"Where is your Mistress?" Reluctant to give him any information I stood there in silence. "Tell me young lady?" Master snapped his long brown leather belt between his hands. The piercing crack sent shivers coursing through me. "It bothers me greatly that you protect her. Just why do you do it?" I swallowed hard between my heavy breaths. A loud snap of the belt close to my ear startled me, causing me to break my silence with a gasp. His fingers grabbed my hair and he roughly turned my head to face him. "Go to the desk, lift your skirt and tuck it into the waistband." He released my hair and I slowly walked to the large sturdy table that sat in the window overlooking the green lawns of the estate. I lifted my skirt and gathered it loosely, tucking it into the waist.
Outside I could see the darkening clouds building behind the green hills in the distance. "Lower your knickers young lady and spread your legs." I fumbled with the thin material of my pure white knickers and shakily edged them down my thighs, over my knees and finally set them down at my ankles. A swipe of the belt cut through the air alongside my head causing my spirally curls to tickle my ear. The end of the belt landed on the desk with a resounding smack. "Now bend over!" I lowered myself across the desk and stretched my arms to the edge.
I cringed as his cold hands rubbed on my bare cheeks. I looked up at the threatening clouds that gathered over the faint hills, now sprinkled with distant rain. "You will stay in this position until I return." His footsteps faded and he slammed the door then turned the key. For him, this time alone for me was so that I could reflect on my silent behaviour. But for me, it was a time to remember just why the silence continues.
I was fifteen years old and worked on my fathers market stall selling coloured silk scarves with shiny coloured sequins adorning them. I had no idea who she was, and being fifteen, did I really care? To me, she was just another one of my father's customers. I remembered staring at her intently as she spoke to him. She smiled continuously as soft words floated from her perfect lips. From that first smile she stirred something in me that I had never felt before. Her sea green eyes twinkled after every blink and when the gentle breeze whispered around her hair in the summer sun you could see red and gold tones in many a strand.
My upbringing was strict and I was only permitted to have friends in school and they were few and far between. As soon as my learning day was over and my chores were completed at home, I retreated to my room and continued with my studies. As I was forbidden to mix with others at weekends I helped my father on the market stall. Each school holiday was the same, everyday on the stall, travelling with him to different towns.
When I returned to school my friends would boast about shopping and parties. I curiously listened when they talked about boys and other riskier subjects. They would talk about the moist forbidden place between their thighs and the way they felt when they touched that cute little button that seemed to explode as they feverishly explored it. They told of how their private regions had got wet, how their breathing changed and how their stomachs felt all light and fluttery when they touched it. These were feelings that I had never experienced before and my own special place had never been touched in a sexual way by anyone, even me.
And back then on that day, standing in front of her, her beauty, her smile and her laughter made my stomach flutter and my special place pulse and throb. That first night I had gone back to my room and found that cute little button. I felt the wetness around my fingers as they skirted around it. I found it swelling and hardening with every touch. Soft mewls turned to excitable whimpers that progressed into moans. Then I felt it, the explosion that my friends had said they felt, coinciding with a blinding flash in my closed eyes. I recovered slowly after that first orgasm, shaking and sweating until it all finally subsided leaving me contented and satisfied.
As the months passed she began to talk to me. She would say 'how are you?' or 'hello'. Each time I talked to her I felt elated that she gave me just a little of her attention and when she walked away my world sank back into its mundane routine. By the time I had turned sixteen I was more comfortable around her. Turning another year older meant a little freedom in the evenings. I was allowed to attend a few parties and go shopping occasionally with my friends. When she stopped and talked to me I could always find something to say about my weekend and what I got up to.
My father began to answer my questions about her, like who she was and where she was from. I felt my heart sink into my stomach when he told me she was married. She never wore a ring on her finger and I assumed that there was no man in her life. Despite me knowing she had a husband it didn't stop me exploring myself. I saved my pleasure for just that one day a month.
On the last day of the market season in our town, I hoped and prayed she would come to me. I was kneeling on the ground trying to find a particular colour of a scarf that a regular customer had requested. I looked up to my father to tell him that the colour wasn't in that batch and there she was, looking directly at me. She held my stare, her emerald eyes burned into me. I attempted to get up from the cold ground and her voice sternly told me to stay. I did as she requested and was rewarded with an expression on her face that I had never seen before. She grinned at me with a look of approval.
Her delicate hand confidently handed me a small ivory coloured card that had an elegantly printed address on it. She told me to be there the following day. She then told me to stand and again gave me that look of approval with a hint of a smile. Again, that night, without fail, I pleasured myself. The following morning as I approached the front door to leave my house, my father called to me. He passed me a small suitcase and told me to give it to the Lady of the Manor. I assumed it contained a bundle of silk scarves that she loved to collect. I kissed my father goodbye and made my way to the address written on the card.
From then on my life and future belonged to her and her husband. I became her personal maid. I undressed and clothed her, bathed and dried her and washed her clothes. I prepared her for evenings out and important functions. They were my pleasures. I knelt when requested and spoke when I had permission to speak. I was also mildly punished by her at times for my mistakes. She sent me to the corner with my knickers at my ankles or she would deny me orgasms when I masturbated.
She of course controlled my orgasms. That was a condition from the first day. I was to only masturbate with her in the room. She would tell me to lie on her bed and she would sit beside me, holding my hand in hers. With my other hand I explored my body, my breasts, my neck, my stomach...everywhere. I was forbidden to speak at those times. She would talk softly to me, telling me how beautiful I was and told me how I pleased her. When my gasps and breaths told her how close I was to my release she would grant me permission to let go and within seconds I would be screaming and writhing on her bed with her hand still holding mine. I treasured those moments and the closeness we shared. I longed for her attention. An occasional touch to my arm or my cheek would stir something so intense and deep within me. If only she knew what I truly felt.
Her husband, or Master as I was told to call him was older than her. He was nice and polite at first, but I soon learnt that he had a dark streak to his nature that she never told me about. He was born into a wealthy family whose generations had spawned men with a roving eye. His infidelities went unnoticed, unlike my Mistress'. Their relationship was different to others'. She had her own bedroom and only slept in the large bedroom with him when he requested it. I found that odd at first, but soon got used to it, especially when she requested me to sleep at the foot of her bed sometimes.
And now, here I am, waiting for another punishment. The creaking of the door interrupts my recollections. The carriage clock on the mantelpiece telling me I'd been alone with my thoughts for nearly forty minutes.
