A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) (16 page)

After that,
Florence and I clung on to one another for the rest of the night as we circled the gallery and other chambers. I might have sought other men's pleasure if it were not for the fact that my body was already ruined. That earlier rush through my heart had scared me. I knew mine was weaker than most and I would have to be careful. Instead, I allowed Mark to dine on me in the group chambers while Florence fucked him backwards cowgirl. His was a familiar and pleasant touch that I knew would not enrage me too much. A group circled us, touching each other in unison, and I felt all their private whispers were what were fluttering along my clitoris. I came with fearlessness.

Mark informed me that the bukkake scene had convinced the Grandmaster I was worthy of their group and I was handed a ring to wear on my middle finger that would signal my belonging to their house forever
more. Who the Grandmaster was, I didn't think I would ever find out. It must have been one of those in the room.

I went back to Flo's house with her and Mark that night, too tired to go back to my own home. They gave me the spare room and seemed eager to have their own time together. When I heard moans coming from next door, I was intrigued. The noises seemed louder than was possible. Then I discovered a peep hole near the head of my bed. I came to the conclusion that Mark used this whenever Flo had other company with her in that room, or vice versa. I looked and watched.

Flo's legs were separated by a spreader shackled to both ankles. Meanwhile her wrists were tied together and a ceiling fixture held her arms up. She was totally naked. She was a slim woman with barely a scrap of fat on her. She could wear anything. I wish
ed I were a little more like that but then we have to be happy for what we've got, don't we? I had learnt that after Alex.

“
Florence, how many men did you have tonight?” he asked.

“
Only two.”

He struck her with a paddle, across her bottom, and she moaned.

“Three,” she admitted. “One kissed my lady garden.”

“
Don't call it that. It's your cunt.”

“
My cunt,” she repeated, gasping with aching pleasure.

“
Better. Now, how will you make it up to me?” he asked.

“
Anything you suggest,” she said.

“
Anything?”

“
Yes, Master.”

“
Recite
Baa Baa Black Sheep
you little fool,” he said.

She did and I squirmed. At first, I did not understand what was happening. He paddled her some more and she yelped every time, but not as much from pain as from the desire to have his body touch her instead.

“You aren't saying it right. You aren't,” he demanded.

She continued to sing but she was always struck out of sync by his thrashings.

“Stop!” he demanded, when she could no longer manage even a line. “You are a silly, idle little woman with only fucking on her mind, aren't you?”

“
Yes,” she told him.

“
Time to punish you,” he said.

He used the paddle to tease her. He massaged all her holes with it, before tracing it along her thighs, her buttocks, breasts and stomach. When she cried out with what I presumed was the onset of
a volcanic orgasm, he shouted, “Bad Florence!”

He moved up behind her and placed his
awfully large cock inside her tiny pussy. He held his hands at her waist and she screamed for mercy. Every time she communicated her delight, he reprimanded her with a slap at her behind.

“
No more naughtiness, Florence.”

When he said her full name, I knew s
he became a little more aroused because her eyes bulged.

“
Oh, but…” she pleaded.

“
Shut your noise,” he warned.

Every time she wanted to cry out, she contorted her face with the energy it took to restrain her emissions.

“Master, Master…” she repeated.

He fucked her till she was near passing out. She hung there exhausted afterward, her chest heaving, all her energy having left her. He untied her bonds and carried her t
o bed, wrapping a sheet around her. His upper body hovered above hers and he kissed her tenderly. Her weak arms clung on to him, wrapped around his neck. He did love her, I realised. He really did. He rolled her into his embrace and held her fast against him.

“
I love you,” she said.

“
I love you, Florence. You were just right. Just right,” and nothing else was said. They fell into a stupor together, laced around one another.

I knew what it was, I thought
. He was too well-endowed to enjoy sex without all that foreplay. He had to have a woman who was aroused as much as that, otherwise he would never be welcome. I felt sorry for him that he could not just take a woman and enjoy her easily, recklessly, without preparation.

I realised one day, as I was taking a long, hot bath, that there were divides to be adhered to when it came to sexual preferences. This is what I wrote down in my notebook immediately and memorised (knowing it was a failsafe guide to achieving what I wanted in any given situation):

Categories of Men:-

1. Those who need to be dominated.
   
2. Those wh
   o need to be dominant.
   
3. Those with romantic notions
   (most of whom are clueless of their preference).
   

Subcategories of those categories:-

1. Submissive men tend to require:
   

-
Being tied up and teased by their favourite parts of a woman's anatomy.

-
Being tied up and being whipped or slapped.

-
Being told what to do every step of the way, with a few cusses thrown in for good measure.

-
Sometimes, outrageous lingerie.

1. Dominators tend to require:
   

-
Tying a woman up/and or blindfolding, before licking and kissing her all over to assert their authority.

-
A woman pretending to be the virginal darling who has never been so full of cock before.

-
A woman on her front as they take her seemingly unwillingly.

-
That their pleasure is in preventing or prolonging their partner's. Punishments may be handed out for too much enjoyment.

1. Those with the romantic notion of making every time special:
   

-
A soft approach; feminine underwear, pleading whispers, their hands caressing and stroking.

-
Cunnilingus or female on top (so she can cum first) before they get the go-ahead to fuck her senseless.

-
A friendly chat to settle their nerves.

I discovered I could pretend to be the submissive very well. I knew how to fake my pleasure if required, or indeed, even find pleasure in the basest predicament. One such situation involved a threesome with Mark and Florence where they both enjoyed my body together. I was tied up and Mark sprayed his seed all over my stomach. Florence was then instructed to lick it off. As she did, I imagined I was being cleaned by Cody's tongue (he still crept into my thoughts sometimes) and the very thought of that made me beg for her to make me cum. It ended up that she and Mark both worked on me; she licking my pussy while he probed both holes with his fingers. Oh yes, I could play the submissive little girl very well, taking whatever these men and women had to throw at me.

My natural inclination was, however, toward
dealing out punishment. My own penchant for order from chaos, for control and physical exertion, was thus satisfied. For a lot of men who have erectile dysfunction or who simply cannot reach full tilt anymore, something they learn to enjoy is being engaged in a separate type of copulation. Something outside of soft foreplay, more communicative pleasure/pain. It seemed to me that this was definitely a more mature man's sport but I very much enjoyed it. Conjuring dormant desire is something of an art, after all.

The parlour maid version of me – an early incarnation of the Chambermaid –
quickly learnt everything she needed to know.

Whenever we arrived at the Lodge, I nearly always left Flo and Mark to their own devices in the gallery rooms or communal chambers. I headed to the punishment chambers. I would wait in a suitably darkened dungeon in one of my many outfits, which mostly featured aprons or pinnys of various varieties. Sometimes I carried some cleaning equipment in my front pocket.

A gentleman and his wife entered and I looked up from where I sat on a wooden chair. The other woman stayed in the
shadows but her husband stepped forward and admitted, “My wife requires me to be punished for my failures in the sack.”

In essence, they wanted s
omething to get off on together. Perhaps that evening and maybe even when they got back home.

“
On the table then,” I said, and he was strapped to one of the infamous Hambleton beds that were present in most rooms. Shackled down, I saw his penis was a little enlarged already. It pointed east in his leather pouch as if refusing to bend to the will of anyone but his own. He wore nothing else except a leather mask across his eyes and the slippers most of the men wore.

“
What is his crime?” I asked the woman, who was dressed in a leather dress. I was in a red and black corset mixed with lace, satin and velvet bows. I could see his eyes darting to my clothing every now and again. He wanted punishment, it seemed. Those breasts which I had hidden for so many years out of shame and embarrassment were on show almost every night (whether at the Lodge or for Mark or other lovers) and were pushed up nearly right under my chin. But, only to taunt these men who I knew did not deserve my bosoms. They only deserved to look upon what they couldn't have and use the sight of them for their own gains or losses later.

“
He played with himself,” the woman said, playing her part. “Alone. Without me.”

“
Why was this? Such a disrespect!” I exclaimed.

“
I am sorry,” he shuddered, aching for me to whip him.

“
He wastes what few chances he has on himself!” she said.

“
Vile pig. Ugh. That's very bad behaviour,” I said.

“
I know,” he moaned.

I retracted a little feather tickler and started my work.

“Let's clean the muck off you, dirty little boy. Very bad boy.”

I teased his feet to begin with, before venturing to between his legs, across his stomach, under his armpits and up and down his throat. The insinuations were driving him to distraction. His cock welled in his tiny little pouch and his wife was drawn to the sight. She knew the ruse would need to continue, however.

“Let's rub down our clean little participant, now, shall we?” I said to her, and she got up to take some massage oil from me that I'd doused my own hands with.

We rubbed his body all over, as though preparing him for some sacrificial
rite. His wife even teased her fingers underneath the leather pouch to punish him, before taking away her touch as soon as it got too much.

“
How would you prefer to be punished?” I asked.

“
Against my back,” he said. “With you naked.”

“
As you wish. And the lady?”

“
She is in too much of a bad mood to join. She will watch.”

“
Sure.”

I raised the table to a
helpful height and then loosed the fixtures at his feet so I could flip him right over. He lay on his front, wrists crossed in front of him, legs free but his rear and back totally bare. From this new angle, I could see his scrotum and anus.

I took a clean crop out of one of the
drawers in the room and asked, “Should I lock the door? The only thing is, we will be televised instead.” A screen outside the door would show our work.

“
Oh… okay…” he said, the exhibitionist in him so eager that his cock was probably unbearably strained beneath him.

I went over to lock the door and then slipped out of my corset, which had built-in pa
nties, making it easy to become naked. I was shaven bald still and was wearing a purple velvet mask with little jewels around the eyeholes. My hair was spiked and I felt deliriously sexual in that dark room, which was now closed off to us three strangers engaged in seeking mutual, consensual pleasure that did not necessarily need to involve direct touch.

He caught si
ght of me naked and groaned loudly; the menacing, guttural cry of a hunter seeking prey. I cracked the whip against the wood and warned, “I have no qualms over issuing pain, and, I deal it most brutally if pushed.”

“
Oooh, uhh, yes,” he whined. He was panting and delirious. His wife's chest heaved at the sight of her life partner becoming so sexually aroused. A rare moment, I decided. They were a fifty-something couple and very much in love, but simply in need of an extra added little bonus to help them through.

“
Are you ready?” I asked.

“
Umm,” he said.

I tapped his backside with the flat side of the crop, the knotted, plaited edge, and he moaned delightfully. I struck one cheek at a time, rather tamely, and continued my momentum. I moved around the table and he watched my body as I did, continually groaning in consent. I began striking his back, a little harder, and he groaned louder. The red slashes across his back were rem
inders of my imprint. When he tired, I ceased, and he breathed his anguish away. The marks were superficial and would be gone by morning perhaps, but the temporary despair was overwhelming him. It was mixing too well with desire. I rolled him back over and his pouch was full.

What happened next?
I was blindfolded as a mark of respect. Then I determined from their noises that the woman rode her husband backward cowgirl. He was excruciatingly aroused. He howled in the room and his wife was most pleased by my work. He was quite large when at full mast. I thrashed his chest as she drilled him and the dopamine and endorphins swilling around his veins caused him to have an intense, drawn-out, long-lasting orgasm of several minutes. The mature orgasms of life are exactly that: few and rarer but lengthier. Her own was intense as she used a bullet on her clitoris.

I went back to Flo's that night terribly pent-up. All those scenes drew my own pleasure but did not taper them
off. No. I needed my lovers for that. All this pleasure and entertainment was becoming so natural to me and the impersonal nature of it was what pleased me most. None of these people knew who I was.