Lady Chatterleys Butler

*A warning note to my regulars.*

This is by way of meeting a challenge posed by a reader who suggested that much as he liked my work, he would never find me writing a piece with a man in it being sexual with a woman. After all, he reasoned, I am a lesbian so have no experience. Well that was a challenge to me as a writer. I am not a Turk or an Elizabethan, and I have written about such people, so why not...? Which is where this came from. I am sure you will let me know how I have done.]

I felt the warmth between my thighs tingle. I had seen how he had looked at me. There were two looks: one he meant to be seen, which was the deferential butler; and one he did not mean to be seen, which was the lewd male looking at what he would no doubt have called a "bit of ass." It was, I supposed only natural. There were two sorts of orders: the social order where I was Lady Penelope Chatterley, eldest daughter of Lord Chatterley and he was the butler, Mellors; and the natural order, where I was female, and he was the male. Never had the twain met; until now.

It was my own stupid fault. How could I have been so stupid as to have forgotten to have locked the door to the study? It may have been that with papa away and the maids already in bed, I had imagined I was alone. It had long been my habit to retire thence after supper and to read. It was in the course of perusing the bookshelves that I had accidentally pushed a button which had revealed a hidden set of shelves. Intrigued by the title "Justine, or the Misfortunes of Virtue," I had begun reading.

How I had sympathised with the virtuous Justine who had rejected the advice of her elder sister, who had told her she was "a foolish girl and said that given their ages and pretty faces, it was unheard of for girls to starve to death." She would not stoop to whoring her body as her sister did. And yet, across the rest of the novel, it had been poor Justine who had been forced by men to submit to their lascivious desires, and for no reward. When I read how the evil de Brassac had told his catamite to tie poor Justine to a tree

"this way on... as he pushed me face-forward against the tree. They used their braces, handkerchiefs, anything that came to hand, and in a trice, I was bound so cruelly tight that I found it impossible to move hand or foot. When this operation was completed, the blackguards removed my skirts, raised my petticoats above my head and took out their hunting-knives"

I had been overcome by a fit of the vapours. My hand strayed to my underwear, which bore evidence of arousal, and before I knew it, I had pleasured myself to a climax.

Of course, I swore that would be an end to it. But of course, it was not. It transpired that Papa's collection included other works of the same nature.

To one, "the history of O" I came back to again and again. The opening entranced me. A young woman, O, was ordered into a waiting car by her lover, René, commanded to remove her underwear, and driven to a chateau in the Paris suburb of Roissy where she was initiated into a secret society with complicated rules: she was not to look any man in the eye nor speak to any of the other women. She had to wear a corseted dress that exposed her breasts, as well as a leather collar and cuffs. Any man might dispose of her as he wished. I felt I was O sometimes, and would imagine her actions.

I would sometimes act out the part in the privacy of the study. That particular night I had been leaning back on my writing desk by the window, in only my high heels and white knickers, with the latter pulled to my knees as I cupped my bare sex. Such had been the intensity of the feeling that it had taken me a few seconds to realise that Mellors had entered the room.

"Sorry, Ma'am, I shall leave you, Apologies."

He'd said "sorry," but his eyes had feasted on my bare breasts with their hard, upturned nipples, and my waxed sex. That look haunted me.

At breakfast all had seemed normal, and that evening, as usual, he had asked if I would care for a glass of wine. I had thanked him, as usual. Indeed, all had been as usual until he asked if he could sit by my feet. Not wishing to offend him, I said he was most welcome. Perhaps, I hoped, this might clear the air?

"Would you mind, my lady, if I were to admire those rather beautiful shoes. Manolo Blahniks, I assume Ma'am, an excellent choice if I might be permitted an opinion."

I felt myself blush.

"How kind of you, Mellors."

"Yes, Ma'am, the black patent leather is especially beautiful, and they do show off your perfect legs to great advantage."

Was he taking liberties, or just being kind? I decided to presume the former.

"Thank you Mellors."

"Another drink, my lady? You seem thirsty tonight."

"Please, Mellors."

I watched as he went to get another glass of wine.

"Perhaps, my lady, you would like to take it in the study?"

It seemed rude to refuse, so I accepted the suggestion.

"If your ladyship would care to recline on the chaise longue?"

Aware that to do so in my current dress with the slit skirt, might reveal more than I should in the presence of a servant, for some reason I still did it,

"Nice stockings my lady, and was that a glimpse of white?"

That tone and the way he was looking at me made me think of the story of O.

"It was," I admitted, blushing.

"Don't you think that I should make sure of that? Adjust that dress so I can see."

That, of course, was the point at which I should have put my foot down. Instead I opened my legs to afford him a view of my mound and my white knickers moulded to it.

"Is that how a lady sits?"

He asked me, smiling.

"No, but you asked me..."

"I did, and from your reading matter last night, I think you like the idea of being told what to do."

I blushed beetroot red.

"Erm, well..."

"Oh, you do, we both know you do. Now, get that pretty arse off the chaise and stand. And by the way, Missy, from here you call me Sir, get it?"

"Yes Sir," I said, standing.

"Now take that dress off."

"Yes Sir," I said, doing so and standing there in my underwear and stockings.

I felt him behind me, his breath on my neck. Then I felt him lower my knickers, ashamed that the butler was seeing my bare aristocratic arse, but excited that my female parts were bared to the male.

"Stand still, Missy, this oil will help ease your pain and leave fewer marks, so be a good girl and wriggle that sexy arse."

Sighing I replied as he had suggested:

"Yes Sir!"

As his hands caressed and kneaded my arse cheeks like lumps of dough, I felt what O must have felt, a sense of shame transformed into sexual arousal by being placed in this helpless position. I squealed as he poured the oil onto his hands and began massaging it into my bottom.

"Your ladyship has a gorgeous arse."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Do you promise to be a good girl?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why am I going to spank you?"

"Because I am a dirty girl Sir and I have been playing with myself while reading dirty books."

"Is your ladyship a naughty little wanker girl?"

His words sent shivers to my core. Could I possibly say such words to my own butler? Of course, I could, and did.

"Please, Sir, I am a naughty little wanker girl who needs her posh arse spanking."

"Across my knee, now, missy!"

I had read of this so often, and my head swam at the thought I was going to experience it.

His trouser fabric was rough against my bare tummy, and my breasts were squashed. I felt his rough hands caress my smooth cheeks.

"Who would have thought, my lady, that the butler would ever have his hands on your posh arse cheeks?"

"No one Sir."

"Indeed not. Before yesterday I would have given a month's wages to have seen your stocking tops, but now," he said with a groan, "I get to play with your pretty arse. Such a nice cleft here," he said, as I felt his finger run between my tight cheeks.

"Well, it can't all be pleasure. You've been a dirty little girl and your arse is ready for a good spanking."

It was after that first hard spank as his big hand connected with my tender bum that I realised the difference between what I had read and what I was now experiencing. It was one thing to imagine, in disordered excitement, the feeling of being spanked, but as he struck my left bottom cheek and pain ripped through me, I realised it was another to feel as though your bum was on fire. I screamed, and clenched my buttocks in pain. Which produced with great speed - and force - a second and a third, one on the right the other across the centre. Waves of pain spread through me, reminding me, fool that I was, that spanking was a punishment. It was only on the sixth, as my legs were kicking in the most undignified manner possible, that something strange happened. The pain turned to a tingling wetness in my pussy. I felt suddenly very wet. I was conscious of myself moaning rather loudly.

"Oh, is Missy liking this? Let me see."

I felt his rough fingers run between my swollen, wet lips.

"Taste this, Missy."

Blushing, I tasted my own juices on his finger.

"You are a little slut, aren't you, your fucking ladyship?"

"No, Sir, I don't think so Sir!" I protested.

"Your upper lips say one thing, Missy, your lower ones another."

As a seventh spank hit my already sore bottom, I moaned. It was hard to deny the truth of what he was saying. I was sopping wet there. By the ninth, my legs were kicking, and I was squirming, my arse may have been on fire, but there was enough wetness elsewhere to quench any fire.

"And ten!" He pronounced triumphantly, his hand resting firmly on my aching bum.

"Now, Missy, as you can probably feel, that has made me very aroused. I do not wish to ruin your marriage chances by taking your virginity, and your arse is sore, so it will have to be that third hole I use. Get on your knees!"

My head was a total whirl. If reading about girls being spanked had got me aroused, actually being spanked was in a whole other realm of pleasure. The dull ache of my bum was accompanied by tingling in my pussy, and my nipples felt like they wanted to burst.

"Yes, Sir," I sobbed, standing, unable to stop myself from rubbing my bum.

"You don't look very much like a Lady, now, Missy. Let's see your breasts, bra off!"

I had no choice, I told myself, which, like all the other times I was telling it to myself, was a whopping great fib. He'd seen me masturbating, but he'd not once threatened me, fool myself as I tried, I was doing this of my own free will; if, that is, one concedes that one can be free when in a highly libidinous state.

My breasts are not big, 32a, my bra says, but he gazed on them as though they were the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

"Nice tits, Missy, What are they?"

"Nice tits, Sir," I said, blushing as he observed me.

He reached out and pinched my nipples, which made me squirm and moan.

"Yes, I like them small, Missy. But I have urgent matters to attend to, so on your knees, now!"

I had read about O doing this, but having precisely no experience of men, I was not sure what to expect. It seemed simple enough. The man would put his thing in your mouth and use it as he would a pussy.

"Look up, Missy, I want to look into your ladyship's eyes as you suck my cock."

His shameful words made me blush, but I did it.

As he unzipped his trousers. Again, the book was all very well, but could hardly prepare a girl for the reality. It looked scary, and it moved. All I could this of was how I was going to take that in my mouth. I need not have concerned myself. He pinched my nose, forcing me to open my mouth, and he put the tip in.

"Lick, Missy."

So I did. It tasted strange, but he seemed to be enjoying it. So I licked, which made him moan. He gripped my head to hold me steady as he pushed in and out. I sucked as hard as I could, which seemed to please him, the salty taste growing stronger as is thing throbbed in my mouth. I felt him shake and stiffen. The next thing I knew, my mouth was full of him.

"Swallow, Missy!"

I did, as he moaned.

Eventually he slipped from my mouth, dripping his semen onto my breasts. Strangely my first thought was that I was glad I was not wearing a bra. I looked up.

"Open, Missy!"

I did so.

"What a marvellous sight, her ladyship with a mouth full of me. Swallow, slut."

Blushing at being called that by the butler, I did so. Now, I thought, I really did need a drink. As though he had read my mind, he said:

"As the maids are in bed and we have the place to ourselves, I suggest you go to the kitchen and get a bottle of white wine from the fridge and bring it, and two glasses, back here. You may have some water from the tap to clean your mouth.

Conscious of my aching bottom, and of his eyes on me as I walked to the kitchen in just my heels, stockings, and suspender-belt. Awareness of the role reversal made my pussy ache. It was his job to serve me, now here I was, walking down the hallway with everything on show, to get him a drink. What if one of the maids should come downstairs?

It was with relief that I poured myself a glass of water. I'd have preferred it from the fridge, but had my orders. That, I thought felt better. I took a bottle of Chablis from the fridge, and put it, and two glasses, on a silver tray and walked back into the study.

"Now that," Mellors exclaimed, "is what I call maid service. The dried cum on your chin and tits makes an excellent addition to your outfit, Missy."

I felt myself blushing. But I did my duty.

"Your wine, Sir."

"Sit at my feet, Missy and have a glass yourself."

I settled at his feet and took a sip of the wine.

"Does this feel as good as the books you read?" He asked.

"It is different, Sir."

"Better or worse?"

"Better, Sir."

"I never, in a million years imagined I'd get to see you like this. Don't worry, I am not going to tell anyone or blackmail you, but if you want it to continue you will do one thing for me now."

Shivering, but thankful, I said: "thank you, Sir,"

"I want you to stand up, and bend at the waist, legs apart, holding your ankles, understand my lady?"

His referring to my status had its usual effect; I assumed he knew what it did, which was why he kept doing it.

Never, even in my wildest imaginings, had I imagined being in the position I now assumed. My bum still hurt, and stretching the skin reminded me of that. As my hands gripped my ankles, he could see all my private parts. Was he going to take my cherry? I began to shake.

I felt him gently pat my bum.

"Don't worry Missy, I just want to see that wet cunt of yours and that tight arsehole. What do you have?"

I knew what was expected of me and said: "a wet cunt and a tight arsehole, Sir. I hope they please you?"

"They did. You'll make someone a great fuck, my lady, but it won't be me. But my cock is hard again, so on your knees - unless you want it elsewhere?"

"No Sir, I will suck you again."

And I did, once more taking him into my mouth and letting him use it until he came.

"Good girl," he said, stroking my hair as his cock slid out.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Go and have some more water, and wipe my cum from your tits and chin."

"Yes, Sir."

Once more I walked to the kitchen cleared by mouth.

"You are a little stunner your ladyship. Thank you for letting me play with you. I shall, of course, go back to my accustomed position tomorrow and promise not to bother you. But should you want this again, I will expect you to order a glass of tap water with your evening drink; do you understand."

"Yes, Sir," I grinned, "and thank you Mellors."

"My pleasure, Lady C - now go and relieve yourself."

How did he know what I was rushing off to do?

I gathered up my clothes and dashed to my bedroom where... well I shall leave that to your imagination.