The Maid's Tale Ch. 01bychristinamonroe©
According to Mary's birth certificate she was born in the Year of Our Lord 1863 in the parish of Rothsmere: her mother, a dairymaid, died shortly after birth and she never knew her father-there were rumours that it was someone up at the big manor house but this wasn't known for sure. She was sent to the workhouse, and her early years were hazy. At the age of five she started attending the local school where she learned to read and write after a fashion. At eleven, her schooling finished and she was given a job in the manor house as the junior maid, getting up at 5am and fetching coal by the bucketful to allow the housemaids to get the fires lit before the family got up in the morning. For the rest of the day she fetched and carried and worked in the scullery. Mary knew no other life, and it contented her for several years, sleeping in a little attic beneath the eaves, doing her duties as best she could. She hardly ever saw her Master and his family, spending most of their time as they did up in London, and she scurried past if she should meet them on the stairs, too afraid to look up, too scared that they might find her wanting and send her away. Eventually, at the age of 18, she got promotion of a sort to housemaid, and among her new duties, she was in charge of cleaning the masters study and laying his fire in the winter mornings.
One morning, so cold that her breath froze into a white plume in her little attic, she was laying the fire in her Masters study, working quickly despite her numb fingers, hoping to get the room warmed before he arrived to deal with his papers. She was kneeling at the hearth, her long skirts tucked tightly around her, when she heard the door open and the floorboards creak. She looked around, and her master stood there, tall and broad, a manly figure dressed in tight breeches, wearing only an open necked shirt despite the cold. She knew he must be in his forties, his children were grown, but he looked younger, his skin unlined and his figure tall and muscular.
'Mary, isn't it?' he asked, and she nodded silently, not knowing how to respond to this man who controlled all their lives and wondering how he knew her name.
'Mr Barlow has spoken of you' he continued, referring to the butler, a man almost as grand as the Master. 'A good worker says Mr Barlow'.
Mary nodded again, and then thinking she should say something, mumbled a quiet word of thanks. 'See that you keep working hard Mary, or we will punish you. You don't want to go back to the work house do you?' and with that quiet threat hanging over her he strode over to his desk and started scratching away with the quill, signing his documents and rustling papers.
Mary stood up indignantly, so annoyed was she at this threat; she worked long and hard, and this was unfair. He seemed to sense the change in her and looked over, smiling lazily. 'Yes?' he asked, and his eyes dropped, his gaze raking over Mary's quivering body, eying her slowly up and down until she stammered an excuse and left, gathering her cleaning tools quickly.
Closing the door, she leant against the wall outside, her breath coming in frightened little gasps. What had just happened? His eyes had lingered on her, and, remembering his look, she felt a strange ache begin deep inside.
That night in her room, tired though she was, she stood in front of her dresser, trying to see what had triggered such a longing look from her master. She had a mass of long blonde hair that she wore tightly coiled under her maids cap, and at night, when she let it loose, it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in a shimmering waterfall. She was tall for a woman, and her hard work had made her slim and firm.
She knew it was sinful, but as she undressed, removing her tight bodice, she looked down at her breasts, full and rounded. Thinking about him, she cupped them in her hands feeling their weight. The memory of his smile and the touch of her fingers sent a tingling sensation through her and hesitantly she gently rubbed at her nipples, teasing them until they stood proud. The strange ache in her belly grew once more and without thinking, she smoothed her hands down her slim waist and stroked her hips, her fingertips beginning to delve into the soft pale curls at the base of her belly. She looked around, knowing that she was alone but scared that somehow someone would find out. Her fingers probed between her legs, deep into the warmth and wetness that lay there. She had never touched herself there before, but instinct guided her hand and she found a small hard nub deep within the folds of flesh that responded to her touch, seeming to grow under her eager fingers. Rubbing harder now, and faster, her legs began to tremble, and she lay quickly on her narrow bed, spreading her thighs, never stopping her manipulations until suddenly, her back arched and she felt an overwhelming sensation of pleasure rise from her. Biting her lip to stop herself crying out, she lay back, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Her last conscious thought, before drifting off in sleepy satisfaction, was how much she wanted her masters hands touching her in the same way.
The next morning, Mary found herself lingering over her duties and arrived at the study later than usual. She had only just begun to lay the fire when she heard footsteps behind her. An aching sensation once again moved through her belly as she waited for him to speak. 'You're late, Mary. I wanted to work here today' he commented, his voice low.
'I'm sorry sir, cook wanted the floor cleaned' she tried to explain, but he interrupted harshly 'Who's more important, your Master or cook? I think you need to be punished'.
'Oh, please Sir, it won't happen again' she begged, knowing it was useless, and tried to rise from her knees. He moved beside her, and pushed her back down. 'Bend forward' he demanded, and mindlessly she obeyed. She felt his hand stroke the outline of her rounded bottom, firm beneath her gathered skirts. 'Now, I don't normally believe in corporal punishment, Mary, but you're only a child. I think you need a good smack to help you understand that I am your Master, and you obey me in everything. Is that clear?'
She nodded, then his hand struck sharply and she gasped in pain. 'I said, is that clear?' and another sharp blow accompanied his words. 'Yes, sir' she stammered, 'I'll obey you in everything'
'Good girl' he replied, and after the first two strikes, his movements changed, becoming more caressing, rubbing lightly at her curved rump, easing the tingling he'd created.
'I think this skirt needs to come up' he decided, and he swept the skirt and her petticoats upwards, exposing her underclothes. Easing these down over her hips, he saw the red marks on her buttocks and smiled to himself. Mary quivered, staying silent, willing him to touch her. Without thinking she moved closer, raising her bottom for more. For the first time she felt his hand on her naked skin, warm and dry, strong fingers probing between her legs as she had done the night before. Instinctively she parted her thighs to let his fingers in deeper, pushing back on his hand so that his fingertips could explore the folds of flesh and find the pleasure nub she had found. He did so easily, caressing her with an expertise that left her breathless, soon in a heady whirl of arousal. Then his fingers moved again, this time probing deeper. She felt a sharp stab of pain, quickly extinguished by waves of pleasure as he moved his fingers inside her.
He watched her dispassionately as she rocked back and forth, driving his fingers into her sex, and listened to her low gasps. She was his now, he knew that, and he could do whatever he wanted with her. He enjoyed housemaids, so eager to do well and please him. From taking his first maid at the age of 16, he knew he got more pleasure from them than he ever did with his wife. Smiling to himself, he withdrew his fingers and licked at them, tasting her juices.
'Back to work, Mary. Don't be late tomorrow or I shall have to punish you again' he stood up, and looking around she saw a bulge at the juncture of this muscular thighs, distorting the smooth line of his clothes. He caught the angle of her gaze, and smiled. 'I'll have a little job for you tomorrow' he told her. On unsteady legs, she left the room quietly, feeling the wetness between her legs trickling.
Later that night, she lay in bed thinking. She couldn't do that with him again, she decided. This must be what the other maids had whispered about, half-understood words to her, and why they had giggled and blushed whenever the butchers and bakers delivery boys arrived. The pastor had talked about sins of the flesh, and this must be it. She deserved to be punished: the master's wife had given her the job, and now she betrayed that trust by allowing the master to touch her in her most private places. What's more, she had enjoyed it, she had wanted more and the mysterious bulge in his breeches had excited her. The other maids had talked about men's parts: she was a country girl; she knew what lay inside there and what he was going to do with it and she wanted that. Then she groaned, she was a sinner, and she should go and pray extra hard this Sunday.
Next day, she arrived at her usual time in his study. He was already there, seated on the sofa, one leg casually draped over the arm. He was reading a letter, 'From your mistress,' he said briskly, shaking the letter at her, 'She's staying in London for the season'.
Mary felt a brief stab of relief. At least she wouldn't have to face the wife of the man who had explored her intimately. Then she saw his face and knew instantly that this meant her torment wasn't over: he was going to touch her again, whenever and wherever he wanted.
She moved over to the fireplace, and made to start her work, but he stood up, blocking her path.
She tried to step away, escaping his touch, but their eyes met and suddenly she felt her whole body responding to him: aroused, sensual, willing him to touch her. His eyes seemed to both caress and command taking away all her determination to keep her distance.
'Turn around' he demanded. She could hear his breathing, soft and low. Felt him bend closer over her, caught her breath as his lips brushed lightly across the back of her neck. She wanted to feel his lips on hers and tried to turn, but his hands held her shoulders firmly.
'Stay where you are' he spoke harshly. His hands slid around her waist, and she could feel his body pressing against her. There was a strange pressure pushing insistently at her lower back. He plucked at the ties of her bodice, and automatically her hands lifted to help him undo the tight stays and release her young breasts. His hands drifted over her body, caressing her waist.
Mary let out a low groan of excitement as his fingers climbed higher, so so slowly, grazing her soft flesh with tenderness, teasing and arousing with each butterfly touch. His hands closed about her breasts, capturing them as she pressed herself tighter on to him. He squeezed gently, capturing her nipples between his fingers. She could feel his maleness pressing, and she moved her bottom against him, feeling his cock rear up hard and firm. She knew she wanted him inside her, hot and hard.
Undoing her skirts, he let them fall to the ground. Her petticoats and underclothes soon followed, and she stood naked in front of him. He examined her naked figure closely: she was lithe, almost aristocratic in bearing with firm, high breasts, tipped in rosy pink. He moved in behind her again, pressing close, undoing the buttons of his fly to let his aching cock loose. With one hand still playing with her breasts, the other explored her moist and tender sex, a fingertip drawing patterns in the sweet wet ooze that glistened on the coral-pink folds of her labia. Her body was shaking, and suddenly he slid the tip of his cock into her welcoming entrance. With a second thrust he was buried deep inside her, the fat hardness of his shaft driving into her. His hands held her hips, guiding her movements, her rounded buttocks resting against his flat, taut stomach. He guided her to the sofa, still inside her, and bent her over the arm. Thankfully she rested her body weight on her arms, raising her buttocks high in the air and he carried on thrusting deeply into her. Her legs were beginning to tremble, the now familiar warmth rising inside her.
He released his grip of her hips slightly, and she felt his fingers trace a line down, delving between her buttocks, nudging at the amber furrow between. His fingertip slid, very lightly, lingering over the tightly closed bud of her anus. She trembled, knowing this was wrong, but seeking for new sensations, new pleasures. Slowly he pressed, gently persuading her tight anus to open. As his finger slid in, she shivered in a private ecstasy. The double torment of his thrusting cock and his finger working together inside her left her helpless, carried away by waves of pleasure.
'Touch yourself' he demanded 'I want to see you touch yourself the way you do when you're alone'.
She moved to obey, reaching down with one hand to feel her own wetness, and this was too much for her. She cried out, and his hand left her hips to cover her mouth. 'Be quiet' he ordered, stifling her gasps of excitement.
She felt his movements quicken, his cock moving rapidly. Suddenly he withdrew, and she heard him groan, then felt a spurt of warm fluid splash across her buttocks.
She stayed still, bent over the sofa arm, her buttocks raised, waiting for orders. Then she felt his hands on her thighs, slowly rubbing his seed into her, pushing his fingers again into her warm, tight sex. She shivered-this was too soon, she couldn't bear any more of this slow, sensual caress. He felt her try and move away, and laid his left arm across her back, capturing her in position whilst his right hand continued to finger her. He watched intently as his fingers slide inside her reddened vagina, enjoying the silky smoothness, and the scent of arousal.
He heard her breathing begin to come in animal gasps, and he knew she was close to her crisis once more. Then he stopped suddenly, leaving her unfulfilled, enjoying the groan of frustration that came from her.
'Get dressed' he ordered, 'I want this study cleaned thoroughly'.
She looked at him in bewilderment, not understanding the change of mood.
'Are you looking for punishment, Mary?' he asked, 'You follow my orders in all things, is that clear?'
And then she knew. She was his, a plaything for him to do with as he wished. She realised too that she wanted him, and wanted his orders. Trembling, she dressed slowly, and began to dust, wondering to herself what other orders he had for her.