Franklin waited in Mrs Thurlow's parlour as Margaret collected her belongings from the room she had occupied for two weeks and finalised her outstanding board with the landlady.
"A fresh start then, eh?" Franklin grinned at her as he loaded her bag and Margaret herself into the brougham. Margaret nodded and remained silent, an unease being in the presence of the head steward had overcome her since the Master had brought him into the office and the steward's fingers had brutally pinched Margaret's clit.
They had ridden together in silence on the way into town. Margaret had reflected with alarm on her predicament. Here she had a position that paid extraordinarily well but it was clear to her that unconventional didn't quite describe what was to be demanded of her. Lord Swansea's attentions had constituted some squeezing of her breasts or buttocks; yet despite his inclination, his hands had never penetrated beneath her petticoats. And she had thought herself lucky when Lady Swansea had intruded upon her husband's attempt upon her! It seemed clear to Margaret now that all domestic positions involved the risk of being put upon by the master of the house. Margaret could not face the uncertainty of losing her position. So, with a deep inward breath she asked herself the question: what would she give to ensure the security of a well paid position? With a warm flooding memory of her stint in Master's library and, with barely a hesitation beyond this, she told herself that yes, she would give up her body to Master Millar and be grateful for it. At forty pounds a year, she should be thankful to have been the one chosen. How easily and how quickly would any of the girls she knew from the orphanage have thrown themselves at the feet of her new employer and beg him to take them in exchange for the security of a good income, food, shelter and a position in a respectable house; and this apart from the fact that Master Millar was himself a handsome man. If a girl was to be ravished by her employer, Margaret thought practically, there were worse prospects than the tall, imposing form of the Master.
Hence the journey into town allowed Margaret to come to terms with her new obligations. It was just as well too, since the journey out of town had Franklin confronting her with exactly what those obligations might mean for her.
"Lift your skirts, Margaret." Franklin pulled the brougham over to the side of the avenue and looked pointedly towards Margaret's skirts.
Margaret thought perhaps she had misheard the instruction. "Lift my skirts, Sir?"
"That's what I said, girl. I wish to see your delightful calves. Pull up your skirts and lie them on your lap. Do it now."
Somewhat afraid of the tone of the steward and resolved to ensure the security of her new position, Margaret did as was asked of her, raising her skirts up to her lap so that her stockinged legs were exposed. To her alarm, Franklin leaned over and ran his hands up her right calf.
"Good girl, Margaret," he said, giving her leg a gentle squeeze. "You'll be taking instructions from me quite a lot and you will not always be comfortable with them. Obeying immediately is the best way to ensure that Master Millar is pleased with you. I would not like to have to report that you were not suitably respectful and compliant, Margaret."
"I am sure I will always seek to be respectful and compliant, Sir," Margaret assured him desperately.
"Show me then, Margaret, by opening those delightful thighs of yours." He pushed her skirts further up onto her lap and observed her drop each knee to the side so that her thighs were parted. "More, Margaret, as wide as they will go now." He took a knee in each hand and pushed her legs open, prompting a sharp gasp from Margaret. What did he want with her here, on the side of the road, where anyone might pass and see? The mere thought sent blushes down her neck and her anxiety escalated.
"Sir," she ventured, "what if someone should come by?"
But Franklin was not at all concerned. He laughed at her instead before leaning in, slipping his hand between her legs, inserting a finger in her wet cunny and whispering, "If someone were to come by, Margaret, then they would see you sitting here with your legs spread like a whore, my fingers in your cunt and know that very soon, if not today, then tomorrow, or the next day, or even next week, but very soon this same cunt that is dripping juices on my fingers, will be filled with my cock, a right befitting my position." A statement to which Margaret could not respond such was her shock and alarm. "Whilst your obvious fear is arousing to me, Margaret," Franklin grinned, "be comforted by the fact that you will enjoy every moment that I take you, as your wet cunt suggests."
As much as Margaret wished to deny it, she could not argue this point. Franklin's fingers between her legs became more insistent, roughly poking her hole, in and out, until her breathing began to catch and then she stopped, held her breath and cried out as her womb flooded with pleasure. Franklin extracted his fingers, sucked on them as he smirked at her and said, "Just a taster, Margaret. You will experience the full benefits of your position very soon." With that, he picked up the reins and guided the horses into a purposeful trot home.
Back at the house, Cedric was there to assist her down from the carriage. Franklin instructed him to take Margaret's bags up to her room and, as the young man did as he was bid, Franklin turned his attention to Margaret. "In this house, Margaret, you will be doing things for others, but others will also do things for you. In the event someone does something for you, such as Cedric carrying your belongings to your room, you are expected to demonstrate your gratitude on your knees and with your mouth."
Margaret had no trouble picturing herself on her knees as it was the easiest way of scrubbing floors. But demonstrating gratitude "with her mouth" puzzled her. Did he mean she was to kneel and express her thanks this way? Margaret knew instinctively that she was missing something. "Unconventional" was now a bell tolling a warning in her head. "Sir," she said, "I am not sure I understand this exactly. You wish me to kneel and say thank you?"
"Margaret, your mouth is designed for things other than speaking. You will learn this soon enough. Follow Cedric now and remain in the room with him until I join you. You will be shown what is expected when using your mouth to show gratitude."
"Yes, Sir," Margaret responded with some trepidation. "Using her mouth" was now synonymous with some unknown horror, she was sure. Obediently, however, she made her way inside the house, following in the wake of Cedric for whom she must demonstrate a gratitude she was in danger of no longer feeling.
Margaret sat primly in an upright by the window waiting for Franklin. Cedric lounged against the door frame, having been appraised by Margaret of the steward's instruction. His wayward grin suggested an anticipation of Margaret's impending act of thanks that she did not share. The hard angle in his pants gave Margaret further cause to suspect that this ritual of gratitude would be as "unconventional" as the earlier lessons by both the Master and Franklin.
