Further Adventures Of The Maid Ch 07

Mary had left the house in Regent's Park with reluctance. She knew that she had no place back home with Jack-he was better suited to Betsy. Victoria had asked her to stay, but she knew that no matter how thrilling her union with the young noblewoman, this wasn't enough for her. She wanted a man; no dildo, no matter how finely carved could take the place of a mans cock for her. She longed to feel the weight of it in her mouth, her sex, even her amber rosebud. She couldn't resist the sensation of it, a firm rod of flesh, smooth soft skin over the hard core, relentlessly thrusting into her, finding release in her body, unburdening its load into her needy flesh.

She knew she had to go back home to the only home she had ever known. She decided to write to her master; she thought of him every day, and the feelings were growing stronger the longer she was away from him. The time with his daughter had been a dim reflection of the time with him. He knew what she needed; she had longed for him, longed to feel him inside her again, to feel his pleasure and receive his punishments.

The letter was written; in her careful childish hand, she had written to tell him how much she wanted to be with him again.

Phillip received it with mixed emotions. He longed for her, every fibre of his being knowing that they were matched, that they satisfied each other completely. But she was forbidden to him, even though she didn't know that; he had to take the burden of that knowledge. Could he meet with her knowing of their kinship, their shared blood? He knew that the desires that ran in him were met equally in her; she was everything to him. He had lost one daughter; he had had word of Victoria, now a courtesan in London. He knew that he was to blame, knowing that he had allowed her to come under the influence of Thomas, as he had himself. He had lost Victoria, he didn't want to lose Mary again.

He dreamed of Mary; his thoughts were full of her. No matter where he went in the House, he could see her, insubstantial as a ghost, but always there. She was there in his study, kneeling over to set the fire, her pert rump outlined in her skirts. He was feeling beneath her dress, feeling for the first time her excitement. He felt the firm flesh quiver under his fingers as he slapped her; she had enjoyed her punishments, knowing that she had deserved them. Even sat on the chaise longue he could see her, kneeling before Jack, taking one lover in her mouth whilst opening for another pressing at her sex, giving pleasure to both of them. Out riding, he seemed to gravitate towards the oak clearing, knowing that Mary had met Jack here, knowing that Jack had buried his cock deep into Mary, thrusting inside her, pumping his seed deep into her bowels. Phillip had watched, seeing his daughter violated, but knowing that she had offered herself to Jack in this way, knowing that she had wanted this most dark pleasure.

He groaned, his cock hardening as it always did when he thought of her. How should he reply? He desperately wanted to see her again. If nothing else, she had mentioned that she had seen Victoria in London, and he wanted news of her, the daughter that refused to see him again.

He wrote to her, a carefully worded letter that would reveal nothing should it fall into the wrong hands, and waited for her return home.

Mary came back to the cottage she shared with Jack and Betsy, but knew that this was only temporary. Betsy had welcomed her home like a sister, and proudly showed her the baby. In the short time Mary had been away, he had seemed to grow inches, his smile blossoming, showing pearly front teeth just coming through. Mary knew that she had missed her son, but that Betsy was a better mother than she could be to him; she knew that the three of them now made a family, and she had slipped to the edge, looking in.

The following day, she made her way to Rothsmere. Jack took her in the cart, worrying about her, knowing that she was putting herself in an awkward position, but accepting that this was what she felt she had to do.

She waited in the oak clearing, the autumn wind cool but refreshing, her fine wool coat hugged closely to her. Sitting on the fallen oak, she sank deeply into thought, wondering about her future, so deep in thought that she missed his approach. Her master had been watching her for a while, steeling himself not to go to her as soon as he arrived. He watched her, drinking in every detail of her, the way her hair had grown and was curling over her collar, the new fullness of her breasts just visible beneath her coat, the anxious nibbling of her lower lip showing her tension. Her hands, the fingernails now long and graceful, plucked nervously at each other, and he knew that her nervousness was mirrored by his.

Stepping forward, he called out her name and her head lifted, looking for him. She stood and watched him come to her, wanting to throw herself into his arms but not knowing if this would displease him. He strode over to her, not heeding the undergrowth grasping at his fine trousers, and took hold of her, folding her in his arms. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he spoke: 'I've missed you, Mary,' his voice was deep and stern, and she looked up in dismay. 'Don't leave me again or you will have to be punished.'

It was then that she saw the smile in his eyes, and knew that all would be well.

She returned his kiss, her mouth searching for his and they clung together for long moments, their tongues entwined. Phillip groaned inwardly; despite his determination and good intentions, he had to have her. He brushed the long hair away from her face and cupped her chin in his hand. She began to unbutton her coat, and he looked down at her body, shown to it's best advantage in a tightly fitting dress of silk, so fine that he could see her nipples outlined clearly, standing erect in the cool breeze. His hand slid from her chin down to her breasts, fuller than he remembered, but still firm, the sumptuous flesh warm under his hands. He cupped them both, and lowering his head, he laid a soft line of kisses along the upper curve of them displayed above her bodice. He felt her nipples harden under his palms, and knew that he wanted to take them in his mouth and suckle. He had thought that it was too cold for them here, but she was young and eager, and wanted him so badly that she didn't care about the cold. He helped her undress, her hands made clumsy by her desire. She had worn nothing but the dress that day, and her naked body soon rose from the rumpled pile of pale silk, exposed for him. He looked at her for a long time, fixing her in his memory, gazing at her rounded curves with delight. She had matured, her figure refining, the breasts high tipped with rosy nipples. At the base of her stomach, her curls were neatly trimmed; she had admired this on Victoria, and had asked her to show her what to do. Through the delicate curls, the lips of her sex were clearly delineated, and Phillip knelt in front of her, almost in supplication, reaching out with his fingers to touch her there. Just with the tip of a finger, he traced gently down her slit, barely skimming her, and then leaned forward and laid a kiss at the top of her slit, probing slightly with his tongue, tasting the musky scent of her.

She pressed his head to her, wanting him to take her, to suck at her pleasure bud, to thrust his tongue deeply into her love tunnel, and lap at her pussy in the way Victoria had done during that long night with her master's daughter.

Phillip held her hips, and strained forward with his tongue trying to bury it deeper, feeling her warmth envelop him. His face was buried in her now, the crisp curls rubbing against his cheeks, and her juices beginning to smear his face. She was trembling, and he knew that she was close to her crisis. But he wouldn't let her reach this; skillfully he kept her just at the peak of pleasure but no further down the road to fulfillment. She would only come when he decided to allow it, and he knew what he wanted to do to her first.

Ever since his coupling with Thomas in the oak clearing, Phillip had dreamed of taking Mary there. He had imagined her laid over the oak log for him, waiting for him to plunge into her body, and the image was very strong in his mind now. He got up from his position in front of her, and laid her coat over the log. He ordered her to lie upon it, and show herself to him. She complied, reaching round with her hands to part her buttocks, balanced awkwardly, her breasts crushed under her weight. Her discomfort, though, meant nothing to the feeling inside her; his words of command had eased something for her; knowing that she was acting to please him gave her satisfaction too. He knelt behind her, his face close. She was fully exposed for him, parting her cleft with her fingers, the tight ring of muscle clearly visible, the skin puckered around it. His fingers reached out and he began massaging the thick ridge of muscle between her vagina and her secret passage. He knew that she would find this pleasurable, but it wouldn't result in an orgasm for her; rather, it would keep her close to it, increasing the sensation when he finally allowed her to come. Continuing to rub gently, he leaned forward and placed his tongue against the unyielding muscle, as he had dreamed of doing. Licking gently, feeling her shudder beneath him, he started to push, his tongue insistent until the muscle relented, and he began probing her. She whimpered, but remained in position, her body responding to the sensations. With his free hand, he released his cock from his trousers. He was already oozing, clear juices collecting at the bulbous tip of his cock, as excited as a boy at the thought of fucking Mary again. He began to rub his cock, sliding his hand slowly up his rigid shaft, looking at the engorged veins. He was using his left hand, the unfamiliar hand for him, and the sensation was almost as if a stranger was touching him. He watched himself masturbate, taking his tongue from her, his gaze alternating between his cock and Mary, seeing her amber hole slightly dilated, wanting him. He needed to drive into her, but wanted this to last. So he replaced his tongue with a finger, slowly pushing into her, feeling the tight muscle gripping him, welcoming him into her heat. She began to rock, pushing back against him. He soon eased another finger into her, and began to fuck her, driving his fingers in, the muscles beginning to relax. He knew that she wanted him, and he demanded that she tell him what she wanted him to do.

'Please, sir...' she begged, 'please, I want.....'

'What do you want, Mary?' he needed her to say the words, and knew that this would excite him, hearing those words from her mouth.

'I want you in me,' she was pleading now, but he was adamant.

He removed his fingers, threatening to stop fucking her, and the torment was too much for her.

'I want to feel your cock in me,' she gasped, almost ashamed of her need, but knowing that he would punish her if she didn't do as he asked.

At this, he smiled, and drove into her, pushing his cock deep into her quim, coating it in her thick salt-sweet juices. Then he held the tip of his helmet to her muscular ring and pushed. The hole dilated, the muscles still relaxed and he sank in, lubricated by her own oil. She had to hold on to the log and push back against him, his thrusts were becoming wild, but she wanted that; she needed this first time to be hard and fast and deep. She wanted to feel him unload into her, to feel his hot seed pumping into her bowels. In her mind's eye, she remembered Victoria taking her this way with the carved dildo, using exotic creams from the Orient to lubricate it. The cream had warmed her tunnel and relaxed the muscles, but it didn't feel the same as being filled and stretched by a rod of flesh. She remembered Jack thrusting into her like this, but he would never initiate this, she had always been the one to indicate her dark desires. Apart from that last time, he had never lost control, and had never rammed into her hard; he didn't understand her need for physicality, always deferent when sometimes she wanted force. She could feel herself coming, and her muscles tensed around him, milking Phillip's cock. At the first spasm of juices from him, she let go, and spent hard, gasping, throaty breathless panting that was so loud that it disturbed the rooks nesting in the nearby trees.

He continued to pump until his cock was emptied. As he slid out, a gush of milky seed followed him, and he looked at her ring, now reddened and slightly swollen. He knew that she had come, but was tempted to touch her again, finding her irresistible. He slumped at her feet, sitting against the log, not letting her get up. Holding her cheeks apart with the fingers of his left hand, his right hand reached to caress her abused hole, slipping inside, pushing his come back into her. She groaned, but the sensation was welcome. He slid his fingers forward down her slit, and into her vagina. She was so wet, so excited by him, that he could push in three easily. She eased herself up a little from the log so that he had better access to her. From behind, he slowly took her again with his fingers, his thumb resting against the tight ridge of muscle, massaging there.

He couldn't reach her pleasure bud, that erect nubbin of tissue too far forward, and demanded that she play with herself for him. On her hands and knees now, she began to stroke herself, the taut bud almost too sensitive to touch. He thrust his fingers rapidly into her, fucking her almost mechanically, knowing that she was enjoying the sensation of two hands on her, two set of fingers touching her sex.

He could hear her breathing still ragged from her first orgasm, but her second followed quickly. Her body hadn't recovered, and she shook and shuddered from his touch. She came with a long, drawn out moan, and her arms almost buckled under her. He allowed her to rest, covering her with her coat. Sitting close to her, he caressed her face, and she smelt her juices on his fingers. She wanted to taste, and he fed them to her; she sucked and licked his fingers until they were clean of her sticky juices.

They lay there for a moment, conscious of nothing but each other. He knew that there was no going back, and that Mary would be with him for good. They needed each other, and he would no longer try to resist.

THE END