5 comments/ 99342 views/ 18 favorites Mistress and Maid Ch. 01 By: Dockett My mistress's jewelry are fine things to behold: filigreed gold and sliver encrusted with diamonds and gems of every color. I gave a nervous glance around the room. My mistress's private room wasn't the most frequented place. As long I moved quickly there shouldn't be any problem. My hands floated over the jewelry, rifling through them, almost caressing. I hadn't seen this much gold for a long time. My eyes lingered on the more expensive piece. With an effort of will I tore them away. Greedy thieves got caught. Instead, I snatched a ring from the corner and crumpled the red velvet to hide where it had been. A sound came from the door, the creak of a hinge. I acted without thinking. There wasn't time to put the ring back in place, so I snapped the lid of the jewelry closed as quietly as I could and popped the ring into my mouth. The door opened and my mistress stepped into the room. My mistress is beautiful; voluminous red hair pinned up above a slender neck and pale shoulders, her face aristocratic cheekbones and sharp features. Her dress complemented the fullness of her breasts and curve of her hips. Her sharp features were directed at me right then, an imperious gaze that snapped between the jewelry case and me and back again. I grabbed the rag from the mantelpiece and turned back to the china hurriedly. My mistress stalked into the room, steps measured. I kept polishing in a circular motion and didn't turn around. Her footsteps reached the jewelry case and the lid creaked open. A moment went by before she spoke. "Where is it?" My hand stopped and I turned towards her, bobbing my head, and spoke around the ring in my cheek. "I don't know what you mean mistress." Her eyes narrowed at my words. She took a step towards me. "What is that in your mouth?" I cast my eyes down and tried to minimize the slurring of my voice. "Nothing mistress. Nothing." Her hand cupped my chin, slender fingers surprisingly strong, and forced my eyes to meet hers. "Don't lie." I started to answer, but her hand slid into my mouth and cut off my voice. I jerked my head back and tried to swat her hand away. She pressed forward. I stumbled, and my back hit the wall. We struggled briefly, but she was taller, and it ended with my hands caught above my head, her knee pinning my waist, and two fingers shoved into my mouth. I gagged and tried to jerk away, but to no avail. In her efforts to keep me still her knee rubbed in the fork between my legs, and I gasped. It gave her the opening she needed. Her fingers pulled out, moist with my spit, the ring dangling between them. Her eyes turned towards me. I glanced away. "And so the little thief is caught." She said, voice elegant superiority and disgust. "I had wondered which of the servants it was." "Mistress, I..." My voice trailed away as my mind failed to supply it with a suitable excuse. "I..." "Was stealing." She finished for me. "Never," I said, desperate, "I would never, mistress-" "The little cunt was stealing." She sing-songed, the thumb of her hand stroking my cheek. "And now she's caught. I wonder what her punishment will be." I blanched at her harsh language, but tried to go on. The hand cupping my chin tightened in an iron grasp. She leaned forward, the weight of the knee pressing against the fork in my legs intensifying. A gasp at the foreign sensation escaped me. "No little cunt, you have forfeited the right to speak." She leaned so close that her lips almost brushed mine, her voice a faint purr. "Those pretty lips shall be put to better use." She let go of my chin and whirled away, her voice taking on an almost formal tone, emphasizing the distance between us. "For stealing from me I could have you put on the street and made sure that you never worked again." I let my eyes fall to the floor and didn't bother to rearrange my dress. It wouldn't serve any purpose. She was well within her rights to punish me, and without employment I would become destitute, forced to live in poverty... She half turned her head to give me an appraising look, as if I were cattle or one of her pieces of jewelry, her eyes lingering. I squirmed under her gaze. "Fortunately for you, that would be a waste." She crossed the room and retrieved a scarlet scarf from the side board. With a flick of her hand she pointed to the center of the room and snapped her fingers, as she would with a dog. "Come." With little other choice, I obeyed, kept my eyes downcast and hands clasped behind me, careful not to give her a reason to think better of her decision to spare me. "Thank you mistress." I mumbled. "I swear it will never..." "Happen again, yes, I know." She said, voice bored, as she walked behind me. "I'm afraid I cannot simply take the word of a little cunt like you though." A sudden pressure circled my wrists. I tried to jerk away, but it was too late. With a quick motion my mistress tied a knot on the scarf she'd slipped around my hands. I gasped and tried to tear my hands free, but the scarf only bit deeper into my wrists. "What is this?" I gasped, as my mistress crossed in front of me. "What is the meaning of this?" Her hand shot out, and a moment later my head jerked back, my mistress's delicate fingers fisted in my hair. My mouth opened and closed like a grounded fish, but I was too stunned for coherent thought. "The meaning of this little slut, is that I own you." My mistress said in her throaty voice. "I own your body. I own your mouth, your tits, your asshole, your sweet little cunt." Her refined voice pronounced each syllable of the vulgar words with relish. "You are a fucking whore." Her hand pulled on the back of my hair, and I squeezed my eyes shut and rose to the tips of my toes to try and stop the pain. Her voice grew close as she leaned forward, breath tickling my ear. "Do as I say or will make sure that the entire world knows it." I nodded, desperate. Why was this happening? What was she doing? Her hand lowered, fingers still fisted in my hair, and I stumbled to my knees. I blinked up at her through tear glazed eyes. She smiled back, a cold, beautiful, and ruthless smile. Her free hand grabbed the hem of her skirt and hiked it up, baring an expanse of curved and shapely flesh. I averted my eyes. "No little cunt." Her hand pulled, guiding my head until my face was inches from her thigh. "Look at your mistress." I did then, with trembling eyes I looked up at my mistress's womanhood. Like all of my mistress it was beautiful. It was shaved, leaving only the sensuousness of curved flesh where legs met and then the pair of lower lips between those, delicate pink and glistening with moisture. I stared. I had never seen one except my own, and it left me breathless and with a heat between my legs. I was too stunned to resist the upward pull of her hand on the back of my head. She guided me until I was only an inch away. I swallowed and blinked. This couldn't be happening. It simply couldn't. I glanced helplessly up at her. Her eyes were cold, and a slight sneer of contempt turned the side of her nose. Her voice was soft, without any hint of remorse. "Worship me, little whore." Her hand tightened on the back of my hair, and she shoved my face toward her womanhood. Her scent filled my nose, musky and sweet like cinnamon. The mound of her womanhood throbbed with each exhalation of my breath, the lips shuddering. I squeezed my eyes shut, an involuntary whimper rising from the back of my throat, and closed the few inches left. My lips closed on folds of soft flesh as I kissed her lower lips. Her hand tightened on the back of my hair, and she gasped, a shudder coursing through her body and into my mouth. "Just so." Her voice whispered. "Lick me, kiss me, stick your little whore tongue into me, or I will cast you onto the street where you will beg to be fucked by any stranger with a penny." Her hand tightened, and I kissed her again, tears filling my eyes, my body shaking like a leaf. This was wrong. It was a sin. But I had no choice. My hands throbbed behind me, the scarf cutting deep into my wrists. I must please my mistress. I had once been a lady. I could not become a beggar, to be fucked like a common whore. I must do as she said. I must. Her hips thrust into my mouth. I gagged, but she was not a man, and there was nothing to be rejected from my mouth. With trembling lips I began to kiss down the length of her mound, my lips closing on the sweet folds of her flesh, suckling. I reached the base of her womanhood and paused, panic fluttering in my throat. I did not know what to do next. I had only ever been bedded once, and never by, oh God forgive me, a woman. My mistress's womanhood seemed a foreign thing, utterly unconnected to the rest of my life. But if I failed to please her she'd punish me, make me a beggar and a common whore. I could never become that. Tears began to spill from my eyes. Desperate, I poked my tongue into the base of her womanhood and trailed it upwards, along the length of her hole. She shuddered and a moan escaped her. I let that be my guide, let her small gasps guide my tongue to her most sensitive areas: the little bud at the crest of her mound, the crevice between her lips, the base of the hole where I would eventually have to venture. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks as I suckled and kissed with wanton need, ran the tip of my tongue along, massaged with my lips, even lapped at like I had seen dogs do when drinking from a dish. My mistress's hand shifted to the crown of my head, the fingers twining through my hair, a relaxed grip. Her hips rocked with each stroke of my tongue, quiet moans spaced along with them, unconscious sounds of lust. The occasional whimper shook her body, made her legs weak. I drew my head back, and looked up. The straps of my mistress's dress had fallen from her shoulders, and her free hand had snaked up to caress her collarbone. Her full breasts pressed against the constraints of her corset, threatening to break free. Her eyes were closed, brow knitted halfway between a grimace and a whimper. "Please, I have done as you wanted," I said in a quavering voice, shamefully aware of her moisture coating my mouth. "No more, mistress." Her eyes snapped open and she glared down at me, imperious and furious. "Do not put on your tears and little pout with me slut." She spat each word out as if it were venom. "You stole from me." Her palm hit me with enough force to jerk my gaze to the side, and while I was still dazed she dragged me by the hair back with her the few pace to the four poster bed in the corner of the room. Her palm hit me again from the other side. She took a seat on the bed and spread her legs wide, skirt rustling as she pulled it up to her waist with her free hand, leaving me staring, tears still trickling down my cheeks, at the shapely curve of her long, tapered legs. Her eyes regarded me with cool contempt, the fury they had a moment ago locked away. "Stop your crying and stick out your tongue. You do too much kissing. This is not your wedding night." I nodded, shakily, and tried to blink the tears from my eyes. I had never been struck before in my life and I desperately did not want her to get angry again. I stuck out my tongue and ran it along the cleft between her lips, searching. Her hand jerked impatiently, twisting my hair. I hurried and reached the point where the cleft deepened. I paused, shuddered, and thrust my tongue in. Her hips didn't rock or grind, but they trembled and she sighed as if all the air had left her lungs. My tongue fully extended, I pushed my face forwards until my nose touched her crest and my eyes were inches from the inside of her thighs. The inside of her was slick. Juices slid onto my tongue, and I tasted her. My body trembled, but I managed not to gag. After the first few strokes her hips began to rock again, and her moans resumed themselves. Her finely sculpted legs on either side of me shivered and twitched languidly. Though my position was much the same as before, now I could just see her face above her ruffled skirts. Her face was calm and imperious, but that only made every slight quiver and tremble that crossed it more distinct. Her eyes were green, and every time my tongue touched her just so, they would roll upwards a little behind fluttering eyelashes. It may seem odd that I focused on the face of my tormentor, but the taste of her on my tongue and relentless jerking of her hand made me do anything to try and divert my attention from the fact that I was lapping at her womanhood like a dog. It was a small grace, but one that soon was threatened as her neck loosened, and her head began to fall back. I jabbed my tongue deeper into her, not wanting to let her fall from my sight, and though she gasped, her head continued downwards. Frantic now, I latched my lips around the entirety of her mound, sucking in my cheeks and creating a vacuum. She gasped, a desperate sound, and arched forward, her legs involuntarily squeezing around my face, the stray locks of her red her hair tickling my cheeks our heads were so close. Her breath panted hot and ragged in my ear. "Fuck, little whore," she breathed, "Fuck me." Her hand grinded my face into her and her hips rocked without respite, thrusting, lunging, anything to have me fill them. I could barely breathe, but I swirled my tongue in her hole and scraped the juices from it, tasted them as they filled my mouth. Her legs locked behind my head, and her thighs squeezed against either side of my face, gasps and sighs trembling through them. Her breathe grew faster, shorter, and her hips pulsed with a new urgency, stamping my mouth with their ownership. She mumbled words under her breathe in a feverish tone, curses and encouragements. Her hand on the crown of my head held me like a mop, jerking, pushing, pulling. She let out a small shriek and her head arched back. I gazed up at her through the prison of flesh around my head, my face unable to move more than the inch it needed to worship her womanhood. Her hand released the top of my head and fell to the bed, supporting her as her hips thrust forward, into my mouth one final time, as far they could go, and then stopped, quivering. Her womanhood trembled and juices squirted into my mouth, vile and sweet. I gazed up at her through all this, watched her eyes screw shut in rapture and her mouth open soundlessly. Her hips eventually sank back to the bed, and her fingers loosened from their death grip on the sheet. Her eyes stayed shut, but her mouth closed with a final tremor. Her legs did not unlock from around me, and her juices swirled in my mouth. I swallowed, gagged, but my mouth and nose pressed against her had no space for air. I panicked, whipping my head in either direction. Her legs only tightened. Her eyes never opened, and it did nothing to disturb the languid smile on her lips. I quivered and trembled, but forced myself to hold still. Seconds ticked by and spots began to dance in front of my vision. Her legs slowly slid out from behind my head and shoulders and I fell back. I stayed sprawled on the floor, my bound hands pinching uncomfortably, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the faint trickle of her juices from the side of my mouth. Her legs drew together and she stood up, skirts falling back into place. She smoothed them over with a sure hand and spoke, voice absented minded. "Stand up." I obeyed, my bound hands making me clumsy. "You are a thief and a cunt." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "And judging by your performance a whore." She moved behind me and blood rushed back into my hands as she unwound the scarf from my hands. One of her hands slid the ring that I had stolen what seemed like so long ago onto my finger and her voice whispered behind my ear. "Speak of this, disobey or displease me once, and that ring will damn you to a life as a beggar." I didn't look up. My mouth ached. Her moisture speckled my chin and nose, smeared my cheeks. She crossed to the side of room and opened a cabinet. From it she took a perfume bottle and gave herself a few gentle puffs, on her wrists and neck, as was her routine after light exercise. She half turned her head towards me, her voice cool. "You may go." I curtsied, eyes downcast, and left her room, hands still throbbing. The ring on my finger gleamed up at me, and I stifled a sob. Mistress and Maid Ch. 02 "Of course Emma refused," Eileen giggled, "but it was ever such a scandal." I nodded in a non-committal manner and continued dusting the cabinet. I normally would have been happy to keep up my end of the gossip (I had heard from the scullery maid that there had been shouting involved) but here, in this room, I did not trust my voice not to break. I own you, I heard her voice whisper, breathy and soft and cold. I own your tits. "I'm surprised you're not more interested." I looked up to find Eileen glancing at me curiously. "I had thought you fancied Scott for yourself." I gave a small shrug. I had, once. It seemed of little importance now. Little had, since that week ago, when... when... I own your asshole. "He is a handsome fellow," Eileen continued, still looking at me, "and the talk is that-" I own your sweet little cunt. "Scott is a fool." I snapped with more force than I had intended. "Emma was right to have refused." "Are you..." Eileen started, her voice trailing off as she cast me a look out of the corner of her eye. "You've been acting odd." I bit down on my lip and turned back to the cabinet, my hand dusting with renewed force. "You're quite right," I said after a moment, "I'm sorry." "It's nothing." Eileen said, turning back to her own dusting, voice still faintly puzzled. "I shouldn't have bothered you about Scott." It was more than that, but I kept silent. She wouldn't have understood. Every time she closed her eyes, she didn't hear the gasps and moans of our mistress, didn't feels her hips grind into her face while she gagged, musky scent clogging her nose. Silence descended between us, Eileen's incessant chatter finally quieted. Without her voice the dusting was soothing in a simple, rhythmic way. I was so caught up in it that I failed to notice the fall of my mistress's footsteps until she was nearly behind me, and only the dip of Eileen's knees in a curtsy alerted me. My mistress's voice is cultured and refined, with the barest hint of breathiness under it. It stole the air from my chest and the strength from my arms. "Turn around." I did, slowly, and dipped into a curtsy, eyes downcast. Eileen shot a glance my way, obviously puzzled by my hesitance. Though I could not see her face, I could still feel the weight of her gaze on me. "Busy at work, little maid?" I nodded and mumbled something under my breath, still afraid to raise my eyes. Her voice from the last time I had seen her echoed in my head. I own you little whore. Heavy skirts rustled as my mistress took a step forward and slid two fingers under my chin, raising it to meet her eyes. A faint smile touched her lips, and her hazel eyes caught and held mine. "Pardon me?" "Yes." I managed. She tilted her head in the slightest. "Attend Mrs. Levi. She is looking for you." Eileen bobbed in a curtsy, and with a last quick glance at me, scuttled away. Her eyes stayed on me for another moment before she turned on her heel and set off down the hall. She beckoned with a hand as if an afterthought. "Hurry along, little cunt." Little cunt. Her pet name for me, the name she'd gasped as she'd fucked my face. I hurried to follow her, two of my small steps equaling one of hers. We came out of the halls into the back porch and crossed the lawn towards the stable. Questions flitted across my mind, too many to ask even if I could have. The bark of dogs greeted us as we entered the dog kennel; cool after the heat of the sun on the lawn. The groundskeeper yelled to quiet them. After they had quieted to a manageable level he walked over to greet my mistress. She inclined her head and gracefully raised her voice above the growls and yips of the dogs. "I would visit with my hounds if you would be so kind." The groundskeeper nodded his head and whistled to the dog boy. He bowed to the mistress and he and the dog boy scuttled from the stables. The door thumped behind them with a funeral ring. "Each of the dogs here," my mistress motioned to the cages around us. "Came here untamed. They answered to no commands and bit anyone who tried to put a collar on them." My mistress's gaze fell on me, and I had the sensation that she was weighing me. "Do you know how they were tamed, little slut?" "He punished them when they misbehaved." She continued when I did not answer. My mistress walked to the wall and unhooked one of the dog collars off its peg. She turned towards me and my heart sank. "And after he had shown them who was their master he collared them." The dogs barking grew louder as my mistress crossed the stable back to me. She unhooked the latch. "Look up little bitch." "Please, mistress," My voice was barely a whisper, pathetic even to my own ears. "Please, I..." Her hand caught my chin, forced it up to meet her gaze, eyes glittering with disgust. "Do not forget that you stole from me. I could have you branded a thief and cast onto the street to starve. You belong to me." I hadn't. It was the only reason that I kept my head raised as her slim fingers cinched the oiled leather around my throat. Her hand fell to the leash attached to the collar. She wound it around one hand and pulled until her mouth was inches from my ear. "Do you know how dogs mount each other?" "Mistress?" Her breathe was warm against my ear as she hissed; "kneel." "Mistress..." I began. "I don't-" She slapped me. My head drew back, cheek stinging. Her hand fisted the leash around her fist and jerked my head towards her. "You are a fucking peasant." She hissed, face an inch from mine. "You have been lower than me since the day you were born. Never again speak out of turn." I tried to respond, but could only manage a gasp, the collar too tight for anything else. She kept her hand fisted around my collar for a long moment, just long enough for my head to begin to spin and my lungs beg for air, before releasing it and once again pointing at the bench. "Kneel. Hands and knees." I obeyed, limbs numb as I kneeled and leaned forward until the palms of my hands fell on the floor, leaving only her feet visible. She snapped the leash, jerking my head forward and down. "Lift your skirt." "Mistress. Please. I..." The words choked in my throat, but I forced them out. "I could... could... kiss you again, like I did last..." She laughed; the sound a gentle throb of scorn. "Lift your skirt." With a trembling hand I reached behind me and touched the hem of my skirt, brought it up, cool air brushing my skin. I shuddered. Around me the room whirled. None of it seemed real, kneeling there, the back of my legs and bottom half uncovered, naked, as she stood above me, the leash a line from my throat to her hand. "I am your mistress." She purred as her feet retreated from view, circling behind me, voice carrying a mocking edge. "You can say that, can't you?" "Mistress," the word came out in a gasp as cool air whispered against my bared womanhood as she knelt behind me, "you are my mistress." My legs shivered as her fingers trailed up my ankle, but I could not, dared not move. "What does that make you?" I gasped as her fingers ran along the inside of my thigh, caressing the pale curves, teasing the dip where leg met hip. My hips shivered, wanting, needing... Her fingers brushed my womanhood and my entire body shuddered. "Wider, little whore." Her voice was soft and sibilant. "Spread your legs and show me your precious little cunt." With a whimper I did as she said, spread my legs as her fingers slid between my legs and over my womanhood, palm flat against my mound, cupping it. She jerked on the leash, forcing my head back and my face upwards so she was holding me in the cup of her hand. "Answer me, little cunt." Her voice ground, auburn hair tickling my ear. "What are you?" "Your maid, mistress. I am your maid." "Wrong." Her middle finger folded, nail rasping against the length of my slit and positioning itself at my opening. I gasped up at the roof, shame mingling with the slippery warmth between my legs. "Do not lie. Not to me, little whore." I whimpered, my arms trembling. "Mistress..." "What you are, little bitch," she went on, finer plunging into me without warning or preparation so I squealed, sharp and sudden, "is my dog." Her finger drew out with a sucking sensation, fingertip rasping against the inside of me. It lingered at my opening, tracing a circle, and then pushed back in with savage pressure, forcing my hips upwards, to the tips of my knees. "And do you know how dogs mount each other, little cunt?" "Please, mistress..." I whimpered, a ragged breathe cutting me off halfway as the collar tightened. "Please, I'll do anything... anything." "Please, mistress." She sneered. "Are there any other words you know?" Her hand pulled away, weight coming off me. A faint clack sounded from the wall, where she had gotten the collar before and I felt her weight settle behind me. I shied away, but a sharp tug of the leash stole the air from my throat and stilled me. A hard rounded head pressed against the base of my opening. Her voice hissed in my ear, collar tight around my throat, keeping my head pulled back and back arched. "Do you want to know how dogs mount each other, little cunt?" "From behind." She breathed, and shoved the dog toy into me with no regard for delicacy, thick width stuffing me. My hands clenched and unclenched against the ground, a sob tearing itself from my throat. It seemed to take an eternity, but finally its length ceased pushing into me. I was left with the white hot, all-consuming sensation of its length stretching me. With agonizing slowness she drew the dog toy back out, inch by inch, my hips squirming spasmodically as its every dip and bump stretched my opening. "Tell me," she whispered softly, leash taut, "what is it like, being fucked like a dog?" It came out with a final sucking noise, and I quivered, my limbs collapsing, dropping me onto the dirt, panting as if I was a dog. The leash pulled savagely taught, pulling me upright and arching my spine, bending me backwards until her breathe fluttered in my ear. "Tell me, little whore. What are you?" "I'll tell you," I gasped, "only no more. Please, mistress." The dog toy paused at my opening, poised, its head already spreading my lips. "Tell me," she growled, "tell me, or it goes all the way in." "Please mistress," I sobbed, tears wet on my cheeks, "I am your little dog, I am your bitch." Silence fell, and for a moment the only sound was that of my whimpering and the faint yapping of the dogs in their cages around us. The dog toy's head pulled out from between my lips, the collar eased, and for a moment I felt relief flooding through me, sure in the knowledge that my admission had been enough, that she was done. Then the leash tightened, and she thrust the dog toy into me in one movement. She fucked me, long and hard, unmindful of my sobbed protests, her collar tight around my throat and her mouth ground into my ear, her every ragged gasp and moan burned into my memory. I screamed. I remember that distinctly, remember screaming until my throat was raw and all that was left in me were soft sobs. No one heard. The barking of the dogs drowned it out, and in the end there was no reprieve. She eventually stopped, long after I had finished struggling, had finished squirming, and did no more than gasp faintly when she thrust into me. She pushed into me one final time and left the dog toy there. She'd had me lap at her sex then, run my tongue along it like I had the first time. I did it all without protest, offering no resistance as her hips ground into my face and her juices dribbled down my cheeks. I licked her clean afterwards, tasted her. Her hands closed around my chin, cupping it up towards her. "Let me hear you." She said, her voice low and seductive, no hint of remorse in it. "Beg to be fucked." I did. I begged to be fucked, and when I was finished she drew the dog toy out of me and unclasped the collar. "Good little bitch," she said. Mistress and Maid Ch. 03 I entered my mistress's room with my head lowered, eyes downcast. She was seated at her vanity, auburn hair pulled up so that delicate tendrils snaked about the pale curve of her neck. She acknowledged me with a green eyed glance, but did not rise. I moved to stand behind the bench of the vanity, hands held before me. She did not glance at me. "Kneel." The wood floor creaked as I lowered my knees to it, maid skirt bunching beneath them. I stared at the small of her back, apprehensive, waiting. God. How many times had I done this now? How many times had I supplicated before her? After that day in the dog kennel my Mistress took me regularly. She had Mrs. Wren assign me as maid of her rooms. The dog toy I found was a phallus of oiled leather over wood, and a strap could attach it to her waist in an obscene parody of masculinity. It became a favorite of hers. On the floor she would take me, throw me down so I lay on my back, legs spread, or more often so that I faced away from her, arm extended so I could hold my lips apart for her. There was never any gentleness in it, only a swift thrust of her hips and a spike of pain as the phallus's blunt head forced into me. She would clasp my hips, offering no respite, nails leaving crescent marks where they bit flesh. Or at times she would gather my hair like reins and force my head back, arching my spine, offering every inch of me to her. Bitch, she would say in her cold voice that promised only truth, squeal for me, little cunt. And I would. I would gasp and moan, her length filling me. Whore, she would spit, cunt. I do not know why she took me so. It was not as if she was a man and could have taken any physical pleasure in it. No, if there was any pleasure in it for her it was in the sight of me pliant and gasping beneath her. Her little bitch dog. She would stop after what felt like hours, long after the ache between my legs had deepened to the point where I knew I would barely be able to walk the next day. At times she would have me lap at her sex until she reached release with a groan and her fingers tight in my hair. Other times she would force me to kneel before her, order me to worship the phallus with my mouth, to lick away the taste of me and press my mouth so the phallus was forced against the back of my throat, her eyes contemptuous as I choked and spluttered. Her skirts rustled as she pivoted, positioning her legs so I kneeled directly before her. She reached out a hand, ran the tip of her finger along my cheek. "Are you hungry, my pet?" I did not dare nod. "Yes, mistress." The finger traced my lips. "For what?" "You." The words sickened me, but I had been well trained. "For you, mistress." The finger lingered on my lips for a moment, before sliding under my chin turning it upwards as her other hand pulled away her skirts to reveal the fork between her legs. "Show me." Her scent hit me as I lowered my head between her legs, cinnamon and sickening sweet, filled my nostrils. My tongue peeked out, fitting between the pink folds of her lips, and her taste was in my mouth. "Fuck," she whispered, heavy skirts muffling the sound, my nose pressed against the smooth flesh of her pubic bone as it ground in miniscule circles. "Fuck your little tongue in me, whore." A knock came from the door. Her hips stopped, hand falling against the top of my head to force still the bob of my head. Her taste stayed on my tongue, still deep in her. Cool air caressed my face as her skirts lifted and she shoved my face away. I sprawled on the ground, elbows and palms touching ground. "Up," she snapped, hands smoothing her skirts back into place, "get in the dresser." I rose to my feet, wiping the moisture from my chin with the side of a trembling hand, and scrambled for the dresser. I caught a quick glimpse of my mistress, an elegant figure, only the sheen of sweat on her neck giving evidence to her recent distress, before softly closing the dresser door shut. The knock from the door came again, more insistent, and a moment later the creak of a hinge signaled it opening. "Locking doors again, dear one?" The voice was strong a masculine, with the same arch tone as my mistress's. I recognized it as master Heathcote's. "I was dressing." My mistress's voice was terse. Though the dresser doors were snugly closed, a point of light gleamed through the keyhole. Slowly, so as not to be heard, I knelt and placed my eye against the keyhole. "A pity you'll have to undo your work." Mr. Heathcote stood behind my mistress, his hands on her hips. He was a tall figure, handsome in a way that made the other maids giggle. He face was dipped toward the nape of my mistress's neck, a cold, powerful smile on his lips. "It's far past time I claimed my husbandly rights." His mouth dipped to graze the curve of her neck. "It's far past time I felt that tight cunt of yours again." My mistress's voice was strained when she spoke. "I'm expected at an engagement." "Oh?" Mr. Heathcote's hand slid up to grasp the back of my mistress's hair, pull her head to the side so his mouth had access to the side of her neck. "That is unfortunate." His hands released their grip, and a gave a quick, firm push, my mistresses legs knocking against the baseboard of the bed as she doubled over, loose strands of hair thrown over her face. Her eyes flicked toward the dresser, but she made no protest as with quick, efficient movements Mr. Heathcote stripped away her clothing until she was left covered only by her corset. My mistress's eyes had closes to half lidded crescents, the edges of her mouth downturned in disgust. She remained stone still as Mr. Heathcote paused to admire his handiwork, the smile on his lips widening as he surveyed the bare curve of her shoulder and the roundness of her ass below him. His hands skimmed over ribs of her corset, moving up to grasp the firm, full globes pressed tight beneath it. My breath had grown rapid against the cedar of the dresser door. I knew I should avert my gaze, this this was utterly improper to be witnessing, but I could not take my eye from the keyhole. To see my mistress, the woman who had dominated my existence for the last few weeks reduced to this... "You really should not neglect your duties so." My mistress flinched as his hand shot up to fist in her red hair, jerk her head so she was forced to look upward. His other hand nudged her legs apart before fumbling with the front of his trousers. "You know it only inflames me." A grimace cut my mistress's face when Mr. Heathcote shoved into her, her body sliding forward on the bed from the force of the movement. His strokes came slow and deep, the faint sound of flesh smacking flesh ending each thrust. Our eyes met as his hand gathered my mistress's red hair into a bundle and pulled back sharply, jerking her head back and arching her spin, forcing himself as far as he could into her. Shame and anger played across her face, eyes burning into mine, her teeth catching the edge of her lip as my mistress kept from crying out, mouth twisting in a grimace as she was pumped from behind like a common whore. I watched rapt as she kept our gazes locked. His thrusts began to grow faster and he pushed her head down, forced it down into the sheets so he could gain every inch of her ass as he climaxed, a grunt tearing itself from his throat, the expression on his face half grimace and half sneer. He shuddered a last time and was still, hand still forcing my mistress's head down for a moment before pulling her back up towards him, head held like a limp mop, and growling something in her ear. He didn't relinquish his grip as he pulled out of her and stepped back, forced her into a stumbling kneel before him. "I seemed to have worked up a sweat." His fist kept her head in a careless grip. Her eyes looked up through the fringe of her red hair, disgust boiling out of them. He made a tsking noise with his tongue and dragged her head to his half stiff erection. "You can hardly expect me to bathe." "I have expended my wifely duty." My mistress's voice was polite and cold. Mr. Heathcote grinned and his hand brought her face down, touching the tip of his moist erection to my mistress's chin. One of her eyelids twitched, but she made no move to resist. He trailed her face across the length of his erection, painting a wet trail along her cheek down to her mouth where he rubbed her closed lips up and down his length. He laughed suddenly and let go of her head and stooped, cleaned his member with her fallen skirt before letting it drop and folding away his erection. His hand caught her chin, tilted her proud head up to face him. "Until next time, wife." He said, grin laughing and merciless. I backed away from the keyhole, the fabric of my mistress's hanging dresses brushing my head. The door opened. Outlined against the sudden light was the hastily dressed figure of my mistress. "Get out." She said, voice emotionless. I stepped clumsily from the dresser, eyes lowered. "Mistress," I began, "I..." Her hand shot out, fisted in my hair and jerked it back. I whimpered, neck cramping and nearly lost my balance as I stumbled back. She kept me like that I long moment, so I knew I was utterly in her power, before leaning forward, hair tickling my ear. "Our agreement is still in effect, whore." Her voice was tight with emotion, fingers savagely fisted in my hair. "Speak of this and I will tear open your cunt and pucker so not even the most misshapen, disease ridden cock of a leper will want it." Something cracked in her voice and she pushed me away. "Get out." She said soft. "Get out, cunt." I glanced at her quickly before stepping away towards the door. As I turned to close it, I saw her seat herself again at the vanity, red hair in disarray. I looked away and shut the door.