Further Adventures Of The Maid Ch 06

Mary wandered round Regent's Park in a daze; it was enormous, so much space to explore after the enclosed streets and crowded shops of the centre of the great city. The Queen, Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Victoria, had opened the Park to the public only a few years earlier, and it had immediately become a popular place to stroll and to ride: young bucks dressed in the finest riding habits pranced by on highly-bred horses, their horses tails swishing, their hooves held high. To Mary, a country girl born and bred, the Park seemed odd; the countryside tamed and cosseted, the animals pets rather than work-mates.

But there was no denying the beauty of the gardens; the flowers were glorious, sensual arrangements of colour, the soft scents of the roses rising in the warmth of the summer.

She was a little lonely without Jack. Despite the problems they had having, she would have felt better having him with her. But he was busy with the stables, and he was uneasy about coming to the city, his gypsy blood instinctively disliking the idea of permanence.

Betsy had been quite content to stay at home with Jack; she was absorbed in minding the baby, his every need indulged by her. Mary also thought that Betsy wanted to spend a little time with Jack alone: as an orphan, Betsy had seemed to attach herself to those who treated her kindly. First Mary, then Jack was the object of her passion. At first, this hadn't threatened Mary in any way; she thought she had been secure in Jack's affections. Mary had thought that Betsy was a diversion for him, a companion and a helpmeet, but reasoned that he didn't feel for Betsy the all-consuming passion that he felt for Mary.

But now, things had changed; the interactions between them were unbalanced and moving. Jack knew about her other lovers, Thomas and Phillip, but that was in the past for Mary, so she thought. But she was no longer content with Jack-she needed more. She was self-aware enough to know that Jack couldn't satisfy her need for correction, her need to be ordered around and punished if she did wrong. This admission triggered something inside her, and even musing quietly in the Park about this, she felt her blood start to rise, and the familiar pulse in her sex begin to pound.

She sat at one of the fine wooden benches that adorned the pathways around the Park, pressing her thighs together to subdue her unruly desires. As her strong thigh muscles flexed, she felt a tremor run through her. She began to clench and unclench her thighs and realised that this had the effect of compressing her sex, the pressure stimulating her pleasure bud.

She looked around, and could see no one except a young woman wandering in the direction of the Zoological Gardens. Under her voluminous skirts, the movement of her thighs was hardly noticeable. She wanted so much to reach under her skirts and caress her sex, stroking until she reached that height of ecstasy that she desired. She pictured herself laying back, her skirts thrown up, exposing herself to the world. In her mind's eye, she had drawn a crowd: top society ladies and gentlemen were standing around her, their gazes fixed on her pink, hot flesh, watching as she slowly rubbed and flicked at her pleasure bud, watching her sink her fingers in side herself, searching for the juices that she knew would be flowing.

She knew that she was putting on a show for them, knew that she was performing and that all of them were desperate to take her. She knew that the men wanted to impale her with their hot and hard fleshy rods, and that the women wanted to kneel between her thighs and taste for themselves the salt-sweet scent of an aroused woman. She understood her own desires: she wanted to perform, to be watched being taken in any way, by any body.

The thought that her actions would arouse such feelings of sexual excitement in those watching was so erotic for her, and she began pressing her thighs together more vigorously, more quickly. She placed her clasped hands into her lap and surreptitiously she pressed down, forced her plump mound hard against her pubic bone. She repeated this several times, and knew that she was about to orgasm. She dreamt that the watching crowd drew closer, wanting to see the juices flow from her sex, to smell her arousal. She wanted someone to come forward and lick those juices away from her fleshy lips.

Her eyes opened, looking around to see that she wasn't disturbed. She noticed the same young woman, attired in fashionable dress, walking towards her, but this woman's attention was focussed on the Zoological Gardens. She imagined that it was this woman who finally came to her, begging to let her taste Mary's juices. The thought of a stranger subjugating herself in front of her caused her pleasure to peak, her orgasm flooding her pelvis, her legs suddenly weak. The effort of trying to keep quiet made her bite down on her lower lip, drawing blood which tinged her mouth with the taste of metallic iron.

She sighed deeply, and relaxed her hands. There were tiny half-crescents where her nails had dug deeply into her palms, the skin blanched white with pressure.

'Excuse me?' a voice cut across her half-dreaming state, and she looked up into a face that was almost the mirror of her own. It was the woman who had been making for the Zoological Gardens; her attentions had not been as firmly focussed as Mary had thought.

'Excuse me for disturbing you, but I do believe we are acquainted,' the woman came closer, and Mary saw her aristocratic face change as she took in Mary's appearance, and realised she was deigning to talk to a social inferior.

'You're Mary, aren't you? One of my father's staff. What on earth are you doing here?' the woman's voice was accusatory, and her intonations and upper class drawl were so like her fathers that Mary felt servile again, almost as though she was caught doing something wrong.

She recognised Victoria, but she had changed, she had grown from a girl to a woman in a few short months. There was something about her stance, her confidence that was different. The girl who had grown up in the House, just a few months younger than Mary, would never have worn such fashionable clothes, or have such a low cut bodice, or worn such tightly boned skirts that showed her impossibly tiny waist. She stood in front of Mary, her entire stance demanding to know what a servant was doing here, mixing with high society when she should have been working.

Mary jumped to her feet quickly, and just managed to stop herself from curtseying. She knew that she had every right to be here: the Park was a public place, and Mary was no longer a servant, but her body and mind responded automatically to the imperious tone. 'The Baron released me from duty, ma'am,' she said, her head bowed, and her hands clasping together nervously.

Victoria looked her up and down, noting the well cut dress, and the soft white skin of her hands. Mary's nails were long; she didn't have the appearance of a servant any more, and Victoria wondered. She knew Mary had left the House only a short time before she had done so herself, and the rumour that she had heard from her lady's maid was that Mary had run off with Jack the stable lad. Victoria wasn't so sure: Mary had money now, that was clear, and Victoria had heard enough from her lover Thomas that her beloved father wasn't as straight-laced as he had appeared.

She had been watching the girl sitting on the bench for a while before she had approached, and Thomas had introduced Victoria to debauchery so thoroughly that she had a fair idea of the reason for Mary's leg movements and thrusting hands. Her own blood ran hot at the thought of someone being so overcome with desire that they had pleasured themselves in public and she was intrigued, approaching to find out more. Realising that they were already acquainted would only make it easier.

At Victoria's silence, Mary looked up and noted a softening of her face, the arrogance smoothing out.

'I would be delighted if you would take tea with me, Mary,' smiled Victoria; 'we could talk about your adventures since you left my father's employ.'

A little confused at this change of tone, but conditioned to obey her superiors, Mary acquiesced, and the two young women walked off together, their slim graceful figures drawing appreciative glances from passers-by.

Victoria lived very near-by. After several months of debauchery with Thomas, he had left her, taking his post again at the helm of his ship, leaving her the house. She knew she could have returned home to her father, but she was too ashamed of her behaviour.

The months with Thomas had seemed like a dream. He had gradually immersed her in his life, teaching her, showing her how to arouse and enjoy her body, and the bodies of others. He had enjoyed watching her with other men, and she had relished performing for him, exhibiting her beautiful body for his pleasure and those who he invited to partake of her. She hadn't realised that this wasn't just favours; money had been changing hands. Thomas was well known in certain circles for being able to provide new entertainment for jaded appetites, and an aristocratic lady willing to debase herself, to allow men to use her body was a new attraction for many.

After Thomas had left her, these men came calling still, and she maintained her lifestyle. She kept the luxurious, beautifully appointed villa in the grounds of the park, and dressed well, the finest silks and satins. She had no close friends however, women of her own class shunned her, and her only companions were her lovers, who paid for her time in gold.

Victoria's maid took their cloaks, and Mary marvelled at this; only a few months ago she would have been in that position and she found it hard not to jump up and pour the tea when it was served.

Once Victoria's initial haughtiness had dissipated, the girls got on well. Conscious of the gulf in status between them, they did however feel a connection. This may only have been their shared history, their lives that had briefly and superficially touched when they were both in Rothsmere, but they genuinely enjoyed each others company, and Mary promised to return later in the week for dinner. Victoria, still intrigued by Mary's behaviour in the Park was determined to find out more about the girl.

The day of the dinner invitation had arrived; Mary had spent the intervening days looking for a suitable outfit. She had decided on a dress of pale-pink velvet and silk, the colour suiting her complexion. A heavier wrap, trimmed with pale rabbit fur, accompanied the dress. She wore her hair simply, a loose twist pinned into place, with tendrils floating at the sides of her face, framing her beauty. She was nervous, and knew that this was because Victoria was the daughter of the Baron, a connection to the place that she missed so dreadfully. Victoria was so like him in her tone and her expressions, so much so that Mary found herself drawn to the younger woman.

She was surprised to find that she was the only guest; the table had been set intimately for two, and Victoria plied her with fine wines and delicious food. Mary was unused to drinking. Beyond a glass of sherry at Christmas time in the House she didn't touch it, and soon found herself drifting deliciously, her head spinning.

Victoria complimented on her dress; she herself had a strong preference for pink. She had a beautiful ball gown in the same colour that she had worn in front of the Queen, and invited Mary to come and see it. Mary eagerly accepted the invitation and followed her hostess to her dressing room.

Victoria took the dress from its stand and they faced the full-length mirror, Victoria standing behind Mary, and held the dress against her. The soft pink suited her, and standing together, they realised how similar their appearance was. Mary was slightly shorter, her body a little sturdier, and her beauty untouched by artifice: Victoria, encouraged by Thomas, had taken to wearing cosmetics. Perhaps caused by the way she led her life since her abandonment, there was a slight cynical glint in her eye, a harsh twist in the set of her lips that aged her a little, especially when set next to Mary's exuberant country fairness.

Victoria raised a hand and stroked the side of Mary's face, lifting a tendril of her fair hair. As Mary watched in the mirror, Victoria slowly lowered her mouth, and dropped a delicate kiss on her cheek. Mary heard the younger woman's voice whisper in her ear:

'What were you doing in the Park, Mary? I saw you moving very oddly.'

Mary couldn't answer: Victoria was now slowly tracing her way down the side of Mary's neck, nibbling lightly at the pale skin, delicately licking the curve of her ear. She dropped the evening gown carelessly to one side, and brought her hands up to encircle Mary's waist, and Mary watched in the mirror, fascinated by the movement of the other woman's hands on her. They slid up over her bodice: Mary could feel very little through the thick boning of her corset and bodice, but as Victoria cupped her breasts from behind, she felt the touch of the woman's fingertips stroking the upper curve of her breasts.

'Answer me. What were you doing in the Park?' the aristocratic voice was demanding now, and Mary responded to the tone.

'I miss Jack....I wanted him to touch me,' Mary's legs were beginning to tremble. Although the sensations through the dress were diminished, the view in the mirror excited her. She had never watched herself before being caressed, and yearned to press her breasts in the woman's hands.

'I want to see where Jack touches you.'

The imperious tone was impossible to ignore and Mary's very soul yearned to obey. She knew that she needed to be commanded, and her nature was to please her Master. This woman was so like him that she instinctively obeyed. Victoria helped Mary take her dress off, the corsets needing to be unfastened. Her petticoats followed suit, and soon Mary was standing naked in front of the mirror. Victoria stood behind her still, looking over the girl's body.

With Thomas she had once caressed a woman, but that had been one of his cheap whores, paid to pretend pleasure and moan excitedly. She hadn't enjoyed the experience: the woman was older, her breasts flapping a little, sagging against her ribs, the skin of her belly drooping with childbirth. This girl was taut and firm, her breasts pert. Only the darkened nipples showed that she had given birth: her belly was flat, the tuft of fair hair at its base looking intensely inviting.

Victoria slid her hands around the slim waist, and Mary felt warmth radiating from them. Again her breasts were cupped from behind, this time her nipples contracted, pink tips peaking out from between Victoria's fingers. They stiffened, the areolas dimpling, and Victoria rolled them gently between her fingers.

'Does Jack do this to you, Mary? Does he excite you like this?' Victoria's voice was breathy now, and Mary could barely hear her over the loud beating of her heart. She nodded in affirmation, but Victoria wanted an answer. She suddenly tweaked Mary's nipple, eliciting a gasp of pain from her, and demanded an answer, her tone strict.

'Yes, yes he touches me there,' Mary spoke quickly, for Victoria still had her nipple in a vice like pinch, and Mary soon realised that Victoria wanted to know details.

As her body was caressed, the aristocratic hands exploring her intimately, Mary told Victoria about Jack. She told Victoria how he had first seen her, playing with her own sex outside in the oak clearing, how he had begged to taste her, and erupted with passion inside her. She described how it felt for her when Jack had pillaged her dark entrance, stretching the tight muscle, filling her so completely she could hardly breathe. She told her about Betsy, about the two of them seducing the girl, taking her in turns, licking and caressing her until she was so wet that Jack had ridden her virgin sex easily.

Both girls were panting now: Mary's legs were weak with desire and she could barely stand. Victoria, still standing behind her, had burrowed her hand between the girls thighs, and her fingertips were brushing the fleshy lips of Mary's sex, feeling the damp hair and the heat radiating from her. Victoria knew without touching that her own sex had responded similarly. She slid her hand out, and reached around Mary's waist, her hands sliding down to the girl's plump mound. She pulled back the lips of Mary's sex, and in the mirror they both saw the pink bud pushing forward, peeking from under its hood, engorged and erect.

'Touch yourself, Mary,' she demanded, and watched closely as Mary did as she was ordered, using the middle finger of her right hand to flick lightly at the nub of tissue. Victoria pulled back harder, stretching the skin almost painfully, exposing more of the sensitive flesh. Victoria knew that Mary was about to reach her crisis, and ordered her to stop.

Her hand falling by her side, obeying without question, Mary stood waiting; she knew that Victoria was in control and she was happy with this, this seemed to be the natural order of things. At her order, Mary helped Victoria disrobe, marvelling at the firmness of her breasts. Victoria's body was so different from Betsy, the only other woman Mary had known. Betsy's flesh was warm and abundant, her large breasts soft and pliable; this woman was hard and finely muscled, her breasts so pert that they hardly shifted when she moved, her nipples fine brown peaks rather than the rosy pink that Mary was used to in Betsy.

Victoria led Mary to the bedroom, locking the heavy door behind them. Her bed was huge, a grand four-poster draped with heavy red velvet curtains. She ordered Mary to bend over the edge at the bottom of the bed, her feet flat on the floor, and eased Mary's feet apart, separating her thighs.

She began to stroke as she had done before, her finger tips teasing the warm downy hair and the fleshy lips, before probing more deeply. Her fingers edged into the slippery canal of Mary's sex. The girl was wet, viscous juices flowing readily, and she could feel Mary begin to move, trying to rock her body so that Victoria's fingers would thrust more deeply. She knew that Mary wanted to be penetrated and eased a third finger into her, bunched up tight. Her thumb was resting against Mary's perineum, and she started to press against the tight ridge of muscle there, stimulating and pressing, her thumb beginning to probe at the tight amber ring.

Incoherent groans were coming from Mary's throat, growls of pleasure begging Victoria to touch her, to take her, to do as she wanted with Mary's body. When Victoria stopped, Mary almost cried out in anguish, but the interruption was only brief, and then the stimulation of her sex continued. But it was different now.

Victoria had taken a dildo from her dresser, and was using this to violate Mary. Thomas, a collector of erotica, had picked this up in India; it was reputed to be many hundreds of years old, and was made of ivory, the phallus decorated by intricate carvings of men with women, women with women, and men with men in many positions. A fine piece of art in its own right, it was nevertheless a perfectly carved large phallus, and Mary's wet tunnel accepted it gratefully.

Victoria watched as Mary's sex seemed to swallow the phallus inch by inch, disappearing inside her, and when the younger woman pulled it out, it came reluctantly, Mary's vaginal muscles contracted around it's stiffness, clinging to it, coating it in her honeyed juices. With one hand working the dildo, Victoria used her other to play with Mary's pleasure bud, and was soon rewarded with shudders of orgasm that washed unchecked over the girls body, throaty gasps erupting from her mouth. The girl had spent heavily, and Victoria allowed her to collapse onto the bed to rest.