Diana In The Offing Ch 03

Dear reader:

The authors apologize for the delay between chapters. But, unfortunately, both of your humble scribes have had many things happen in our lives that delayed both our respective work and each other's contributions to the efforts of the other. We beg your understanding and your forgiveness.

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All the characters in this story are over 18 at the time of any naughty behavior.

This tidbit is the background to the period piece of the early twentieth-century story created by PixieHoff,

Meet Me In St. Louis

. It fills the backdrop for some of our characters in her lovely story.

Thank you, Pixie, for allowing me to contribute.

Please note that given the period in which this is set, it contains language and attitudes that may offend modern readers. I have thought long and hard about this point; to adjust the characters or to change the language would only denigrate those characters or deny the progress that all parties have made in the century since. Therefore, out of respect for the characters, I chose to neither ignore their ethnicity nor alter what I consider to be the natural dialogue between them.

The Age of Diana and Emily

Charlotte was one­ of those who slowly awoke, coming up from slumber by swimming through a thick haze to greet the day.

The sheets flowed smoothly over her as she shifted under them. Stretching her arms, enjoying the lovely sensation of silk caressing her nudity.

Her eyes opened to the dawn just beginning to peak through the borders of the thick drapes. Heavy fabric, colorful, richly patterned, almost busy.

Charlotte had never liked them.

She preferred drapery done in solid colors, more restful, and these were much like those in Margaret's rooms. Her mind grudgingly grasped that she was indeed in her mother-in-law's chambers...

'No, this is not Margaret's bedroom; this is now

my

bedroom.' The thought swam through Charlotte's mind as she realized she had things... things... attached to her body.

'Oh yes, those are legs,' they matched the stretching arms.

Her mind slowly leafed through the events of hours earlier. The profound meaning of the changes and that what had been Margaret's was now hers.

A woman's moaning caused Charlo­tte to sit up in search of the source. She found it at the foot of her bed, none other than Margaret herself. She was exposed from the waist up, lying on a straw mattress. A thick leather collar was locked around the older woman's throat and clasped by a golden lock attached to a chain carelessly wrapped about the bedpost nearest Charlotte's foot.

Margaret was furiously masturbating under the thin cotton sheet, which already sported a sizable stain. It was plain to see the rapid movements of her right hand over her mons. Her left hand mauled her exposed breasts; the large mounds sagged into her armpits, her fingers pinching and pulling prominent nipples that poked up to the ceiling.

Eyes tightly closed, her bald head turned slightly away from her Mistress as she rubbed in her little world. The woman tried to repress her moaning with soiled panties stuffed in her mouth, but they could not fully contain all the whimpering and groaning. Charlotte watched in fascination as the older woman worked herself to distraction, mouth open as wide as her eyes were tightly shut. She had seen Pig orgasm enough times to guess when the peak was close.

"Pig," Charlotte laughed when Margaret jumped, ripping the panties from her mouth and her hand away from her desperate sex. "You know you are not to complete without permission."

"Forgive me, Mistress, but you said I could not finish," Pig was shivering, trying not to have her fingers return to her aching quim, "but you didn't say I could not touch." The last was more a whimper than a statement.

Charlotte threw her covers off and walked to the wardrobe to find the expensive dressing gown, it was a gift more costly than Charlotte could afford, but she had given it to Margaret as a peace offering - but it had never been worn. She slipped it from its hanger, then, donning the robe, she turned back to the writhing woman.

"Pig, you are free to touch yourself to your heart's content, but your orgasms now belong to me," leaning down, she ran her fingers over the desperate woman's bald scalp, "You may not release without my permission."

She paused, turning toward

her

dressing mirror, drawing her hair over her shoulder in a thick cascade; she began brushing. Charlotte hesitated, then looked at Margaret through the mirror directly into the desperate woman's eyes; she delivered the blow.

"Ever, my pet." Charlotte's whispered words moved slithered through the air to their feast.

There was fleeting pain in Margaret's eyes, which quickly passed, replaced by the serene look of --

acceptance

.

"Yes, Mistress," Margaret responded with a soft whimper.

"Now carry on, Pig, you were doing so well, and the sounds of your desperation entertain me." Charlotte brushed her hair; she had never counted the strokes before, and the prospect gave her a naughty idea. "I intend to brush my hair and do 100 strokes today."

She could not help but smile at her horrible pun; she continued. "You will do 100 strokes as hard and fast as you can, perhaps I will feel generous by 100, and I may then permit you to release."

"Yes, mistress," Margaret responded, lying on her bed and covering herself with her sheet.

"No, no, over here where I can see you, by the window," Charlotte was not counting; she planned not to until Margaret did as she was told. "Don't keep me waiting, Pig. I don't wish to have to punish you first thing."

Margaret moved remarkably fast for a mature woman, standing with one arm crossing her breasts, the other cupping her sex. It was adorable, considering that both were coated in her secretions.

"Mistress, someone might see!" Margaret sounded as plaintive as a young girl being asked to go skinny dipping.

Charlotte was about to respond when there was a knock on the door.

"Mistress, are you awake? May I come in? Lady Emily thought you might like breakfast in your room today." Amanda, the young upstairs maid, sounded chipper, something that Charlotte could not recall before. She had been one of those witnessing Margaret's fall and her rebirth.

"Please come in, Amanda," Charlotte responded as Margaret tried to turn invisible.

"Please, Mistress," Margaret seemed conflicted about what to cover, her hands constantly roaming over her body, exposing what they had only just covered.

Amanda was through the door, leaving it wide open as she stepped in. She hesitated only momentarily, taking in the scene before her work mask slid into place.

"Very well, Mistress," Amanda placed the breakfast tray on the table in the small nook in the corner.

"Amanda, it is awfully glum; please open the drapes," Charlotte's eyes never left her mirror.

Margaret gasped; the window she stood near overlooked the Cumberlund morning room. If they looked up...

"Yes, mistress," the lilt in Amanda's voice was unmistakable, moving past her nude former employer as if she were a mannequin. Then throwing open the drapes but then took one more step and drew back the sheers, thus offering a completely unobstructed view of the inside as well as of the morning sky outside the house.

"Shall I open the sash as well, mistress?" Now she was smiling, glancing at Margaret's naked back, then nodded out the window. "Oh, look, Edith is preparing breakfast for Mrs. Cumberland; I suspect they will be at the table soon." She waved at her fellow servant through the window.

"Thank you, Amanda; please do open the windows." Charlotte had stopped brushing to examine her skin.

"Margaret, please, move closer to the window; I would like to see you clearly," She motioned to the open window. "You really must get going on your morning tasks. I am nearly done brushing and won't allow you to

finish

if you don't hurry up."

Margaret was a portrait of shame, vulnerability, and desperate need. Both mistress and servant watched Margaret to see which would win. Would she move to the window to begin her morning task in the hope of being allowed to complete, or would she refuse and chance her mistress's wrath?

Amanda whispered to Charlotte, "She won't do it, Miss. She has known Mrs. Cumberland since they went to school, misses Saint Mary's, I think."

Charlotte thought as much; Saint Mary's was where all the snobs sent their daughters before they wanted to marry them off. The problem was girls have needs, and there were rumors about how those needs were met.

"That is exactly why she will, Amanda," they both watched as Margaret inched her way to the window, finally finding herself in the spotlight of the morning sun.

"Turn so we can see your lovely front, oh and legs apart, Margaret; I want to see all the fun." Charlette made sure her voice was comforting, held no malice or threat, and wanted Margaret to obey, but more, she needed Margaret to

wish

to submit. She was sure the older woman wanted to, very badly, with the evidence glistening from her thighs.

Margaret groaned in a way that proved she was in great need of release; she haltingly turned as directed. Her body shook with both chill and anticipation; finally, she closed her eyes and surrendered, moving her feet apart and shoving her fingers into her opening, all while mauling her breasts. Once she started, the fact that one of her oldest friends might be watching, drove her to distraction.

"One..." Charlotte started brushing again when Amanda took the brush and carried on as she and Charlotte watched, thus allowing Charlotte to have a leisurely breakfast.

Soon Margaret was filling the room with the sounds of her passion and a rather large puddle. Charlotte brushed her hair and counted the stroke by tens when another pleasant interruption occurred.

"Well, I see that you are early at it, my dear Charlotte," At her chamber door stood a smiling Emily. "I see you have Margaret doing what she does best?"

"Oh, good morning Emily; please sit and have something, coffee or tea?" Charlotte completely forgot her counting; she beamed and made ready to stand but did not even acknowledge the activity in the window. Margaret's grunting showed she was becoming desperate.

"Oh please, don't get up," Emily took off her gloves and hat, handing her things to Amanda while walking to her friend.

Charlotte and Emily hugged, and Emily took the time to whisper a question.

"Have you sampled young Amanda yet?" her whisper was so quiet only Charlotte could hear.

"No, you bold hussy, give a girl chance," Charlotte's laughing whisper; both stole glances at the young maid hanging up Emily's things. "I only just woke, darling."

"Plenty of time from what I saw last night... Lady Diana," Emily smiled more broadly as she saw Charlotte blushing furiously.

"Coffee, please, Amanda" Emily took a small chair and sat close to Charlotte so both could see the entertainment. "Oh, and good morning to you as well; cream and two sugars, please."

Now Margaret was grunting in the most unladylike manner, sounding like a horse under too much load.

"I thought I might drop by to discuss a business proposition; think on it, and perhaps we can do tea later in the week" Emily bit into a blueberry scone, one of Mrs. O'Malley's specialties. "Oh goodness, these are delicious; you must make that woman give me the recipe."

Charlotte laughed; one could

make

Mrs. O'Malley do anything. However, it did make her wistful for her friends in Emily's home.

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After the party, they returned to have coffee and cake, but Charlotte came in with a nude crawling Margaret in tow; Deborah and Grace were ecstatic.

"Wonderful, Miss Charlotte, it is about time," Grace had a temper and turned it on Margaret, "Selfish bitch, your greed brought this on yourself, you stupid cow."

Charlotte saw Margaret slump; further, Charlotte did not want the woman destroyed, just humbled.

"Thank you, Grace, but Margaret is learning a difficult lesson and one day will be a better person for it." Charlotte brushed the scalp, causing Margaret to respond to the gentle caress with a look approaching awe.

The group, including Margaret, had coffee and a fabulous cake and chatted well into the night until an awkward silence fell.

"Charlotte, as much as we love having you here, this house is no longer your home. You must go claim what is yours and make sure it is clear that it is

yours

." Emily's eyes were swimming, Deborah was doing her best to appear unmoved, but her quivering lip told the tail; Grace did not even attempt to hold back as tears streamed down her face.

"It has been a pleasure to have you here, miss," Grace cried as she threw her arms around the girl; that broke Charlotte, and even Emily's British resolve, and tears flowed.

"Oh, foolish women, she will be a mile away," Emily responded but did not release her death grip on the huddle of women. Then, finally, someone noticed Margaret kneeling away off, unloved and dejected like a puppy left out in the rain. Charlotte held out her arm, and Margaret rushed into the huddle with streaming tears.

"Don't get used to it, you stupid cow; I am still angry with you," Grace responded to Margaret's desire to be brought into the group.

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Charlotte did as Emily advised, marching directly up the stairs and through the front door of

her

new home with its former owner, a nude Margaret, in tow. The only saving grace was that it was very late. Only the beat cop took any notice, and a twenty-dollar gold piece bought his silence and a doff of his cap.

The house immediately fell into pandemonium when Charlotte and Margaret entered. The housekeeper, Mrs. Standish, awaited Margaret's return to help her undress. But, instead of happily greeting her employer, the woman screamed and fainted.

Naturally, that awakened the rest of the household; Charlotte checked on Mrs. Standish and helped Amanda move her into the drawing room. It was a small staff for the size of the house and minuscule for a similar home in England, made smaller by Margaret's inability to grow the fortune she had been left; it was small even with the decline of the gentry and their wealth since the war.

"Things have changed in the household." Charlotte started in a firm tone. Some staff knew of the events, and some returned while she and her pet were saying their goodbyes at Emily's. Yet most had no idea, and some might object; she continued with a deep breath and steadier voice than she felt.

"It was revealed tonight that I am the heir of my deceased husband, and this fact was kept from me by your former employer," Charlotte waited a moment for the word

former

to sink in. "I am taking full possession of what is rightfully mine, and some of you witnessed the evening's events...."

Those who attended the events were smiling, most nodding and a few blushing with furtive glances at the now kneeling Margaret.

"Pig will be allowed to remain." Charlotte stroked Margaret's ball head as she knelt beside her Mistress, waiting for Charlotte to continue. "She has nothing and nowhere to go, so I have decided to keep her until I choose to send her away. I will take care of her for my husband's sake and the love he and I shared." Charlotte again paused, looking from face to face, "However, I will do so in my own way. If you cannot respect my wishes, well then please pack your things, a letter of recommendation will be given to you, but if you breathe a word of what you see within these walls, either now or hereafter, I will not be pleased."

Her final words were delivered so that it was clear her displeasure would be costly and, given Margaret's fall and present debasement, the crisscrossing of welts and bruises. Furthermore, Margaret's total adoring subservience to Charlotte showed that the woman was not to be trifled with.

The news was met with silence; about half of the staff, primarily men did not look pleased. Then, finally, the men moved to gather their things, and it was not unexpected; Emily had suggested that might be the case. It was one thing to serve a mature woman, mother, and widow of a prominent businessman; it was another to go into service for a young upstart like Charlotte.

Charlotte did not lose a single tear over their departure; there were needy women enough in Saint Louis, and she set her mind to hiring exclusively among their number.

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"Where are you, Charlotte?" Emily's voice brought her back to the present.

"Oh goodness, Emily, I am so sorry," Charlotte looked at Emily, who returned the look with concern. "I just was thinking of the evening's events."

"Mistress, may I please?" Desperation was poured into Margaret's voice, like hot fudge on a Sunday.

Charlotte glanced at the bald woman, standing on her tiptoes, leaning against the window casement, gasping, the sounds of her efforts filling the room like a washerwoman at her board.

"No, pet, keep going, but do not release until I tell you," Charlotte was fully engaged now, turning back to Emily with a smile.

"I am sorry, Emily, but Pig requires constant care," Charlotte focused on Emily's eyes and ignored the pleading whimpers of the woman now seemingly elbow-deep in her vagina.

"Oh, I understand, dear Charlotte, creatures such as Pig are both a burden and a blessing," Emily smiled over her teacup, her cheeks a lovely rose blush.

"I must admit that I came with somewhat less than social intentions," Emily put on her business expression, one she had learned to use through painful experience dealing with men. "I have a business proposition for you, one that I think you can excel at and one that will fit your skills and needs."

"Mistress pleasssse," came the voice from the corner, "They can see me from the morning room. Please, Mistress!"

"What is the proposition?" Charlotte's voice nor her manner showed she heard a single word, and Margaret continued in her task, if anything inching toward the window, fully exposing herself to those watching below.

"Well," Emily took a sip of tea and a breath. "Where to begin?"

"When my husband was killed, I was left with very little," Emily spoke evenly, but Charlotte could tell she was trying to control her emotions. "Oh, I was not destitute, by any means, but neither did I have means to maintain the house my husband left me; my family had cut me off completely, as I think you know...."

Having heard this before, Charlotte nodded but chose not to interrupt.

"Well, you see, I... umm... goodness, how to say it," Emily blushed, and Charlotte could not believe her eyes. After what happened last night, Charlotte did not think Emily could be embarrassed, yet here sat Emily, as red as an apple.

The room was quiet save for the squishing sounds of Margaret's fingers and her constant panting and whimpering.

"You may finish, Pig" Charlotte did not even glance at her pet when Margaret screamed her release and sprayed the floor. Cheers and clapping could be heard from the house next door; Charlotte ignored it, and Margaret as she slowly sank to the floor in exhaustion only to curl up in a ball in her puddle, while panting Pig was left whispering her 'thank you' over and over.

"Clean your mess, Pig," Charlotte kept her eyes on Emily, "With your tongue."

Emily did not even react; Charlotte marveled and could not help but wonder what the woman had seen.

Both watched and drank their tea as Margaret pulled herself to all fours. To her credit, Margaret did not look up from her task nor beg to be relieved; she was mustering her will to fulfill her mistress's command. Charlotte watched the once arrogant woman slowly and tentatively extend her tongue to lick the juices from the wooden floor she had only moments before been standing over.