Laundry Tales 01: Twins' Charade

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Copyright jeanne_d_artois October 2006

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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The laundry of my ancestors' house is now my workshop. I'm a potter and good enough at my trade to make a reasonable living from it.

However I don't earn enough to maintain the family mansion and estates to the standard they need so the main house is open to the public and the subsidiary buildings are rented out. I have a part of the former servants' quarters converted into a three bedroomed apartment next to the laundry room.

As a child, the laundry room was my favourite wet-weather play area. It had running water, plenty of light from the windows, and a floor that could be hosed to clear away whatever mess I had made. It was bliss.

However the main attraction of the laundry room was Martha, the resident ghost. I was aware of her from an early age. I would sit on the scrubbed table and ask Martha to tell me a story. She always did. At first Martha's stories used to be fairy tales, 'Once upon a time...' and suitable for my age. Her story telling was so effective that I became the princess, the fairy, the heroine. I lived the character while Martha's voice was sounding in my head. As I began older Martha retold the classic tales of Literature covering the Greeks and Romans, through Chaucer and Shakespeare up to the end of the Victorian age.

I didn't know how she could tell the later stories. She had died in the eighteen-eighties so how did she know stories written after her death?

When I became an adult, and particularly after I had returned from Art College, Martha's stories became more personal to her with adult themes. She told me about incidents in her life at the Hall. Each time I became Martha and experienced the events exactly as she had. This is one of the first of those stories.

The Twins' Charade.

In the early part of Victoria's reign the heirs to the family estates were twin boys John and Alan. They were adventurous as teenagers, always in trouble, but never vicious or needlessly destructive. They were popular with the servants and the tenants on the estate, all of whom happily tolerated their pranks.

The twins used to play with Martha who was about three years older than them. Initially Martha acted as a small mother, keeping an eye on the twins when they were toddlers, stopping them from falling into the moat or climbing beyond their ability. They loved Martha. She loved them. In their later games she might be Queen Guinevere or Maid Marion.

The twins were sent to boarding school. In the holidays they would still play with Martha but their games became more like producing a play. All of them had to learn the script and perform in character. Martha's reading widened as she tried to match their enthusiasms. She felt bereft when the left for university. Would their relationship ever be the same?

It wasn't. John and Alan had discovered women. Martha had found excitement with some of the male servants. When the twins returned all three of them knew that they had sexual desires to act out and some of the plays now had meanings they hadn't seen before.

As Martha reached this part of the story I felt myself turning into a young Martha. I could see Alan and John as tall, handsome men and very desirable. I could feel that desire every time they were in my sight. My hands kept straying under my apron as I tried to calm the heat between my legs.

Their father was holding a masked ball for Halloween. The twins had decided that they would perform a charade for part of the ball, and that some of their guests would also play charades. Martha sat on a bench in the walled garden with two blond heads on her lap as the three of them discussed what charade to produce. The first suggestion was Perseus and Andromeda. That was dismissed as some of the guests didn't know Greek mythology.

Martha's hands stroked the blond heads. The heads snuggled closer to her body. She hoped that her excitement wasn't too obvious. Two men so close to her sex were almost too much to bear.

"Why not St George and the Dragon?" asked Alan. "I could be St George, Martha could be the beautiful maiden, and you, John, could be the dangerous Dragon breathing fire. They ought to be able to recognise that."

John wasn't too pleased at being the dragon. He fancied the part of St George. After Martha promised to cuddle him AFTER the performance, John reluctantly agreed.

In the laundry room, they started making the costumes the next day. As usual with their games, Martha had to do most of the work. Her own dress was easy enough. She added a few streamers to an old dress to suggest torn clothing and cut the bodice lower to expose more of her breasts that a servant should show, but enough to excite Alan and John.

St George's armour and the dragon's head were made of papier-mâché. Each layer took hours to dry. While they waited, they practised the script.

A problem was how to secure Martha as the dragon's victim. She had to be obviously secured when the curtain was drawn but St George should be able to free her easily once the dragon was slain.

I, as Martha, enjoyed every minute as John and Alan tied me in my revealing dress. If they even thought they had hurt me: I was kissed. Soon they were kissing me with no excuse at all, particularly when my hands were tied and I couldn't resist.

They preferred my hands to be tied behind my back. At worst, if no tie would release freely, all I needed to do was pretend that my hands were tied and drop a length of rope when St George 'freed' me. Alan noticed that my breasts showed more when my arms were back. He pulled my wrists up behind me. My breasts nearly fell out. He and John thought that was wonderful and experimented some more. If my hands were behind my head my breasts were at their most exposed and I couldn't do anything if their hands wandered.

Their hands did wander. John stopped my protests with his mouth and tongue and four hands caressed inside my bodice. A hand slid down outside my dress and pushed my skirts between my legs. I gasped as that hand began to lift me. John's tongue penetrated further before the hand withdrew.

"Why not suspend her from a tree?" John asked. "All St George needs to do is to loosen the rope."

They tried it. My wrists were tied together above my head and attached to a hook on a pulley in the laundry room ceiling. The pulleys are still there today. They lifted me until I was on tiptoe. My breasts fell out of my bodice. Alan and John stood transfixed for a few seconds. As if they had a single thought their lips found a breast each. I moaned and groaned as they kissed, licked, nibbled, caressed and suckled.

I scarcely felt the first change as they began to lift my skirts. Alan left the room for a few seconds. I didn't notice because John's lips and hands were so busy at my breasts. Alan returned with a bottle of olive oil.

One of John's hands covered my mouth as they lifted my skirts up and tucked them into my apron's waistband. I felt the air around my legs but that wasn't enough to cool the heat between my thighs. John dropped his trousers. His tool stroked against my thighs. I tried to move to meet it. Alan's hands held my buttocks and spread them. I screamed into John's muffling hand as Alan's oily fingers began to slide into my back passage.

John's mouth stopped my scream. His warm tool slid into my pussy as Alan's fingers spread me enough for the tip of his tool to enter.

I lost myself as the two of them pushed deeper and deeper inside me. I was lifted each time they thrust and lowered with them as they withdrew. In time they let the line slip slightly so that all my weight was held on their erections and hips and hauled me up again.

My body was shuddering with the dual assault and my mind just surrendered to the rhythm of their actions. I enjoyed every second of it as two virile males possessed me. Were they possessing me, or was I swallowing them? Either way, we three had become one linked unit enjoying our sexual togetherness.

Too soon they came into me. They let me slide into their arms and down to a confused heap on the stone flagged floor.

The charade of St George and the Dragon was considered a success but never repeated. The suspension of Martha was reprised again and again to the satisfaction of all parties.