Lords, Ladies, Butlers and Maids: Period Erotica in Private Houses

‘I suspected as much. Where did he kiss you?’

‘My lips and … my bosom.’

‘Nowhere else?’

‘No.’ Where else would there be?

He seemed rather disappointed at my purity. ‘I know there’s more, Irene. You’re far too comfortable in a man’s arms.’

I squirmed, oddly ashamed. ‘We did lie together in bed when his parents were away. But I didn’t let him undress me. He just held me and, well, he moved against me.’

The master’s breath quickened. ‘Did you touch his manhood with your sweet little hand?’

I began to realise it would be to my benefit to pretend I had. ‘Well, yes, but please don’t tell anyone. I’d die of shame.’

‘My lips are sealed, my dear. Did you like touching it?’

‘Yes. It was, um, very long.’ It seemed the proper thing to say.

The master sighed and pressed himself closer. ‘Tell me, Irene, did he spend? In your hand, perhaps, or elsewhere on your person?’

‘Why must we speak of him, sir?’ It was not so much the lewd questions but the silvery gleam in the master’s eye that discomfited, even as it aroused me.

He kissed my forehead. ‘Don’t you know? If a woman has already done something with one lover, it’s no longer a sin with the next.’

I’d heard a thousand rules about how a girl should comport herself with a man, but never this one. Suddenly my handsome master’s preference for married ladies began to make sense. Perhaps I could turn this queer lovers’ game to my advantage?

‘I’m ashamed to say where he did it, sir,’ I whispered into his shoulder.

‘You can tell me. I know all about what healthy young men and women do together. And I’m sure your beau has very healthy appetites.’

‘Will you say it for me then, sir?’

I felt his manhood twitch against my thigh. ‘Very well. Did he spend in your beautiful mouth?’

It was all I could do not to gasp. I’d never dreamed of such an act, and yet immediately my cheeks tingled with a perverse desire to be filled with the hard baton imprisoned in my beloved’s trousers.

‘Yes, in my mouth,’ I lied, ‘but it was only once. I felt so ashamed and clumsy.’

‘There, there, we all improve with practice.’

I took a deep breath. ‘May I practise with you, sir?’

He laughed softly. ‘You have become shameless, haven’t you? Still, the French way is a useful method to please a man when you don’t want a child. Your beau was honourable to suggest it, so I in turn would be honoured to help you refine your skills for him.’

Thus I found myself kneeling between the master’s naked thighs, in a most intimate congress with his male member. Half of me wanted to close my eyes in terror, the other half wanted to study it like a schoolbook: the ruddy, rigid pole rearing up from the cushion of hair, the purplish head that poked through the folds at the top. My belly was in a knot, excitement mixed with fear. Could he tell I’d told a fib?

His unfailing gentlemanly courtesy soon calmed me.

‘Kiss it first. Gently. That’s right. Now take it in your mouth. Just the tip.’

My lips stretched around his knob. Down between my legs, my other mouth contracted in sympathy.

‘That’s good. Now slowly, up and down. You remember well. Is this how he liked it?’ Gazing down at me with lust-veiled eyes, he rocked his hips up, pushing his cock deeper into my willing orifice. ‘You may feel like choking, but just relax your throat. Good girl. Very good.’

Never had I done anything so bestial, so decadent. Never had anything brought such dark pleasure. My master was finally in my power.

‘Put your hand around the bottom and hold it fast. Now move up and down, hand and lips together. Oh, God, yes.’

He arched back, his eyes squeezed shut.

‘Harder, suck it harder.’

My jaw was sore, but I persevered, revelling in the way the fleshy tube responded to my attentions.

‘Harder, oh, Jesus Christ Almighty.’

The shaft jerked between my lips. Hot, bitter liquid filled my mouth, and I fought the impulse to spit, forcing myself instead to swallow it down like a good girl takes medicine. The master groaned and pawed my hair, then went slack like a puppet.

I furtively wiped the last drops of male essence from my chin.

‘Come here, you darling girl.’ He hugged me close as if he’d never release me. ‘Lips like heaven, that’s what you have. Only your second time and you’re better than the whores in Paris.’

By and by, he asked if my betrothed had shown me the French way to please a woman.

‘He started to, but his mother came back from the market too soon.’ What else could I say? I was desperate to know that mysterious art.

‘Then I’ll carry on where he left off,’ he said, peeling away my drawers and putting his own heavenly lips to my secret female place. His tongue darted between my nether lips, probing the softness until I let out a cry of delight. Next he began to lick me there as you might a strawberry ice at a country fair, up and down, up and down, with unflagging ardour. A pressure was building in my belly, like a fire, crackling and wild. The fire blazed higher, then suddenly shattered in my womb into a thousand tiny flames. I writhed like a madwoman as an invisible fist closed and opened between my legs.

When I came back to my senses, the master was smiling down at me.

‘You’re a natural, you know. I wonder if you’d be my accomplice in another naughty scheme to put my friends in their proper place. Would you like to hear it?’

Still floating in carnal bliss, I nodded. After all, I could always refuse.

* * *

The room at the restaurant was undoubtedly furnished for after-dinner amour with its spacious daybed, a wingback chair and a washbowl for intimate ablutions. There I put the finishing touches to my second costume: a pretty nightgown and velvet wrapper, with my hair brushed down over my shoulders like a fine lady about to retire to her bed.

But my duties for the evening had only begun. I realised I was trembling. I’d sung well enough, but I was still a novice at this kind of performance. I gave myself courage by remembering that this was my wedding gift to Charles, an offering he’d treasure more than the finest silver or French porcelain.

There was a knock at the door.

I hurried to open it.

Standing before me was my master’s blond friend, Mr Sheldon Maxwell.

‘Oh, my, I am the lucky winner,’ he drawled, raising his eyebrows at my suggestive attire.