Lord Harold Fauntmore, bachelor and rake. Wealthy bachelor and rake. He had no immediate desire for a wife and therefore had no intention of taking one. So why was he riding out to spend the weekend with his mother's old friend, Lord Southron, and his highly eligible daughter, Francis?
That was an easy one. His mother told him to. So he would ride out, do the pretty and not get engaged to Francis, who had a dominating personality and who would enjoy bossing him about.
Harry duly arrived and was greeted and fawned upon by a hopeful father and his daughter. He was pleasant. He was good at being pleasant. It helped with the ladies and it cost him nothing and he didn't have to propose just because he was being pleasant. And while he was here he could look around for a little sport.
His first chance for a strike came when he was strolling outside and had some mud splashed on his jacket. He headed up to his suite to change, not bothering to call for his valet. He considered himself quite capable of changing his jacket unaided, no matter what Jensen said.
Walking into his bedroom, he was delighted to see a female form bent over the end of the bed, tucking sheets in or something. He strolled over and lifted the maid's dress up and over her head, giving him an excellent view of a pair of very nice legs, a lovely bottom and a pretty little pussy peeping out from between those white thighs.
Harry's hands immediately became very busy, one undoing his trousers while the other started investigating that pretty pussy.
Naturally, the maid had felt the sudden attack on her person and was struggling to get her head untangled from her dress to see who her assailant was. When she finally managed this, Harry was ready for more action than just the petting and rubbing he had been doing.
"Oh, Sir," cried the maid. "Please don't. I'm just doing my job here. I'll get into awful trouble if someone finds you here with me."
"Then you'd better hope that no-one comes for the next few minutes," murmured Harry, edging the maid's legs further apart. "This won't take all that long, and I expect you to co-operate."
"But sir," came a wailing complaint, "what if you get me with child."
"Ah. Hadn't thought of that. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Yes, sir," pleaded the maid. "We're getting married soon. Please don't."
"I suggest that you meet your boyfriend tonight," Harry told her, pressing his erection firmly into her and smiling at her squeal. "Let your boyfriend get lucky tonight and he'll assume any brat is his and you, you lucky girl, will get laid twice today. It'll give you something to look forward to. Now, let's go."
Holding the maid's hips in his hands, Harry drove in deeply, taking his pleasure and enjoying the way the maid co-operated, despite her reluctance. It was so much more fun when they actively took part instead of just lying like logs, waiting for him to finish.
Finishing, Harry remained inside the maid, enjoying his dominance, knowing that she was worrying about someone coming and catching them.
"So what's your name, pretty maid?" he demanded.
"Molly, sir," came the timid reply.
"And will you be here every day fixing up my bedroom?" he asked meaningfully.
"No, sir," she gasped, appalled at the idea. "We take turns at the various rooms. Betsy is on this floor tomorrow."
"I see. And at what time is Betsy likely to be here."
"About this time, sir," gasped Molly, starting to feel frantic. Wouldn't he ever pull out and let her go.
"All right. Don't tell her about this, will you," said Harry, giving her a friendly slap on the bottom as he finally pulled away. His hand dived into his pocket, withdrawing a shilling for her. Watching her leave with a grin, Harry looked for a jacket.
A relaxed Harry enjoyed the evening, smiling when he say Molly slipping out the back door with a young man.
Next day, Harry woke early. For him that was. For anyone else it was nearly noon. With Jensen's expert help he was soon dressed and ready to face another day. Downstairs to break his fast, and then out for a ride with his host.
Returning from his ride Harry noted that the time was about right. He excused himself to his host and returned to his suite to change out of his riding things.
His timing this time was not quite as good as the previous day. As he entered he found the maid, a pretty little thing, he thought, had just finished and was walking toward the door.
"A moment if you please," he said, stopping her. "Betsy, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, blushing. It was rare for the gentry to actually know the servants names or to speak to them.
"I thought it was. Now be a good girl and lift up your dress and lean back against the bed will you."
"What? No, sir. I can't do that. It wouldn't be proper," gasped Betsy.
"You'll find it's remarkably easy to do," said Harry, a touch of a growl in his voice. "Now hurry up and do it. I haven't got all day."
"But why?" pleaded Betsy. "I'm not supposed to even be in here while you're here, let alone showing you my legs."
Harry sighed. "I'll show you why as soon as you've done as you've been told. Look at it this way. If you don't do it, and quickly, I'll complain to the butler that you did do it."
Betsy stared at him in surprise. "But I didn't. If you said that I'd get turned out. That wouldn't be right."
"So why are you waiting?" growled Harry, gesturing towards the bed.
