Young Master Returns

I rewrote this story from a wonderful encounter online with 'Mabel' whose permission I have to retell our story. It was a magical hour writing this together and I thank her from the bottom of my heart. It is rewritten from Mabel's point of view.

*****

I answer the door to him that morning, early in 1918. I had last seen him as the handsome young master, off to join his Regiment as a 19-year old officer. Of course he had taken no notice of me then, a little 15 year old maid. Barely more than a child in his view (although my monthlies had started the year before.)

Now here he was again, older and more handsome but looking tired and drawn. He looks at me quizzically for a moment then cries "Mabel! I would never have recognized you! What a young woman you have grown into!" I blush; it's true that at 19 I was a different person now than when he had left. The skinny girl had become a young woman – medium height, proud of my slim but curvy figure, ashamed of my red hair and freckles which I thought ugly. I am surprised and pleased he remembers me.

"I'm maid to your sister now sir, although I still do some housework, laying fires and so on. Welcome home sir!"

The following morning I make my usual way into each of the family's rooms, lighting the fire for them. They usually ignore me but Mr Ernest stirs and asks sleepily – "Mabel, is that really you?"

I freeze, stunned for a moment at waking him. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to wake you up!" I get up hastily to leave.

"No don't go, it's fine" he reassures me. "Let me look at you - I barely recognised you when you opened the door last night. Goodness you've grown into a fine young woman." He looks me up and down and I feel his gaze run over me like cold fire. All of a sudden I'm very conscious of my figure; my breasts and waist and behind.

"I suppose you could say that, sir" I look at him when speaking, but keep my eyes on the floor when not addressing him.

"I'd forgotten how beautifully red your hair is. We forget so much over there in the trenches. May I see a little more of it?" he asks.

Me? Beautiful? I don't know what to say. But... "I-I don't know sir..." I reach up to remove my maid's cap, "it's not very customary"

"It's been so long since I saw a lovely girl in peace and tranquillity." He reaches up and pulls a strand of hair from my bun. "How very lovely you are..." he breathes. "Would you sit with me and talk for a while?" he moves over and pats the bed next to him.

"I really do have to start your sister's fire, sir. She'll be upset if she wakes to the cold..."

"I'll make it up to her" he promises. Suddenly I realise the urgency of his need as he reaches for my wrist and gently tries to pull me down to sit. "I'll tell her I sent you back downstairs on an errand" he insists.

I gently fight his grip, "I can't lose this job, sir."

He pays me no heed. "Goodness I had forgotten how green your eyes are. I would never let you lose your job - your place is here. I want you still to be here when I'm next on leave. Come, sit...I beg you."

He speaks a little more firmly, pulling me more insistently. He gazes into my eyes, he seems to be trying to communicate that he is the son of the house and to be obeyed. "Don't be frightened, I just want to know you better - it will be our secret. My parents wouldn't like it much either, remember!"

"I know, sir" I reply, and I reluctantly sit on the edge of the bed.

He tenses and blurts out: "Oh your skin is so beautiful. I love creamy skin and freckles - my favourite combination." He strokes my cheek gently. "Are you freckled everywhere" he asks – looking immediately embarrassed that he has asked me this out loud.

"Yes, sir." I look away as my own cheeks flush. "When I was younger mother made sure I had plenty of time in the sun." Then I fully realise the import of his question and my blush deepens.

"I'm sorry Mabel, that was forward of me. I don't mean to embarrass you." He strokes my neck lightly, apparently hoping for a reaction, a sign that I like it. "You have a wonderful figure now too!"

"It's what I've been told..." I take a deep breath at his touch, unsure of how to react. He sits up, his hand still on my neck. He gently but quickly leans forward and plants a kiss on the corner of my jaw, pulling me in with his hand.

"I hope you don't mind" he says - "I just had to do that."

"What if we're found..." I exclaim.

He gets up quickly and quietly locks the door. "I can lock my own door, can't I?" He comes to stand in front of me in his nightshirt then bends to kiss the top of my head. When I make no move he reaches round and undoes my bun. "Let me see that gorgeous hair" he asks.

"Sir, this really isn't appropriate" I complain, but make no move to stop him. Does he really think my awful red hair is beautiful?

He sits next to me on the bed, leans in and buries his face in the hair at my neck, lightly stroking it with one hand. "You don't know how much I have missed beauty like this" he breathes. He seems to be smelling me like a strange new perfume.

"C-can I ask a question, sir? Speak freely?" I ask cautiously. He nods encouragingly, still stroking my 'gorgeous' red hair. "Is it really not as exciting as they make it out to be? Going away to France?" I continue, "I know it's for the war and not for travel, but if you miss something so simple so much... It doesn't seem right."

He seems strangely affected now – as if struggling to keep his voice calm. "It's terrible over there - the violence, the noise, the fear. Your lovely face, the smell and touch of you - it's like deep, healing peace to me." He moves awkwardly in bed, as if tense or easing an ache in his belly.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring up bad things..." I back away sharply.

"No don't go," he asks. "Those awful things make me appreciate beauty like yours all the more. Please, let me see your loveliness. You could never make me sad, only warm and happy."

"I have chores, sir." I reply, not moving any further. "The rest of the staff will question my absence, not to mention your sister."

"Then we must be quick now" he says "Or find time later." I take a deep breath but he continues: "Mabel I don't want to shock you but don't you know how a man away from the company of women copes?"

"I'm afraid I don't, sir..." I begin trying to tie up my hair, "I understand you're lonely and you need a woman's touch or something but I'm really not in the right position to do this. I need this job and if it's discovered that I've done as much as I have I will for sure be let go with no recommendation."

"Some men go to brothels" he hurries on, as if not daring to stop "And I have done so at times. But to find such sweet innocence as yours - I have waited for this for months." He reaches for my hand and I let him take it. "Some men descend to self abuse and I have done that too. But, oh, to feel your hand instead..."

He takes my hand and presses it to his groin and belly, seeming not to care now what I will think. "I will look after you I promise, just give me some comfort now" he begs me, but firmly as if not to be denied. Through his nightshirt I can feel a growing hardness – on a reflex he pushes his hips up towards my hand.

"Sir, I cannot!" I pull my hand away, shocked and embarrassed. "Not like this..."

"Mabel, I beg you - don't leave me like this. It will be a secret, a bond between us. I will be forever in your debt..."

"You will owe me nothing but your secrecy, sir. If you're discovered it can be excused, but if I'm discovered I lose everything." I look into his eyes, pleading.

"Very well Mabel, I'll let you go - but tonight, after you have finished, find an excuse to bring something to my room when you won't be missed. I would never want to compromise you but I do want to know you better. Until tonight?"

"Yes, sir." I peck his cheek then quickly leave before he can see my face flushing. As I leave he sneaks his hand down my back, almost down to the bustle – leaving a shivering trail of excitement in its wake.

All day I go about my duties as if half in a daze. I cannot forget my fear of the consequences, or my shock at feeling the stiffness at his groin. But I also cannot forget his poor pale face, his hips pushing up to me, and the feel of his fingers on my back. After I settle Miss for the night, I go to his room and knock gently.

He rushes to the door, lets me in and locks it again. "Mabel, I'm so glad you came" He seems to pluck up courage and kisses my cheek.

"I couldn't refuse you, sir. Not after you let me go this morning." I stand in place, unsure of what to do.

"Come and sit - here, I saved some wine from dinner." He hands me a glass and leads me to the bed where he sits beside me. "I hope I was not ungallant this morning," he says, "I feared I had scared you..."

"I must admit sir I was taken aback. You were very forward." I gently sip the wine.

"I'm sorry, you were just so lovely I was overcome. I hope I did not shock you with tales of brothels and such... but I am a man of the world now and not the boy who left for the war." He strokes my neck again with the back of his hand, seeming desperate for the touch of my skin.

"I've been exposed to the brothels previously" I reply. As indeed I have, and what girl of a poor family has not? "It takes much to shock me." I stiffen slightly at the feel of his hand on my neck, not used to being touched in such a way.

"Don't flinch, I beg you. I only want your happiness but it's you I want too. I was out today in town and never saw anyone half as gorgeous." He reaches up again and unpins my hair. "It's not a brothel I need, or a whore" (I shudder at his coarse language) "But a sweet, beautiful, friendly thing like you."

"I'm sure you're wrong, sir. Many women are dressed much nicer and are complimented much better," I smile.

"Well yes, their dresses are finer and their hands softer. But none had your smile, or your scent." He buries his face in my neck again.

"Oh no! That's not what I meant at all!" I look away, embarrassed I led you to think that. I'm just plain Mabel, not even my dress is my own!"

He hands me a bag with a fancy label. "Now you do own something of your own. Here is a nightdress I bought in the best shop in town - and the bottle is scent, just for you. Keep it secret, just between us."

A nightdress! What an intimate thing for a man to give me! "I told you already, sir, you owe me nothing more than your secrecy... This is too much..."

"Well your secret is safe with me, as mine is with you I hope" he says with reassurance in his voice. He takes my hand and kisses the palm gently. "Please, let me know you better..."

"How much better, sir?" I continue to sip the wine cautiously.

"As well as a man and woman may, I hope - if you might want me too. As equals in this special time and place - no more master and maid while that door is closed. In fact you shall be mistress and I your servant!"

"Oh I couldn't, sir..." Although I do begin to relax more, now I see his playfulness. "I'm not that daring... To be mistress..."

He kneels at my feet. "Here mistress, let me unlace those shoes. You must have been on your feet all day." Before I can protest he starts to unbutton my boots. "You must be so tired my lady, why don't you sip that wine and relax?"

"I can't have too much, sir, I become intoxicated very easily." I smile, "now come back up here I can remove my boots myself!" I giggle.

"Then do so I pray, let me see those lovely feet!" He runs his hands up lightly to my calves before getting up to sit next to me again.

I quickly unlace and remove my button boots. "Is that better, sir?" He makes no reply but moves to refill my glass. "Oh no, I can't have more! It would spoil the evening!" I try to refuse.

He presses the wine on me. "Just one more glass - see we'll share it." He takes a sip and offers me one. "Here, sit up and let me rub those tired feet."

"You don't want to see me when I'm drunk!" I giggle, "I'm already getting there, please!"

He takes my foot in his hand and caresses the cotton stockings, rubbing away the aches of the day as my heart beats faster. "Not drunk - just a little tipsy, the way you make me feel!" he laughs. "Come, just one more sip then lie back and I'll soothe your poor feet. He rubs both my feet in turn, daring to move his hands up to my ankles and lower calves.

"That tickles!" I giggle and squirm at his touch, pulling away yet hoping he will continue. He presses more firmly, less tickling and more massaging.

"There, doesn't that ease your aches?" He asks as he rubs firmly, higher up my calf.

"I've never felt this kind of treatment before." I smile very tipsily, "it feels wonderful!" I find myself wondering what he will do next, whether he will go higher, whether if he does he will judge my underthings by the standards of French brothels. But wondering makes my breath come harder and my mouth dry.

He rubs a little higher towards my knees, daring to let my dress ride up just a little so he can start to see my creamy pale legs. Now these I am proud of, long and slim and with a fine covering of downy hair. If only he would touch them now! I flop so I'm lying on my back, my arms spread everywhere. "Is this what it's like to be wealthy?" I ask blatantly, forgetting any social conventional boundaries.

His touch is firm now, pressing my muscles and kneading flesh - rather than the tentative touch which made me giggle. It's not giggles I want. He presses his advantage and rubs up towards my knees. "Tonight we are both rich, lie back and relax!"

"If we're both rich then why are you still working?" I smile.

"My work is my pleasure! " he cheekily retorts "and yours too I hope." He bends one of my knees up so my dress falls back to reveal the hem of my bloomers just above the knee.

"Stop that!" I giggle happily, putting my dress back. "Men aren't supposed to see that!!" I'm giggly from the alcohol and very happy with what's happening. His hand is still up there though... It strokes the inside of my knee, firmly, just brushing the cotton of my underthings. He stretches out next to me and kisses my neck again, while fingering the frill at the hem of my drawers.

I run one hand through his hair and the other on his back, "Did you really miss me this much?"

He kisses my neck again, just above the neckline of my dress, and slips his fingers up just inside the loose hem of my cotton drawers. "When I saw you again I couldn't believe how lovely you were. I must admit sometimes out there I did think of you in a special way." He blushes as if recalling the images of me he had conjured up.

"I was a child then!" I laugh. "You're a dirty young man!" I whisper, my speech almost slurring, followed by a giggle.

His hand slips higher up my leg - I imagine watching his fingers on my pale skin and my groin begins to become warm and full. "But you are a woman now" he cries, taking a chance and moving his hand up, searching for evidence of my womanhood.

"I can take off the drawers if you want" I offer, blushing insanely red.

"See, no child has this hair here" he says - his voice gruff with arousal. "Yes, take them off..."

I giggle and squirm out of them. "Can I tell you something? I've never done this before." I am aware now of a warmth and a moistness between my legs, and I imagine the bulge beneath his nightshirt becoming stiff in its turn.

"And I have never done this when it's given willingly. Touch me, please!" he pleads. He pushes his hand into my most secret place, seeking what he needs there.

"All right" I smile and reach for his bulge. "Is that better?"

He parts the hair at my crotch; I look down and see his fingers disappearing into my strawberry coloured bush. I shiver at his touch – can barely breathe now.

He pushes his stiffness up at my hand and moans; "My fingers are wet..."

"Relax and let me help you" I say. I push his hand away from me as my touch upon him becomes more firm, but still gentle. I feel the heat rise beneath my fingers – he seems to be on the verge of a great tension, a dam about to burst.

"Yes, please - give me my release" he implores me.

I set to work on this wonderful thing, so hard and yet so soft. Unbelievably warm in my hands, which move upon him as if by instinct. He takes a deep breath and arches his back as his shaft stiffens and his stuff shoots out; one spurt high in the air and back onto his stomach, then another dripping down, a third and then a fourth, running down him and over my fingers. I can't believe how hot his stuff is, its kiss burns like fire.

"Is that better, my dear?" I ask him.

"Oh...oh" he gasps, and smiles. He slowly sits up, kisses my hand still covered with his business and then pushes me back to the bed. He opens my unresisting thighs and bends his head to my groin. "And now I shall kiss that little quim, that beautiful cunny of yours and you shall dance to my tune." I gasp at the names he is calling my parts, then again as he bends to lap and lap and lap at them with his tongue. I relax and settle back and let him attend to his work.