Mistress and Maid Ch. 03

I entered my mistress's room with my head lowered, eyes downcast. She was seated at her vanity, auburn hair pulled up so that delicate tendrils snaked about the pale curve of her neck. She acknowledged me with a green eyed glance, but did not rise.

I moved to stand behind the bench of the vanity, hands held before me. She did not glance at me. "Kneel."

The wood floor creaked as I lowered my knees to it, maid skirt bunching beneath them. I stared at the small of her back, apprehensive, waiting. God. How many times had I done this now? How many times had I supplicated before her?

After that day in the dog kennel my Mistress took me regularly. She had Mrs. Wren assign me as maid of her rooms. The dog toy I found was a phallus of oiled leather over wood, and a strap could attach it to her waist in an obscene parody of masculinity. It became a favorite of hers.

On the floor she would take me, throw me down so I lay on my back, legs spread, or more often so that I faced away from her, arm extended so I could hold my lips apart for her. There was never any gentleness in it, only a swift thrust of her hips and a spike of pain as the phallus's blunt head forced into me. She would clasp my hips, offering no respite, nails leaving crescent marks where they bit flesh. Or at times she would gather my hair like reins and force my head back, arching my spine, offering every inch of me to her.

Bitch, she would say in her cold voice that promised only truth, squeal for me, little cunt.

And I would. I would gasp and moan, her length filling me. Whore, she would spit, cunt.

I do not know why she took me so. It was not as if she was a man and could have taken any physical pleasure in it. No, if there was any pleasure in it for her it was in the sight of me pliant and gasping beneath her. Her little bitch dog.

She would stop after what felt like hours, long after the ache between my legs had deepened to the point where I knew I would barely be able to walk the next day. At times she would have me lap at her sex until she reached release with a groan and her fingers tight in my hair. Other times she would force me to kneel before her, order me to worship the phallus with my mouth, to lick away the taste of me and press my mouth so the phallus was forced against the back of my throat, her eyes contemptuous as I choked and spluttered.

Her skirts rustled as she pivoted, positioning her legs so I kneeled directly before her. She reached out a hand, ran the tip of her finger along my cheek. "Are you hungry, my pet?"

I did not dare nod. "Yes, mistress."

The finger traced my lips. "For what?"

"You." The words sickened me, but I had been well trained. "For you, mistress."

The finger lingered on my lips for a moment, before sliding under my chin turning it upwards as her other hand pulled away her skirts to reveal the fork between her legs. "Show me."

Her scent hit me as I lowered my head between her legs, cinnamon and sickening sweet, filled my nostrils. My tongue peeked out, fitting between the pink folds of her lips, and her taste was in my mouth.

"Fuck," she whispered, heavy skirts muffling the sound, my nose pressed against the smooth flesh of her pubic bone as it ground in miniscule circles. "Fuck your little tongue in me, whore."

A knock came from the door.

Her hips stopped, hand falling against the top of my head to force still the bob of my head. Her taste stayed on my tongue, still deep in her. Cool air caressed my face as her skirts lifted and she shoved my face away. I sprawled on the ground, elbows and palms touching ground. "Up," she snapped, hands smoothing her skirts back into place, "get in the dresser."

I rose to my feet, wiping the moisture from my chin with the side of a trembling hand, and scrambled for the dresser. I caught a quick glimpse of my mistress, an elegant figure, only the sheen of sweat on her neck giving evidence to her recent distress, before softly closing the dresser door shut.

The knock from the door came again, more insistent, and a moment later the creak of a hinge signaled it opening.

"Locking doors again, dear one?" The voice was strong a masculine, with the same arch tone as my mistress's. I recognized it as master Heathcote's.

"I was dressing." My mistress's voice was terse.

Though the dresser doors were snugly closed, a point of light gleamed through the keyhole. Slowly, so as not to be heard, I knelt and placed my eye against the keyhole.

"A pity you'll have to undo your work." Mr. Heathcote stood behind my mistress, his hands on her hips. He was a tall figure, handsome in a way that made the other maids giggle. He face was dipped toward the nape of my mistress's neck, a cold, powerful smile on his lips. "It's far past time I claimed my husbandly rights." His mouth dipped to graze the curve of her neck. "It's far past time I felt that tight cunt of yours again."

My mistress's voice was strained when she spoke. "I'm expected at an engagement."

"Oh?" Mr. Heathcote's hand slid up to grasp the back of my mistress's hair, pull her head to the side so his mouth had access to the side of her neck. "That is unfortunate."

His hands released their grip, and a gave a quick, firm push, my mistresses legs knocking against the baseboard of the bed as she doubled over, loose strands of hair thrown over her face. Her eyes flicked toward the dresser, but she made no protest as with quick, efficient movements Mr. Heathcote stripped away her clothing until she was left covered only by her corset.

My mistress's eyes had closes to half lidded crescents, the edges of her mouth downturned in disgust. She remained stone still as Mr. Heathcote paused to admire his handiwork, the smile on his lips widening as he surveyed the bare curve of her shoulder and the roundness of her ass below him. His hands skimmed over ribs of her corset, moving up to grasp the firm, full globes pressed tight beneath it.

My breath had grown rapid against the cedar of the dresser door. I knew I should avert my gaze, this this was utterly improper to be witnessing, but I could not take my eye from the keyhole. To see my mistress, the woman who had dominated my existence for the last few weeks reduced to this...

"You really should not neglect your duties so." My mistress flinched as his hand shot up to fist in her red hair, jerk her head so she was forced to look upward. His other hand nudged her legs apart before fumbling with the front of his trousers. "You know it only inflames me."

A grimace cut my mistress's face when Mr. Heathcote shoved into her, her body sliding forward on the bed from the force of the movement. His strokes came slow and deep, the faint sound of flesh smacking flesh ending each thrust. Our eyes met as his hand gathered my mistress's red hair into a bundle and pulled back sharply, jerking her head back and arching her spin, forcing himself as far as he could into her. Shame and anger played across her face, eyes burning into mine, her teeth catching the edge of her lip as my mistress kept from crying out, mouth twisting in a grimace as she was pumped from behind like a common whore.

I watched rapt as she kept our gazes locked. His thrusts began to grow faster and he pushed her head down, forced it down into the sheets so he could gain every inch of her ass as he climaxed, a grunt tearing itself from his throat, the expression on his face half grimace and half sneer.

He shuddered a last time and was still, hand still forcing my mistress's head down for a moment before pulling her back up towards him, head held like a limp mop, and growling something in her ear. He didn't relinquish his grip as he pulled out of her and stepped back, forced her into a stumbling kneel before him.

"I seemed to have worked up a sweat." His fist kept her head in a careless grip. Her eyes looked up through the fringe of her red hair, disgust boiling out of them. He made a tsking noise with his tongue and dragged her head to his half stiff erection. "You can hardly expect me to bathe."

"I have expended my wifely duty." My mistress's voice was polite and cold.

Mr. Heathcote grinned and his hand brought her face down, touching the tip of his moist erection to my mistress's chin. One of her eyelids twitched, but she made no move to resist. He trailed her face across the length of his erection, painting a wet trail along her cheek down to her mouth where he rubbed her closed lips up and down his length.

He laughed suddenly and let go of her head and stooped, cleaned his member with her fallen skirt before letting it drop and folding away his erection. His hand caught her chin, tilted her proud head up to face him. "Until next time, wife." He said, grin laughing and merciless.

I backed away from the keyhole, the fabric of my mistress's hanging dresses brushing my head. The door opened. Outlined against the sudden light was the hastily dressed figure of my mistress. "Get out." She said, voice emotionless.

I stepped clumsily from the dresser, eyes lowered. "Mistress," I began, "I..."

Her hand shot out, fisted in my hair and jerked it back. I whimpered, neck cramping and nearly lost my balance as I stumbled back. She kept me like that I long moment, so I knew I was utterly in her power, before leaning forward, hair tickling my ear.

"Our agreement is still in effect, whore." Her voice was tight with emotion, fingers savagely fisted in my hair. "Speak of this and I will tear open your cunt and pucker so not even the most misshapen, disease ridden cock of a leper will want it."

Something cracked in her voice and she pushed me away. "Get out." She said soft. "Get out, cunt."

I glanced at her quickly before stepping away towards the door. As I turned to close it, I saw her seat herself again at the vanity, red hair in disarray. I looked away and shut the door.