Sinful Seduction (25 page)

When she was naked he explored her body roughly, molesting the soft globes of her breasts and pinching her nipples into fullness. Panting, he pushed his hand between her thighs, fumbled with her sex and thrust his fingers inside. She whimpered with the mixture of pain and pleasure he was so skilled in producing in her, and shame flushed her cheeks as she felt the moisture begin to flow over his probing fingers.

He had no trouble with his John Thomas this time. She could feel it pushing against her belly as he ground his hips against her. She moaned, her legs weakening as his mouth came down on hers and he thrust his tongue between her lips. Then pulling away he grinned savagely down at her.

‘Enjoying it, are you, my little whore?' he sneered. ‘Well, we'll see if you enjoy what's coming next.'

His words barely had time to sink in before he was dragging her towards the rocking horse in the corner. Brusquely twisting her round he pushed her so that she sprawled along its length, and she grasped at the horsehair mane to prevent herself falling.

He tugged her legs apart so that they fell each side of the horse's rump, offering her own to his greedy eyes, the soft pink flower of her anus exposed to his exploring fingers. She squealed and squirmed as he inserted his thumb into that most private of passages, while his index and middle fingers thrust into her vulva. The stumpy remains of the horse's tail tickled her clitoris with every movement, sending shivers of ecstasy through her belly and she whined in denial of the pleasure coursing through her.

His lips drew back from his teeth in a rictus of lust as he withdrew his hand and fumbled hastily with the buttons on his breeches. His cock sprang free and he pumped it in his fist until the swollen head looked as if it would burst, then with a savage grunt he thrust into her poor vulnerable bottom and Maggie wailed with discomfort and shame.

Smiling slyly, Lord Anston set the rocking horse in motion, moving it slowly at first, then faster and faster as his excitement mounted, his prick plunging in and out with each creaking movement. Helpless, with the stink of damp horse-hair in her nostrils, Maggie gave herself up to the wave of lust that pulsed in her loins and the feel of his rigid cock filling her, grinding her vulva against the horse's crupper with every roll and thrust.

Finally he juddered with release, his seed bursting deep within her, the pulsing column of gnarled flesh delivering her own shameful peak. Her eyelids fluttered, and a scream of pleasure escaped her as she reached her own climax.

He recovered first, and straightening his clothing he looked down on her, lip curled. ‘Best ride I ever had on that thing,' he chuckled wickedly. ‘It's good to be back in the saddle.' Aching in every muscle, Maggie got to her feet and pulled her frock back over her nakedness. Decent again, she stood with her head bowed, staring mutely at the floor. He looked at her thoughtfully.

‘Who'd guess, to look at you, that you're such an accomplished little slut?' he mused hurtfully. ‘It seems a shame not to put your undoubted abilities to wider use.' He grinned. ‘In fact, I feel positively selfish not sharing your talents. A man should always share his good fortune with his friends.' Still chuckling, he strode out, locking the door behind him, his words chilling her to the core, and she stood on her own again, staring fearfully after the brute.

What did he mean by that?

 

 

 

After he had gone she paced the room, his words echoing in her head. At each turn she caught sight of that damned rocking horse, its painted eyes and snarling grin seeming to mock the memory of her humiliation. Even if she closed her eyes she could still see herself spread naked across it, writhing in shameful bliss as her new owner took her savagely from behind, in her bottom.

On impulse she stalked through to the tiny bedroom, flung open the trunk beneath the window and hauled out a blanket, ignoring the foul waft of damp air that came with it. Then carrying it through she flung it over the rocking horse, hiding it - and her own wickedness.

Finally, wearied of her fruitless pacing, she slumped into the chair beside the fire and sat staring dully into the dying embers, until she fell into a troubled sleep.

She awoke, stiff and cold, to find a housemaid kneeling at the hearth re-laying the fire. For a moment it was like an innocent glimpse of her own past, before Jeremy and everything else that had happened.

‘Good morning,' she said, yawning and stretching, and at the sound of her voice the girl leapt to her feet and backed away, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. Maggie wondered briefly what tales the housekeeper had told to cause such a reaction, and smiled wryly; you'd have thought she'd grown horns and a tail the way the girl was looking at her!

‘Morning, m'm,' the maid whispered. ‘Sorry, m'm, didn't mean to wake you. Mrs Grimes said you was to ‘ave more coals.' She pointed placatingly towards the table. ‘And I brung yer breakfast as well.'

‘A good job too,' said Maggie, keeping her face straight. ‘Or I might have eaten you instead!' But her weak attempt at humour fell flat as the girl's eyes widened and she backed even further away. Maggie sighed with exasperation; she must be simple or something. ‘For heaven's sake, you silly ninny,' she snapped. ‘Don't be ridiculous. I'm not some kind of monster. It was a joke.'

‘Mrs Grimes said you was a minion of Satan,' the girl gabbled. ‘She said I wasn't to talk to yer. She said “he who touches pitch will be defiled”. She said...'

‘She said a lot of things, didn't she?' Maggie interrupted crossly. ‘If you ask me the old witch would be better off saying her prayers instead of frightening you by filling your head with nonsense.'

The girl stared at her for a moment, commonsense warring with her fear of the housekeeper - and finally commonsense won. ‘She is an old witch, ain't she,' she agreed. ‘Even ol' Meakes the butler is scared stiff of ‘er. You should see ‘is face when she...' the girl stopped abruptly as she realised she was talking to the ‘minion of Satan', and then grinned sheepishly.

Maggie grinned back. ‘You see?' she pointed out. ‘You haven't been struck by lightening yet, have you?'

‘I will be if Grimes catches me,' said the girl, pulling a face. ‘She'll ‘ave me on half rations for not doing me work fast enough. Not that full rations are much to write home about either,' she added wryly. ‘Anything she saves on the housekeeping goes into ‘er back pocket, so she'd ‘ave us all on bread and water if she could get away with it.'

‘I suppose that's what I'm getting for breakfast then,' Maggie said glumly.

‘Oh no,' the girl assured her. ‘The master said you was to be fed proper, and even she wouldn't dare disobey anything he said. ‘‘E ain't ‘ere ‘alf the time,' she explained earnestly, ‘so she's on a right cushy number. She wouldn't want to mess that up.' She shivered. ‘And he's got a real nasty temper if he's crossed.'

Maggie smiled grimly; there was no need to tell her that. She'd found it out for herself. Still, ‘what can't be cured must be endured', as her mother used to say, but at least if she had a morsel of food in her belly it might be endured a bit more comfortably, so getting up she walked across to the table and lifted the metal covers from the dishes to investigate.

The aroma of bacon wafted up to tantalise her. There was a mound of crisp rashers and half a dozen plump sausages, glistening with fat. Under the other cover was a huge plate of kedgeree, and beside it all sat a pile of thinly cut bread, thick with country butter. The whole lot was accompanied by a steaming pot of tea, and her mouth watered just looking at it.

But hers wasn't the only one. The maid was looking at the pile of food enviously and Maggie noticed for the first time how pale and thin she was. In fact, a puff of wind could blow her away. As she watched, the girl's tongue came out and unconsciously licked her lips.

‘Lucky bugger,' she whispered, almost to herself. ‘You got enough there to feed the five thousand,' then it evidently dawned on her what she'd said and her hand flew to her mouth in dismay. ‘Oh, sorry m'm,' she blurted, ‘I didn't mean it.' She looked at Maggie pleadingly. ‘You won't tell Mrs Grimes, will yer?'

‘Don't be daft,' scoffed Maggie. ‘She wouldn't listen even if I did. I'm a minion of Satan, remember?' She picked up two slices of bread, filled them with sausage and bacon, and began to eat hungrily. ‘Fancy some?' she asked, waving her sandwich at the girl. ‘There's plenty here for both of us.'

‘Oh, I daren't,' she gasped. ‘Mrs Grimes would kill me.'

‘Well, I won't tell if you won't,' said Maggie, through her tasty mouthful. ‘Go on, be a devil!'

Temptation and caution warred for a moment - then temptation won. Following Maggie's example she grabbed three slices of bacon and a couple of sausages, wrapped them in bread and began to chew ravenously, an expression of bliss lighting up her face.

‘Cor,' she mumbled, grease glistening on her chin. ‘I ain't had grub like this since I went into service. Me dad used ter keep a pig at the bottom of the garden. He used ter slaughter it afore the winter and we used ter feed fat for a month.' She grabbed some more and stuffed it greedily into her mouth, but had barely got it in when the door opened and Mrs Grimes stalked in. The maid sprang back from the table, swallowing frantically.

‘And just what do you think you're doing, Harper?' Mrs Grimes demanded sharply. ‘You should have been finished in here long ago. There's grates to be cleaned and fires to be laid in all the downstairs rooms yet.'

‘Yes, m'm,' muttered the girl, eyes downcast. ‘Sorry m'm.' Grabbing the coalscuttle she edged towards the door - but just before she disappeared she beamed at Maggie from behind the woman's back and gave her a saucy wink, making Maggie bite her lip to keep from smiling.

‘As for you,' went on Mrs Grimes, looking at Maggie with unconcealed dislike. ‘Lord Anston says you may be permitted to take a constitutional this morning.'

Maggie tried to hide her excitement; if she was allowed to take a walk, there might just be a chance of escape. Even though the estate was remote, she was young and strong. She could get a fair distance away before they even noticed she was missing, and surely not every cottager was beholden to him? There must be decent people somewhere who would take her in.

Mrs Grimes must have read her mind. ‘You will be accompanied, of course,' she added with evident relish. ‘At all times.'

Maggie's heart sank as her hopes of freedom shattered, and then a more alarming thought struck her. ‘Accompanied?' she demanded. ‘Who by?'

‘By whom,' corrected the housekeeper.

‘By whom, then?' Maggie impatiently corrected herself.

‘The under-footmen,' said Mrs Grimes. ‘My nephew, James. A good reliable boy, so you needn't bother trying your whorish wiles on him, because they won't work.'

‘You may finish your breakfast,' she continued, ‘and afterwards one of the maids will fetch you some more appropriate clothing.' She indicated the dusty bell-pull beside the fireplace. ‘And you may ring when you're ready to be taken for a walk.' Without another word she turned and stalked out, leaving Maggie staring indignantly after her.

Taken for a walk? Hah! What was she, one of his majesty's horses or hounds to be exercised daily? Her appetite had gone now, and she looked at the food congealed on the plates with revulsion. Still, she needed to keep her strength up, so she forced herself to eat a little more, washing it down with hot sweet tea, and had barely finished when there was a timid knock on the door. ‘Come in,' she called, smiling ruefully at the absurdity; the damned thing was locked from the outside, so why bother knocking? It wasn't as if she could open it.

‘Mrs Grimes sent these up, miss,' said the girl, bobbing as she held out an armful of clothes. Maggie looked at them ruefully. The predominant colour was a muddy brown, and they'd been patched so many times they looked like a blooming quilt. But she shrugged, after all, who cared? She was only going for a supervised walk on the estate, not a hunt ball, and at least they'd be better than the mildewed attire she'd found to hide her nakedness.

‘Thank you,' she smiled, and the little maid gave a sigh of relief and scurried off.

The clothes were just as ugly as she'd imagined. She looked like a dowdy governess, and a poor one at that with all the darns and patches. But they were warm and that was the main thing. Once dressed she tugged on the bell-pull, and despite the fact that she'd be forced to endure the company of the old hag's lumpen nephew, she was looking forward to escaping from the damp, claustrophobic room and getting a breath of fresh air. So she waited eagerly for his arrival.

It didn't take long. Five minutes later there was the familiar sound of the key turning in the lock and he was standing there, grinning at her.

Maggie stared at him coldly. The family resemblance was clear; the same protuberant eyes, the same thin lips, the same pasty skin marred by pockmarks. Apparently none of the family had been blessed with good looks, though it was clear he didn't share her opinion. Running a hand through his greasy hair, he favoured her with what was obviously meant to be a winning smile, but was in fact a self-satisfied smirk, and when Maggie failed to return it his face twisted into a scowl.