chapter 4: The Butler

Matilda awoke the next morning, still wrapped in Chloe's arms. It was not yet light outside, but Chloe was stirring. Matilda blinked and the beautiful green pools of Chloe's eyes swam into focus. She felt warmth spreading throughout her body. She felt...different. Less awkward and unsure. More...womanly.

Her breath caught as she remembered how Chloe had pushed her fingers inside her last night; how she had rubbed her thumb and caused the universe to shift on its axis. Riding the crest of that warm glow, Matilda pushed her mouth up and kissed Chloe's lips. Chloe returned the kiss, wrapping her arm over Matilda's back and stroking down the line of her spine. Matilda felt a need tugging inside her, a hunger - but not for food. She required sexual nourishment.

She flicked her tongue across Chloe's lips, tracing her lower lip and then her upper, before pushing back inside her mouth, feeling the other girl's tongue returning the pressure and twisting around it. Matilda feasted on her bedmate, with a desperation stemming from that insatiable desire that had awoken within her. She brought her hand up to Chloe's hair, pulling her closer into the kiss, then traced down her neck to her shoulder, caressing her gently. She continued her journey downwards to Chloe's breasts, softly cupping the freckled swell of her skin. She broke the kiss for a moment to feast her eyes on the body now lying beneath her, seeing the tiny nipples harden as her fingers grazed them and then pinched them softly. They were irresistible. Instinct had taken over, and without conscious thought Matilda kissed her way down Chloe's neck, over her collarbone, to that wonderful breast. She licked across the skin, flicking the nipple with the tip of her tongue, before taking the whole thing in her mouth and suckling.

Chloe let out a soft moan and rocked her hips back and forth as Matilda's nuzzling continued. Matilda felt the rub of Chloe's sex against her thigh, felt the wetness leaving a mark on her skin. Keeping Chloe's nipple in her mouth, Matilda moved her hand down over Chloe's tight stomach. She felt the muscles clench in anticipation as she moved lower, felt the brush of the tuft of pubic hair, and then folded her hand between Chloe's legs. Warmth pulsed out from beneath her touch. Chloe bucked her hips, rubbing against the soft hand, craving friction and stimulation. Matilda pressed down, then flexed her middle finger and pushed it gently against the flesh between Chloe's legs. She felt the outer lips part, welcoming her in, and her finger pushed up inside the slick, wet folds of Chloe's most intimate parts. It felt simply wonderful, like dropping anchor in a safe harbour after being adrift at sea for months. It felt like home.

Chloe moaned and gripped Matlida's back, digging her broken nails into the skin. Matilda took her cue from what had felt so good to her last night, swirling her finger inside, exploring her. She found a patch of skin, slightly rougher than the rest, and curled her finger against it; Chloe writhed in pleasure, goosebumps breaking out down her exposed arm. Matilda continued to stroke that sensitive spot, and brought her thumb up as Chloe had done the night before to explore the outer lips. There was a spot Chloe had found, just above the entrance, which had driven Matilda wild. A little button...there. Matilda's thumb eased back the fleshy hood and found a tiny, hard nub, slick with Chloe's juices. Gently, Matilda rubbed her thumbs back and forth, moving her wrist to keep the motion going. Chloe's eyes rolled back and she clung onto Matilda, every muscle in her body tensing against the oncoming rush.

"Don't stop..." she whispered. "Don't stop...just there...oh God..."

Matilda felt the walls of Chloe's sex clench and pulsate, gripping her finger tightly as waves of pleasure gushed through her. A flush of warm liquid seeped out onto her palm as Chloe gasped out a wordless spasm of ecstasy. The two bodies wrapped into each other as one breathless, heaving creature, oblivious to the outside world.

Slowly, the blood pounding in their ears receded and both girls caught their breath. Chloe relaxed her grip on Matilda's back, stroking the skin where she had left red scratch marks. Matilda gently eased her soaking fingers out from Chloe's sex, bringing them curiously up to her lips and licking them. The taste was intoxicating: by turns sweet and salty, the lasciviousness of their primal, sensual behaviour was delicious on her tongue. Matilda was - for the first time in her life - fully awake.

At that moment, the first ray of the morning sun lanced across the horizon and in through the tiny attic window above the girls' heads, casting a warm, buttery light on their rumpled nest. Chloe planted a kiss on Matilda's forehead.

"Come on, love, there's work to do."

Love? Matilda's heart skipped a beat. Was she Chloe's love? Or was it just an expression? She paused for a moment, watching Chloe's naked form rise in the hazy glow of the sunrise. The rays of light caught her body, cradling it in warmth as she arranged her hair. She looked, wreathed in sunshine and glowing with a post-orgasmic radiance, like an angel. Matilda reached out towards her, hoping to draw her back into the warmth of her embrace, but Chloe nudged her hand away with a smile.

"We mustn't. You know what the Mistress is like. There'll be hell to pay if we're late or remiss in our tasks. We must be good, do as the Mistress bids, or we'll have a hiding. What we do up here, in our room - it must stay hid. The Mistress mustn't know, or there's no telling what she'll do."

Matilda nodded. She understood. Her hand still smarted from the thrashing she'd received yesterday, despite Chloe's tender ministrations in the darkness of night. She had no wish to repeat that experience again, and resolved to be especially careful and obedient today.

The girls pulled on their maids' dresses, tightening one another's laces and checking their aprons were straight. It still felt very strange to Matilda to have nothing to wear underneath her skirts, but it was a different sort of strange to the day before. Then, she had felt embarrassed and exposed; today, she felt excited and exhilarated at the thought that, at any moment, Chloe might run her hand up her leg and meet no resistance as she pushed her hand into her soft, wet sex...Matilda puffed out a breath. It was not going to be easy to be careful and obedient to Mrs Smyth when all she wanted to do was unlace Chloe's dress and push her naked body down onto the floor.

Chloe led the way out onto the dusty attic landing, tapping on the door opposite. In moments, Sally and Nancy joined them, making their way quietly down the rickety stairs towards the kitchen and the scullery. Matilda watched them with a new curiosity. Did Sally and Nancy do what she and Chloe had done last night? Were they lovers too? Matilda felt her face flush at the word. Lovers. She and Chloe were lovers now. Whatever would her mother think? What would Mrs Smyth think if she knew? What would she do?

Sally and Nancy gave no obvious sign of their relationship in their behaviour. Nancy was small and dark, with swelling breasts beneath her maid's dress and slim, boyish hips. Her face was unreadable, neither smiling nor frowning. She was, as her father might have said, a "closed book." Sally was the opposite, with that mischievous grin constantly twitching across her round face. Matilda could well believe that Sally got up to all sorts when people had their backs turned - but with Nancy? It was impossible to say. And anyway, neither of them could hold a candle to Chloe, thought Matilda, as she followed them down the stairs. Her ringleted, coppery hair, that freckled skin, those lips, her breasts...oh God, this was going to be impossible...

They arrived in the kitchen to see the rest of the household already stirring. Cook - a jolly, red-faced woman as round as she was tall, was already at work. Mrs Smyth, tight-lipped and stern, stood by the scrubbed table, twitching her crop in one hand and holding her bunch of heavy keys in the other. With no hesitation - without even a good morning - she began issuing the assignments for the morning

"Chloe, assist Cook with breakfast. You are serving this morning. Nancy, to the back door to meet the baker and the butcher's boy. Make sure the order is correct this time and put everything away properly. Sally, curtains and blinds, lamps and candles. Matilda, clear the grates and lay the fires in the hall, the dining room, and the Master's bedroom. Fuel is in the cellar," she snapped, gesturing to the hatch just beyond the kitchen door, "where you'll find the brushes and pans. Be sure not to leave a speck of soot when you're done."

The other girls were gone before Mrs Smyth had finished speaking. Taking her cue from them, Matilda jumped into action, reaching for the cast iron ring bolt in the cellar hatch and pulling the heavy wooden door upwards. Inside, her heart was thumping at the thought of returning to the Master's bedroom, alone this time, and with the knowledge of the previous night still burning inside her.

Matilda was a country girl, and not put off by the dirt and dust, the cobwebs and spiders, or even the noise of scuttling mice in the corners as she descended into the dark cellar. She found the pile of firewood and coal, loading a basket with all she would need to lay the fires. The glow from the kitchen lamps cast a faint light further into the cellar, and as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she made out the shapes of other objects stored there. In the middle of the underground space was a solid wooden post. Chains hung from it, with what looked like manacles open on the end. Pushed up against the wall was what looked like a wooden vaulting horse, but with pitched wooden sides ending in a point like a roof. And beyond that, a chair festooned with chains, manacles and stirrups. It looked like some kind of medieval torture chamber. Matilda wondered what the history of Dymock Manor was, and why the current residents had not cleared out all these old, historical artefacts. But she also remembered the pillory she had seen in the Master's bedroom the day before, and the thrashing she had received from Mrs Smyth. She began to wonder if, perhaps, these artefacts were not historical at all.

"All the more reason," she said to herself, "to get about my tasks as quickly and properly as possible." She lifted the basket onto her back, as she had used to do when harvesting potatoes back on the farm, and climbed out of that dark, dingy and frightening cellar.

Matilda was glad to be back into the warmth and light of the kitchen, and to close the wooden hatch on the darkened underground chamber. Carrying the basket of fuel, a set of cloths for the ashes, and her brush and pans, she made her way out of the servants' quarters and into the house proper. She remembered the route from Chloe's tour the day before, and made her way quietly across the imposing hallway to the fireplace. The fire was quite burned out. The stuffed stag's head above the mantel observed her silently, its glassy black eyes following her every move. She laid out her cloths, got down on her hands and knees, and swept the ash from the grate. She had done this a thousand times at home, and was glad she had been set a task she was confident with.

Once the grate was clear, she relaid a fresh fire using kindling and logs, and refilled the log hamper next to the fireplace. She cleared away, checking carefully that she had left no trace of her work, and moved on to the dining room to do the next fireplace.

As she opened the door to the dining room, she saw she was not alone. The tall, thin man who had greeted her so coldly yesterday was already there, smoothing out the tablecloth and laying cutlery and crockery for breakfast. Matilda hesitated on the threshold, and cleared her throat.

"Begging your pardon, Sir. Mrs Smyth has sent me to see to the fire. Should I come back later or see to it now?"

The man turned his cold grey eyes on her. He looked her up and down, his gaze travelling over her body several times in a silence which seemed to stretch out for an age. Matilda was acutely aware of her sooty apron, aware that she must have smuts upon her face; she was conscious of the heavy basket on her back, and the fact that it pushed her chest outwards towards him. There was almost a hunger in his look as he lingered over her breasts, before moving up and holding her eyes with his. The tiniest hint of a smile played at the corner of his thin mouth, but it was a smile with no warmth, no humour. A cruel smile. Matilda felt a blush of self-conscious embarrassment sweep up her neck from her collarbone, flushing her cheeks red. She stood, straining with the heavy basket, uncertain what to do next. Then the man spoke.

"You may come in and complete your task. I will make sure you complete it properly." His voice was just as thin as his mouth, with a chilling, icy tone.

"Yes Sir," gulped Matilda. She entered the room with trepidation, and made her way over to the fireplace. All the self-assurance which had made the hallway fire such a breeze had left her. She doubted every movement; although she had been sweeping grates and laying fires since she was a little girl, it was suddenly as though she had never even seen a fireplace before.

She felt the butler's eyes boring into her back as she knelt before the fireplace, trying to stop her hands from trembling as she spread her cloth out to catch the soot and ash. She knelt down, brush in hand, and reached forward to sweep last night's cinders from the grate. As she did so, she was acutely aware of her skirts riding up the back of her thigh, and the fact that she had nothing underneath - a fact that the butler was certainly aware of. She swept the ash into her pan, feeling her face burning with mortification at the thought of this strange, cold, thin lipped man staring at her buttocks as they jiggled up and down with the motion of her sweeping. He made no sound; she couldn't tell if he was watching her or not, and she didn't dare turn around to look.

She focused all her attention on the grate of the fire, sweeping carefully and precisely to catch every last cinder and fragment of ash. Then she sat back on her haunches and wrapped them in her cloth, tying the ends tightly and transferring them to the basket. As she did so, she could not stop herself glancing over to the table, to see what the strange man was doing. She only looked for a fraction of a second, but she was absolutely certain in that moment that he was staring right at her. His eyes were fixed on her, boring into her like a cat stalking a mouse. His hands appeared to be working at something at the level of the table, but Matilda could not see what it was - and she did not dare risk a second glance.

Quickly, with even more self-consciousness than before, she began to lay the fire. Her trembling hands would not obey her, and her kindling stack kept toppling, meaning she had to lean further forward into the fireplace to correct it. She felt her hips sway, and the cool air of the room whispering under her skirt and up her thighs. Oh God, he was staring right at her, she knew he was, and her bottom was on display for him with just a thin barrier of rough cotton between her most intimate parts and his searching, hunting eyes. She felt the material of her hemline riding up the back of her thighs. Why wouldn't this kindling stay in place?

Matilda felt panic start to rise in her throat. What was he doing? Where was he? With both hands she pressed the kindling wood into place, reaching back and bringing some larger wooden sticks to brace it. Finally, it stayed in place and she was able to build the fire around it. She sat back, acutely conscious of the red blood burning under the skin of her face in a blush of mortification. And then she froze, as she felt the man's cold hand lying on top of her head.

"Is that the best you can do, girl?" he sneered. The hand rested lightly but firmly on her head. The pressure was not strong, but it was clear that she was to stay where she was and not move.

"Y-yes, Sir," she said. She had hoped her voice would be stronger, but the words squeaked in her mouth, betraying her emotions.

"It's a mess, girl. The other maids lay a better fire in half the time. But I suppose I should be grateful. You taking so long meant I had longer to watch your lovely ass waving at me."

Matilda felt a chill run down her spine. She had never heard a man use such coarse language. She didn't know what to do, what to say.

"You've had quite the effect on me, girl," sneered the man, and he twisted Matilda's head around towards him - not hard, but with just enough insistent pressure to turn her gaze towards him. She was still kneeling, so her head was level with his breeches and, to her horror, she could see that they were unlaced. Protruding from the front was the first man's penis Matilda had ever seen. It was thin and pasty, and reminded Matilda of an eel like she used to see in the rivers back at the farm. But this eel was sticking straight out of the man's breeches, angrily, with a slit in the head where the eyes should have been. The slit was glistening slightly, with a droplet of clear liquid emerging from it. "See what you've done to me with your swaying hips and your teasing, girl?" he snarled. He grasped it with his hand and began to move it up and down the shaft. The skin rolled back and forth over the head, causing it to loom forwards ominously towards Matilda's face, which was just inches away. She realised now that this was what he had been doing when she had stolen a glance at him earlier. The droplet of liquid spilled from the slit and slicked across the head, causing it to glisten. It reminded Matilda of Chloe's juices, that she had licked from her fingers in the moments before sunrise.

"P-please, Sir," stuttered Matilda, "I'm very sorry, Sir. I just came to lay the fire..." she trailed off. She knew how pathetic she sounded as she watched his hand move up and down his cock. She couldn't tear her eyes away; she was mesmerised by it. She was a farm girl; she had seen bulls at work with the cows, seen stallions mount mares - she knew how this worked. But this thin, pointing appendage was nothing like a bull or a stallion. It was pale and pasty, about five inches long...and about two inches from her face.

"Well, I can't do my work if I'm up like this, can I? You'll have to help me, girl."

"Help you, Sir? I just came to lay the fire..." She looked up at him, towering over her. His hand held her head firmly in place. He moved around her so he was facing her, rotating her head so it always faced his cock, with the hand continuing to stroke up and down. He released his cock then, and reached for the basket, pulling out the tightly wrapped cloth containing the waste soot and ashes from the fire. He held the bundle up over the middle of the luxurious hearthrug.

"Oh no, girl. You will help me with this, or else my hand may just...slip. And what would Mrs Smyth say if she saw soot and ash all over the hearthrug? What would she do?"

"Oh no, Sir, please don't. I'll do anything, Sir, please don't let go."

"Open wide then, girl."

Matilda looked up in panic. His fierce, cold eyes looked back at her. She had no choice and, bracing herself, parted her lips. Without hesitation, the butler plunged his hard cock into her mouth. She felt it pushing over her tongue, with a sharp tangy taste, and into the back of her throat. She gagged, and her hands flew up to his thighs, pushing him back, trying to get the invader out of her windpipe so she could catch her breath. He pulled back, but then Matilda felt the stinging swipe of his hand as it slapped across her face, leaving a burning red imprint across her cheek.