The Maid's Tale

Late one evening, Mary lay alone in her solitary narrow bed, thinking. She was confused: it had been days since her Master had come anywhere close to her. She had cleaned his study assiduously, but he wasn't there. She had gone as late in the morning as she dared, tempting the Housekeeper's wrath, hoping that he would be waiting for her but to no avail. Her newly aroused passions had threatened to over whelm her. She had felt like creeping out of the House to find Jack; she knew he wanted her but her common sense held her back-what if they were caught? This would get her the sack without references-she would starve. She had tried to hold off the feelings of longing by exploring herself, by touching and playing with the warm, moist folds of her sex but this was a poor substitute-even with her relative inexperience she knew that to feel another's touch was much more exciting.

She had enjoyed her meeting with Jack-she knew that she had been in control, she had been the one leading him and tempting him and this had made her feel powerful, heightening the erotic experience for her. The stable and outdoor staff only came in to the House for dinner in the evenings-this was her only chance to see him but in front of the entire household retinue she couldn't pass on a message to him. She sighed, her fingers beginning the now familiar slide down her flat stomach to burrow in the warm scented flesh of her sex, dreaming of her Masters cock. Images of Jack swam in front of her eyes and the two of them seemed to merge into one; Jack's eagerness and desire, and her Masters ability to create the hot, feverish need in her.

At dinner the next evening, she saw Jack enter with the other outdoors staff. They took their places silently, and bowed their head for Grace, intoned sonorously by Mr Barlow, the butler. The lowliest of the stable lads, Jack sat at the bottom of the table. Mary's position, as a maid of several years experience, was higher, but his continued glances in her direction didn't go un-noticed.

Next morning, Mary went to her Master's study to carry out her morning tasks, and was taken aback when she saw him sat in his place at the desk. Blushing furiously as he looked up at her, and mumbling a quick 'excuse me, sir' she went to deposit the scuttle of coal by the fireplace.

She heard his chair scrape across the floor as he stood up. 'It appears you have an admirer' he smiled, moving over to her, 'I hear Jack can't keep his eyes off you'.

Wondering how this had come to his attention, she knew that it wouldn't be wise to let her Master know of her relationship, such as it was, between Jack and herself. Lowering her eyes, she replied 'He hasn't spoken to me, sir', hoping that her Master would accept this.

He reached over and to her surprise, gently stroked Mary's cheek with a finger. 'He would be a fool if he didn't want to gaze on such a lovely face', and Mary felt herself melting at this bewildering turn of events; one day summarily dismissed, the next being adored. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. As he looked into them, deep blue, wide and trusting, he was struck by such a shock of familiarity that he was momentarily jolted. Who did she remind him of? It was a question that had been troubling him for days now. But he couldn't resist her any longer: her slim, responsive body, her soft lips and her eagerness to please him.

He leaned in to kiss her, their lips meeting and gently he began to explore her mouth with the tip of his tongue, lightly teasing, nibbling at her lips, and tasting the sweetness of her. She felt his arms wrap around her and for a moment, she relaxed into his embrace, her body pressed against his, trembling a little with desire. Then she became afraid, suddenly, convinced that he would somehow, with physical contact, sense her liaison with Jack, and she tried to pull away.

' I'm sorry,' she whispered, but, as she saw the expression on his face cloud over, she realised that she had made a mistake. She sought escape, quickly turning, trying to move away, trying to leave the room. 'Sorry for what, Mary?' he asked harshly, 'You're mine, remember?'

He moved quickly and grabbed her around the arm, pushing her hard up against the wall. His fingers were gripping her upper arms, biting into the tender flesh. He pushed roughly and her head hit the firm plaster of the wall painfully, but he appeared not to notice. Her cap dislodged, and her hair fell from its binding, long tresses of blonde framing her wary face. He held her there with the weight of his own body. But then it didn't matter to Mary if it hurt, for his lips were on her own once again, and her desires swept over her, unstoppable. This time the kiss was hard and forceful. His tongue was in her mouth, his body was pressed against her own and his hands were already at her breasts and her waist, gripping the skin beneath her skirts as well. She was helpless to fight against him, not simply because he was physically stronger than her, but because she seemed to lose all will to fight in the face of his determined lust. She felt her own passions begin to rise to meet his, and felt her thighs spread as he forced a knee between her legs.

She did try to struggle after a moment, briefly, ineffectually, as her wits had returned and that sensible part of her brain told her this was wrong and he shouldn't do this. So she tried to pull her face away from his, and tried to push him from her, but his teeth clenched and anger flared again in his eyes. He gripped her shoulders with a brutal force as he pushed her once more against the wall, this time with a deliberate attempt to shock her. Her head hit the wall again, and she moaned in sudden pain, but he took this as encouragement and he gave her no time to recover, reaching up with one hand to entwine it in her long hair at the back of her head and pulling down hard. She whimpered out loud, but could not get out any further sound, for his mouth covered hers, his tongue probing; she stopped struggling and kissed back, mirroring the movements of his lips and tongue with her own.

She was gasping for breath by the time he pulled his face away from hers and she took advantage of the respite merely to draw back air deeply into her lungs, her eyes locked onto his face somewhat fearfully. She saw a cruel amusement in his expression, as if he had always known she would respond to such harsh treatment, as if he had expected nothing less. One hand still entwined in her long hair, the other clutched roughly at her breast so that she could not help but utter a low sound of surprised pain mingled with pleasure. As she stared up at him in that moment of respite, he still pushing his body against hers and she subsequently pinned to the wall, his hand on her breast, the other painfully pulling her head back by her hair, she knew that much as she was scared of him, knowing that he controlled her life, she wanted him. She wanted him inside her, to feel the weight of him on her body, to do whatever he wanted her to do.

He grabbed her wrist as he stepped away from her, not saying a word, just pulling her suddenly, sharply forward, so that she stumbled. His hands caught her and he manoeuvred her on the sofa, pushing her down, her face smothered in a soft cushion, her cries going unheard. She knew by now that he wouldn't wait to see if she was comfortable or if she was unhurt. He would satisfy his own desires and he would use her to do so; if it hurt her or if it pleasured her seemed to be entirely irrelevant.

She tried to turn, but he was on her before she could do so. He swept her skirts above her waist, exposing her firm buttocks. Holding her down with one muscular arm he struck her hard, watching in satisfaction as a red mark bloomed swiftly on the white flesh. He felt her stiffen and smother her cries of pain in the cushion. Another blow followed, and more until she was crying hot tears. Only then he relented, and releasing his hold he gently turned her over.

'Don't you see yet, Mary?' he asked' 'you are mine. You do as you are told. What you want is of no consequence. Is that clear?'

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with the ball of his thumb, and again she was confused by this sudden volte-face. In turn gentle and brutal, caresses followed by blows. Her mind was confused, but her body betrayed her again. She nuzzled her cheek under his hand, wanting his touch. He kissed her cheek, and then his mouth trailed a line of gentle kisses and nibbles down the side of her neck. He licked delicately at her ear, and she squirmed at this half-tickling, half-erotic touch.

'Take your clothes off Mary' he demanded, and she stood up to comply. Loosening her stays, she let her clothes fall until she stood naked for the first time in front of him. He admired the high thrusting breasts, her rosy pink nipples that appeared to push forward to be sucked, and the delicate fair curls at the base of her stomach that glistened with the juices of her arousal. She was a little ashamed that she wanted him so much after the way he had behaved, but her body quivered, and she couldn't help but notice the bulge in his breeches. She wanted to release his cock in the way that she had done with Jack, but she knew that her Master wouldn't like her behaving like that, so she stood waiting for him, urging him silently to touch her.

'Sit down, Mary' he ordered, and she positioned herself on the edge of the sofa. He knelt in front of her, his eyes almost level with her sex, enjoying the rich musky smell that rose from her. He forced her knees apart, the lips of her sex separating, exposing the pink crevices and folds within.

'Touch yourself' he demanded, and in mimicry of her liaison with Jack, her Master watched as she began to manipulate her sex, her fingers dipping and stroking.

She watched him unbutton his breeches, and for the first time she saw his cock. Thick and hard, it rose from him, jutting out, the head angry and engorged.

He stood up, and moved closer to her. Gripping her thighs and forcing them even wider apart, he positioned his cock at her entrance. With a powerful thrust of his pelvis, he drove into her, burying himself in her tight warmth.

He shoved into her, hard. All the way, all at once, so long, so thick, larger than Jack, larger than he had felt before, seeming to tear her open with the brutal suddenness of it. She cried out yet again, unintelligible words, she wasn't sure if she were trying to beg him to go slow, to have mercy upon her, or if she was trying to tell him she wanted it all the harder. What she wanted would make no difference anyway, he would take out his lust and his desires on her regardless, and now he pulled back and shoved into her again. He pumped himself in and out all the way with movements almost deliberately designed to hurt but she found herself pushing back against him, willingly raising her hips to meet his own.

She orgasmed almost immediately on his entry into her, a feeling of passion so intense it shocked her. She was ashamed, and yet, as he continued to thrust himself so deeply, so roughly, inside of her, she felt it build again, that now familiar sensation, and it only took a few strokes to bring her to climax. She tried to hide it, clutching at the cushions beneath her and biting back on her lip, but he felt her muscles gripping him, milking his cock. He did not slow or hesitate and continued to drive himself inside her.

The sensation was different now-no longer sharp peaks of pleasure but waves, rolling over her. Her hips continued to move with his, pushing against him as he dictated their speeds and movements. She did not try to hide the soft cries she involuntarily made with each hard thrust inside her. She felt as if she could hide nothing from him now, so she let him see the complete effect he was having on her. Her hands stopped clutching at the cushions and instead now she brought them up to his waist, clutching at him, as if he were the only thing she could cling onto to save herself from drowning in this experience.

Sensible thoughts flickered through her head, momentarily there, then forgotten in the sensations of him; knowing but not caring that this was sinful, that he shouldn't be using her like this, only desperate now for him, pushing her hips towards his, clutching at his body, crying out with the pain and the pleasure of the feel of him, prepared to do anything for more of him, anything at all. She wanted his pleasure, she wanted to feel him inside her, this man who had made it very clear he cared little for her pleasures or pain and was concerned solely with using her for his own enjoyment.

There was almost no warning for her second orgasm. Not a sharp peak of pleasure, but a long, drawn out shiver that left her so stunned, so shocked, that she felt the tears again at her eyes. He came himself then, as if he had waited entirely for that moment, forcing himself inside her deeply, she saw his jaw clench and felt his muscles tighten. Deep inside, she felt him jettison warm oily fluid that mingled with her own juices. She raised her hips to meet his, feeling the spasms inside her, the pumping ejaculation, as he made sure she took every drop he had and not a single spilled. Then he took a deep breath and pulled out from her, leaving her feeling bereft.

She continued lying there, naked, sticky, used. Her body felt exhausted, her mind was confused. She felt tears behind her eyes, she felt the dark shame now and the humiliation all the worse because she had so willingly participated in her own degradation. And yet for all her exhaustion, for all her confusion and shame and humiliation, her body also felt satiated. She felt satisfied and even, surprisingly, grateful.

After a moment, she sat up and reached for her skirts.

'You're not finished yet,' he told her. She didn't know what he meant, so though she opened her mouth to speak, to ask, she just could not find the words.

' I don't understand...' she tried quietly, not sure if she meant it in regard to what he said, or rather to the entire experience. He only reached out one hand to her and now, after the desire was satiated and some sense of normality had returned, she flinched away from it. Yet he did not let her get too far, only taking hold of her shoulder and pushing her down onto the sofa again.

'You're going to clean me up,' he said.

'To clean you...?' she stammered, not understanding even yet, sitting on the sofa edge once more.

'You heard me,' he returned. 'Use your tongue. And do a good job, or else I'll see you learn the proper respect the hard way, do you understand me, Mary?'

She did understand now. Feeling sticky and sweaty and bruised all over, her eyes finally drawn to that which had impaled her. He was still mostly hard, covered liberally in her juices and his own. He moved closer to her and she took his cock in her mouth. Slowly, hesitantly, she began to use her tongue to clean the remains of their sex from his skin.

He looked down at her, watching the dipping movements of her head as she nuzzled in to him, licking at his cock, tasting the mingled juices and sweat. His hands moved to stroke her hair, holding her head gently but firmly, moving her slightly as he slowly thrust his cock into her mouth. Lost in the sensation, he threw his head back and began to think. He wanted to see her with another man; to see her perform for him, to degrade herself again as he knew she wanted to be. His mind began to work, making plans.