The Maid And Her Mistress Ch 03

Isabelle settled into a noticeable routine over the coming weeks, Rosalind allowing her to make more of her own choices. Yet Isabelle was still keen to please Rosalind and asked for some coins to go to the market.

"I want to make you something that was a particular favourite of Millicent's. I've been craving it a touch, myself."

Rosalind eagerly gave Isabelle more than she likely needed. Isabelle also had the vigour and strength to wander into the village herself to make her purchases and return to prepare them. By evening, she'd prepared two small cottage pies and a cake made with melted chocolate, something Rosalind remembered Fredrick also being fond of.

Isabelle served all this in the dining room with the good crockery and silverware, candles lit and two places set close to one another. Rosalind was unexpectedly romanced by Isabelle's preparations, the girl politely filling her wine glass whilst leaning close to Rosalind's back, her perfume surpassing the scent of the food for a moment.

"You're spoiling me," Rosalind said as she ate. "I'm such an awful cook by comparison. Philip didn't permit me a maid of my own when he knew anyone else could do a better job for him. He always complained I never used enough of one thing, or too much of another."

"I thought most girls were taught to cook by their mothers."

"Not me. My mother paid little mind to me. I went to school in the village until I was thirteen, then my father decided I needn't further my education and had me at home doing chores once my mother was falling ill. I did my best to please them both until I was old enough to be given to Philip."

Isabelle took small mouthfuls, Rosalind still caught staring at her plump lips, unadorned by any colours.

"I once failed to cook the potatoes properly," recalled Isabelle. "Millicent had to stop Fredrick from dumping them on me, he was so drunk and bellicose. Penelope cuddled me that night as I wept. I was so needlessly ashamed for such a small transgression."

"I am sorry you were prey to such monstrous people as Fredrick. I'm relieved you never had to see Philip at his worst."

"Millicent spoke of him to me, how rotten he was to you for no good reason. You deserve far better for how gracious you truly are."

Rosalind caught the smallest hint of intent from Isabelle, her longing growing despite her temperament.

Restless that night, she retired after Isabelle had gone to bed, passing her door again with the lightest footfalls and no candle to guide her. She hesitated by the doorknob and listened for Isabelle, finally detecting the same gentle sighs and moans. Tempted to intrude, Rosalind stayed in check by the wall, falling against it and closing her eyes as she ran her palm over her chest. Reaching out, she lightly touched the doorknob and ran her finger around the smooth rim in rhythmic circles, her other hand once more lifting her gown to find herself, now steady against the wall. Isabelle's moaning was distinct, and Rosalind fancied herself now pleasuring Isabelle, her finger still tracing the brass as if it was Isabelle's little bud. She gritted her teeth and did all she could to not make a sound, quick to bring herself to the brink again.

The sudden silence stunned her, and she thought Isabelle was now rising to catch her there. She darted away, able to reach her room and shut herself in, her heart pounding relentlessly.

By morning, Isabelle made no mention of hearing Rosalind outside her door.

"Did you sleep well," Rosalind asked her as casually as possible.

"I did. The quietude here is wonderful. I had to put up with Fredrick and any company he had making a ruckus right above us at night. Or the trundling of the night carriages in the street outside. It was horrid."

Rosalind accidentally brushed her hand along Isabelle's shoulder, pausing Isabelle briefly.

"You seem troubled," she said quietly.

"Oh, I don't sleep half as well anymore. I'm just tired, my dear."

Their eyes met, Isabelle's full of knowing. "I thought you were awake quite late last night. Perhaps I can make you some tea later to settle you."

"That would be lovely," Rosalind said timidly, spellbound and hesitant to move away.

Isabelle smiled and went to finish clearing the table. Rosalind needed more to occupy her. She called upon Philip's accountant, asking what she could purchase for the house and how long it would take to arrive. This man understood she was able to make decisions Philip denied her previously, and he was to disclose her exact wealth.

Ordering what she needed to start painting and drawing, she also asked if Isabelle would like anything.

"Oh, I couldn't. You've already let me wear your clothes and jewels."

"But these would be for you. Would you like some books? Or parchment to write on?"

Isabelle pondered a moment. "Perhaps some pretty cloth I can use for my quilting. And silver thread. If it's not too much."

Rosalind went overboard, enthusiastic to please Isabelle. The deliveries came over the coming weeks, Rosalind deciding the room upstairs overlooking the garden would be perfect for Isabelle to do her sewing.

Isabelle was still sheepish about the present. "I already have my own room."

"And I have mine but there's little space for anything else. I thought here you could spread out your cloths and cuttings. And I got you a proper pair of scissors, and new needles."

"You are being far too kind. It's not even my birthday, not that I was allowed to celebrate mine."

"I only want you to be happy." Rosalind's voice seldom sounded so girlish and desperate.

Isabelle turned to her and tried to smile. "I only know how to make others happy. Nobody asked me before, so I cannot say what would do so."

Rosalind took Isabelle's hands in hers, full of misplaced adoration. "I am giving you space to realise your desires, my dear. Whatever I was denied could be yours."

Her words were no invitation, and yet Isabelle read them as such. In an instant, her lips were on Rosalind's, Isabelle cupping her palms to Rosalind's jaw and robbing her of breath. Holding Isabelle's wrists, Rosalind stared back, the girl's eyes full of panic.

"I am sorry," she whispered. "I have mistaken..."

"No," Rosalind muttered. "You haven't."

Rosalind discovered what surrendering to desire truly meant by letting Isabelle pull her into the room and hold her against the small table beside them. Bracing herself by her hands, Rosalind felt faint as Isabelle fondled and kissed her, each touch exposing a certain knowledge Rosalind wrongly assumed Isabelle could never possess.

Isabelle kissed her breasts, fervently pulling down her dress by the sleeves, Rosalind hoping she might rip the bodice in her attack. Rosalind accepted the sudden exposure, rendered helpless with Isabelle's mouth gently sucking on her nipple, a single flick of the tongue evoking a cry. Caught in her hands, it was nothing for Rosalind to now let Isabelle under her skirts, her undergarments pulled down and her legs parted. The moment Isabelle kissed Rosalind's moistened flower, she was held captive. Isabelle's insistence abated, replaced by a lingering patience that spoke to how much she'd longed to do this to Rosalind. Her tongue was now slow about its teasing, her fingers penetrating Rosalind at last.

Suddenly, Isabelle forcefully turned Rosalind around and pulled her hips towards her mouth, still under the skirts. She was tasting Rosalind again and holding her in place, pressing her hands into Rosalind's buttocks and moaning as she went. On the verge of weeping, Rosalind finally relinquished herself to this and let her pleasure mount and fall, crying louder and unable to keep from calling out to Isabelle.

Now out from under her dress, Isabelle stood to fondle Rosalind, lovingly.

"You are what I want," she whispered to Rosalind. "And you are what I must take."

Rosalind gripped Isabelle's hands to her bare chest. "Oh, my love. You've made me yours. Tell me what I need to do to give you this bliss."

She longed to be enslaved by Isabelle. With her quiet demeanour gone, Isabelle told Rosalind to kiss her roughly and touch her breasts. Rosalind complied, desperately unbuttoning Isabelle's blouse and pulling at any fabric keeping her from the skin beneath. Her mouth pleasured Isabelle relentlessly as she hitched up Isabelle's skirt to put her own fingers within. She knew how to stroke Isabelle as she'd stroked herself, taking a moment to put her moistened fingers in her mouth to suckle on them like she would a peach. Bringing Isabelle to the floor, she enacted the same desires, less confident in her ability to pleasure Isabelle with her tongue. Isabelle instructed her pace and Rosalind paid strict attention to every moan and sigh as she kneaded Isabelle's thighs and grasped her backside. Isabelle's cry of delight was more melodic and rich. Rosalind became enchanted, moving over Isabelle to kiss her mouth again and stroke her.

Waiting for the shame to arrive made Rosalind quiet. It wouldn't come. She lay in Isabelle's arms on the floor, the two of them soporific and content to have finally crossed this line.

"Penelope told me we can be like this and know as much of our desires."

"I must confess, I found your picture."

"I know," Isabelle replied. "I was scared you'd drive me away, so when you didn't, I hoped you felt as I did. But I know what risks are involved, so we must pretend nothing has changed, and that I'm your maid."

Rosalind loathed this with all her heart knowing she was right. Isabelle was too wondrous a creature to deny her anything and Rosalind was now her servant in love.

She insisted upon washing Isabelle's hair, the water already brought in and heated. Isabelle came in wearing one of Rosalind's bathing dresses, the darkness of her nipples and nether hair visible through the cloth. Rosalind remained in one of her robes, her hair loose, utterly relaxed and enjoying this display from Isabelle as she put her dainty feet in the water and settled in the tub.

Rosalind gathered Isabelle's tresses and lathered the soap, languid about her pampering like it was the most natural act she could do.

"You were sublime," Rosalind said to her.

"As were you. You've drawn out all my wants while I've been here but I thought I would be stuck with them unrequited."

"I would never presume, but I was taken with you the day you arrived."

"Have you wanted a woman before?"

"Not nearly as much. Had the world been different, I supposed Millicent and I could have lived together like this. She took more chances than I ever dared."

"And you regret this?"

Rosalind tilted Isabelle's head back to kiss her. "Yes. But I'll never regret you. Sleep with me tonight so I can wake up beside you."

She dried and brushed Isabelle's hair, this soothing her more. Having someone to dote upon like this suited her. It wasn't the same as being at a sick man's beck and call. She watched Isabelle cross the room to come to bed, now in a pale blue nightgown. Once she was beside Rosalind, it was evident she wore nothing beneath the nightgown, and Rosalind was slick with want, the ache between her legs worth holding on to until morning.

It was Isabelle who roused Rosalind as the room filled with sunlight. Waking to a vision of Isabelle moving over her, she was caressed so graciously, her arms lifted above her head for Isabelle to take the cord from Rosalind's robe to her wrists. Rosalind accepted her binding, tied to the thin bars of her bed, restricted from touching as Isabelle knelt there and stripped, her flesh glowing as motes of dust swirled in the light around her.

Isabelle exposed Rosalind again to cover her with gentle kisses before tasting her. Drawn up on her knees, Isabelle pushed Rosalind's thighs up from underneath and brought her cunt to Rosalind's, ever so lightly grinding against Rosalind's sodden nether lips with excruciating slowness. Prone as she lay there, all she could do was watch Isabelle bring herself to ecstasy, her hands burning to touch but loving she couldn't. This helpless state invigorated her, she always knew she wanted to be captured by someone like this. Isabelle's push grew harder, her panting and moaning so gloriously animalistic Rosalind couldn't contain herself, bolts of lightning shooting through her and down her spine to her lower back. Isabelle fell over her and kissed her longingly, sighing her name and calling her precious.

"I adore you," Rosalind whispered. "I want you to take me like this as much as you like."

"Is it wrong of me to want to have you the way a man would?"

Remembering the pictures she'd seen made Rosalind hot all over. She wanted Isabelle to do this to her. "Not at all."

Isabelle untied Rosalind and rested against her, this intimacy so fulfilling. Inspired to make Isabelle's fantasies real meant Rosalind needed to be clever about her next moves. She remembered Millicent talking about a woman in the city who had a particular interest in helping other women cope with their repressed desires. She purposefully avoided other men who were full of idealistic nonsense on the matter. It would be difficult for Rosalind to go there herself. Scouring all of Millicent's letters, she found mention of this woman's location. Late that night, Rosalind penned a simple letter illustrating her particular need. Millicent recounted the woman was particular about privacy and could be trusted to conceal Rosalind's details. She made sure the letter was on its way the very next morning.

Rosalind waited for her reply with fraying patience and spent time with Isabelle, who'd become content to do her work and sit with her sewing. They stayed awake into the night, talking more, some nights retiring to simply hold one another, other nights filled with such passion Rosalind didn't wish to sleep.

Isabelle commanded Rosalind, rewarding her obedience by ravishing her with more abandon. If Isabelle's urges swelled during the day, Rosalind was more than amenable to being taken over where she stood. They made love by the fireplace one wintery afternoon, Isabelle seducing Rosalind with more romance than Philip ever displayed. Isabelle possessed maturer instincts even Rosalind lacked. Rosalind discovered more of herself and her wants from Isabelle's generosity. They could spend hours touching one another, sustaining each other's pleasure for longer and longer each time. Any moment Isabelle became submissive, it was an invitation for Rosalind to be more aggressive and insatiable. She kept Isabelle pinned facedown to the floor, caressing her and penetrating her slowly with her fingers while kissing her neck.

The reply she'd been waiting for arrived at Rosalind's doorstep. There were no tell-tale signs of what was inside the parcel. She took it to the study, Isabelle busy in her sewing room. Keeping the door closed, she examined what the woman called a toy, its simplicity appealing to her, the polished wood smooth on her fingertips as she ran them down the shaft to the tip. Bringing it to her mouth, she touched her tongue to the tip, allowing herself to wrap her lips around it a moment, the urge to use it on herself overwhelming.

Rather than present it, Rosalind left the toy in Isabelle's room to find, hoping it would inspire her. In the meantime, Rosalind happily pretended nothing was amiss and waited.

Nothing was said of it for perhaps a day. Rosalind forgot about it and went to her studio, where she'd been putting together her paints, the easel set up but her imagination blank. She wanted to start drawing again, still-life models were not entirely her preference. She set up a single rose in a small china vase, positioned on the table by the wall, and stared at it until her mind cleared.

Isabelle came in and smiled at her. She was dressed in emerald satin, her feet bare and her hair loose over her bodice. "There you are."

"I hadn't realised you were looking for me."

Slipping her arms around Rosalind, Isabelle pressed herself against her, something hard pressing into Rosalind's back and immediately thrilling her. Isabelle kissed her neck and slid her hands up Rosalind's front to unbutton her dress.

"I found your gift. It's lovely."

"I'm glad it pleases you."

Isabelle proceeded to lift Rosalind's dress as Rosalind gripped Isabelle's skirt to touch her thigh. Tilting Rosalind forward, Isabelle let her steady herself, hitching up her skirt. Rosalind often left herself bare beneath in expectation of this, another sin she enjoyed. She quivered in a way Philip had never aroused her, the phallus gently touching her cunt to softly push within, its slickness and girth perfect for her. Isabelle guided it in with care at first, letting the first thrust ignite Rosalind from within. She clutched Isabelle's free hand over her breast, forcing it under the fabric, Isabelle pushing more ardently. Rosalind felt herself clenching around the wood, desperate to keep this bliss going.

Her wedding night was a nightmare best forgotten, Philip ignoring her needs and wants to satisfy his own and leaving her with a demand she hurry up and give him a boy. Isabelle gave her the sensations she'd hoped for when she foolishly thought Philip would at least be kind once they were wed. But that was the last she thought of him.

She managed to look back at Isabelle a moment and see her lustful look. She stayed close to Rosalind and thrust her hips as she loved to do. The vase toppled and broke on the floor, Isabelle unbidden and more forceful as Rosalind laughed.

Isabelle stopped long enough to turn Rosalind around, gasping, "I must see your face."

Rosalind all but begged Isabelle to keep going, the table slipping back slightly as they reconnected. Rosalind adored Isabelle's expression, able to kiss her as she shuddered at last, still enraptured as Isabelle continued with more abandon. Isabelle lightly bit Rosalind's skin with the softest growl.

"This has surpassed my dreams of you," Isabelle said lovingly, allowing Rosalind a moment to find her feet.

Isabelle covering her appendage with her skirt made Rosalind ask, "Do you wish you were a man?"

"Not at all. I am happy as I am, I promise. I've only had a curiosity about how it would feel to bed a woman this way. I was excited to discover this but much of me feared it would displease you more if it was actualised. You've blessed me with something exhilarating that I could have spent my days never knowing." She gave Rosalind another loving kiss. "And I love you all the more for it."

Rosalind was so filled with love for Isabelle, as afraid to say this as Isabelle was to express herself in this manner. She held Isabelle and kissed her back, returning the words with all her heart.

Contentment became theirs, months passing as they remained in each other's company without the need for anything else. They existed much like a married couple, though Isabelle still presented herself as a common maid on the rare occasions they expected guests.

Millicent's letters were sporadic, little said outside of her settling down at the family home, her illness progressing slowly. She no longer had much zest for anything. Rosalind let Isabelle read them, saddened she couldn't thank Millicent for bringing her to Rosalind.

"I will find a way to tell her without giving you away," Rosalind replied. "We often spoke in euphemisms and made our own code. Philip and Fredrick barely paid attention as it was."

Late into the night, when Isabelle was fast asleep beside her, Rosalind penned her letter to Millicent, expressing her happiness with their mutual friend, who was thriving in the country air and sporting a healthy glow; and who now spoke her mind and cared for Rosalind dearly. She knew how miserable she would have become on her own, but the thought Isabelle would be denied any joy hurt her more.

The letter ended with a solemn promise to Millicent their friend would never go without. Rosalind would make sure all she owned went to Isabelle when the time came, and she would be free to see the world, to find others like her, to have everything Rosalind was denied. Millicent could rest in peace knowing her kind deed to Olive was carried out properly.