Author’s note:
Apologies for the delay in submitting this chapter. Life has been hectic.
I would recommend starting with the first two chapters, if you haven’t already.
It is not my intent or design to offend, so please be aware that this story has been written for adults of a particular kind: it is unlikely to be everyone’s cup of tea.
I filed this story under “Lesbian”, but it could fit into a number of places. Please be warned that this story contains mild elements of domination/submission, spanking, “first time”, exhibitionism/voyeurism, heterosexual MF and lesbian interaction. There’s even some references to horticulture. If you are likely to be offended by this, please read something else.
Please also note that this story continues to have lots of scene-setting description, befitting the role of the main protagonist. It isn’t designed to be a one-page read. If you are after more instant gratification (which we all are at some time or another), then please come back and read this another day.
If you like it, please do remember to vote. Feedback, as always, is what keeps me going; the more feedback I get the faster the next parts will be finished!
Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: All characters herein are mostly, but not entirely, fictitious.
Copyright © 2016. This is a copyrighted work. Unauthorised use is prohibited. All rights reserved by the author.
Lucy was to meet me after my appointment with the Doctor, but I was loathe to loiter close to anywhere that Mrs. Dempster was known to be. Whenever she was around I always ended up far more uncomfortable than I wished. It was not that I disliked her – to be fair, I had not really had a chance to get to know her – but it is true that I found her a little intimidating, not least because essentially she had ultimate power over my future at Laxton. Or, at least, so I thought at the time.
Unfortunately, Lucy had not arrived after some ten or fifteen minutes past our agreed rendezvous time, and I was sure that I did not want to be found still waiting outside the Doctor’s office when Mrs. Dempster had concluded her business therein. But just as I was beginning to get quite anxious, my roommate Tracy arrived. I had not yet had the opportunity to get to know Tracy (save for when she walked naked past my bed earlier that morning, but that hadn’t seemed the best time for introductions). However, she greeted me with a warm smile and, handing me a folded piece of paper, bid me a pleasant day and skipped off down the corridor.
The note was from Lucy:
Emily,
I regret that I have been detained and will be unable to meet you as planned. However, the day is beautiful and as you have not yet been placed on the rota may I recommend you explore the grounds in the sunshine, and I will meet you for lunch by the pool. I am sure you will find it without difficulty, but should you need anyone will be able to direct you to it.
Yours,
Lucy.
I read it twice, and each time was drawn to the simple valediction: yours. Such a delightful word. I carefully folded the note and placed it in the pocket of my skirt.
The morning, it seemed, was mine – and certainly it was a most beautiful day. I resolved to waste no more of it, and was equally keen to be away from the Doctor and Mrs. Dempster. I made off down the corridor, trying to remember my way to the nearest door that led outside.
The grounds of Laxton were extensive, to say the least. I had heretofore not had the chance to explore them, having seen only what was observed during my wagon ride on arrival (hard to believe that was but two days since), or had since deduced from the chatter of the girls. I had learnt, for example, that there was a large stables and several greenhouses, which grew fruit and vegetables all year around. While such horticulture wasn’t unheard of, it was hardly widespread: in this, too, was Laxton quite considerably advanced. I was actually quite keen to see the greenhouses, having quite an interest in flowers and plants.
However, it seemed that the door I had chosen had led me outside to an area laid to lawn, most beautiful in its own right with borders of carefully maintain flowers and remarkable topiary. Everything was perfectly in its place, and I was quite delighted to spend some time wandering around, exploring the immediate grounds in the sunshine.
The sun was very warm, already promising a glorious day, and it was with a feeling of complete freedom that I wandered that morning as my heart led me, from garden to garden. Much of the time I was quite near the house itself, with its numerous windows looking down upon me. Yet despite the size of the house I found it pleasantly architected and welcoming in its design and aspect; it could easily have been foreboding and intimidating, but I am glad to say I did not find it so.
Later that morning I encountered the stables, which were a separate annexe of some considerable size and quite bağdatcaddesi escort spectacular in their own right. I did not go in as I could see quite some activity within, with stable boys and a number of what I presumed were groomsmen and footmen proceeding with their daily tasks. I did not wish to be underfoot and in any event was quite happy to contemplate the architecture itself, so wandered away from the stable entrance and around the side of the building.
A short while later I rounded a corner and espied the greenhouses, which had been the original target of my morning’s adventure. From where I was I could see the tops of several large nurseries, and it was clear they had been built on lower ground, perhaps in a hollow of some nature within the gardens. I could see four, judging from the roofs, though it was difficult to be sure because they were so large. As I walked closer towards them I spied a gravel path that appeared to run the length of the closest greenhouse, itself on the comparatively higher ground that I was also on, and thus it would give a perfect, elevated, view inside.
I turned down the path and shortly came level with the first greenhouse, through the walls of which I could see a plethora of flowers, plants and shrubs. The greenhouse fit quite snugly up against the raised path and as such my view, while being quite high, was still quite obscured by the path itself. I was therefore keen to go inside, and so eagerly I made my way down the path, looking for a way in – there hadn’t been an obvious door on this end of the greenhouse, and I assumed the entrance would be further down, or at the far end.
I must’ve been a third of the way down the length of the greenhouse when I observed two figures within, and almost immediately heard their voices. I stopped in surprise when I noticed that one of them was the footman I had already encountered twice at my time in Laxton: once when he was busy spanking Sally on my first day; the other just prior to that event, when he had come up behind me as I left the washroom naked, save for a towel held only to the front of me, and commented on the niceness of my bottom. I blushed again at the thought, thinking what an eyeful he must’ve had.
I now noticed that the other person was one of the maids. She had her back to me and I did not recognise her. They were clearly conversing, standing beside a long trestle table that ran the length of the greenhouse. Presumably it was used for various tasks, but it was mostly clear near where they stood and the footman was leaning against it.
It was the body language of the encounter that, I think, made me pause to watch. On the one hand, he was relaxed, open – nonchalant even. On the other, she seemed quite tense, almost anguished…though this was more of an impression, as it was difficult to tell from behind her.
I suspected that they did not know I was there: in real terms they were only ten or fifteen feet from me, though my perspective was elevated and looking down at them from an angle, but there were plants growing high up against the walls and the raised path itself obscured most of this wall of the nursery. In point of fact they would’ve had to look up and through the higher window, between two branches and a thickness of plant leaves in order to see me. Further, the window through which I peered was slightly ajar – presumably as a method of controlling temperature or humidity – and though the opening was very small it allowed me to hear their voices. I imagined that the angle of the glass served the further purpose of reflecting the light within; I thought it probable this only obscured me further, at the very least making it unlikely that they would spot me with a casual glance.
Besides, they were clearly caught up with one another.
I crouched lower on the path in order to better see through the glass, and hoped no one else came down the path. I was keen to see how this intriguing encounter resolved itself, and while in truth I was a little surprised at myself that I was spying, there was something quite compelling about their encounter: her body language in contrast to his, and the tone of her voice too. It was frustrating that while I could just hear her voice – and his rumble when he occasionally replied – their conversation was too muffled to clearly make out the words.
Yet after a time listening and watching it seemed apparent that she was pleading with him. To the objective observer (which I fancied I was), his body language seemed quite open to whatever she was requesting, but nonetheless she continued to try to persuade, indeed almost to wheedle and cajole, such was her tone.
As I watched she moved to face him, he turning in kind to lean backward against the table behind him, and now I could see her face. I knew I had seen her before, but I could not quite remember when.
Again his voice came through as a rumble, and though I could not make out the words the tone seemed somewhat imperative. beykoz escort Her response was slow at first, yet as I watched, my eyes growing wider by the second, she raised her hands to the front of her bodice, and gradually untied the fastenings.
We both watched, he and I, as she pulled the laces loose all the way down, then took each side of the open bodice in her hands and pulled them wide, freeing her breasts from their captivity. I stifled a gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. She looked up at him in a way that could only be that of one seeking approval from another.
The footman watched, unmoving and saying nothing, apparently waiting to see what she would do next.
Apparently disconcerted by his lack of response, she pulled her bodice from her shoulders and with it her underlying clothing, stripping herself down to the waist. Again she looked up at him, seeking approval, an entreating expression on her pretty face. I held my breath, mesmerised by her blatant nakedness before his apparent indifference, but it seemed this time she had succeeded in eliciting a response: he raised one hand and, as I watched, placed his palm over her left breast. She visibly shuddered at his touch, though evidentially not from revulsion. She seemed to move slightly, and I sensed she had pushed her breast into his hand, seeking a firmer touch then he had deigned to allow.
After a brief caress he removed his hand and I heard him say one word; again I could not make it out, but she responded by again taking her clothing and this time pushing it down over her hips.
Such was the uniform of the serving maid that, even though I could not see due to the footman’s obscuring position, I knew, as she bent forward to push her clothing lower, that she would be revealing herself completely to his eyes. She freed one leg and then the other and stood, completely naked, her clothing in her hands. These she tossed carelessly onto the table to one side. Again she stood for his inspection.
I was amazed at how forwardly she had so stripped for him, and how naked and vulnerable she now looked. And though part of me was shocked by this turn of events, another part of me was unsurprised: this seemed somehow fitting in the hedonistic world of Laxton. I knew what would inevitably follow, but felt unable to leave. I did, however, glance quickly up and down the path I was on to ensure no one was to stumble across my voyeurism; it seemed yet that I was alone.
When I looked back the footman pushed himself up from the table and moved to one side. For a brief moment I could see the naked maid in all her glory before, to my surprise, she stepped toward the table and slowly lowered herself over it, her arms outstretched across it and her body bent over. Her naked bottom faced the footman, offered up to him. And in that moment I remembered where I had seen her: she had been the wistful girl who, yesterday, following the disciplining of Sally, had wistfully expressed a desire to discover what it might be like to have an encounter with this particular footman. It seemed she had sought him out, and now had her wish.
Much like he had done with Sally he stepped forward and placed a hand on the small of her back, to hold her in position. Again she shivered at his touch, and I heard a murmur of the small moan she emitted. Next came the inevitable: he drew back his other hand and, with a crack that I heard clearly, administered a sharp spank to her deliciously offered naked derriere.
She cried out softly, but it was not the cry of distress; it was the sound of pain mixed with pleasure both.
Unlike his spanking of Sally he did not seem inclined to merely administer a punishment and finish. This time he was taking his time, and though I could not see her bottom it was clear that he was caressing her after that first spank.
Then he withdrew his hand and delivered a second strike to her other buttock, again following with a soothing, sensual caress. Her small cry became a moan at his touch, and I saw her body tremble a little in throes of apparent pleasure and pain combined.
I had not before considered that pain might be intertwined with pleasure, but my obvious naivety was fast departing before the rapid education of Laxton’s way of life. No one who witnessed this activity could possibly deny the pleasure she found in the spanking that was being applied as, crack after smack he delivered a dozen, two dozen blows to her naked posterior. Each time he caressed her afterwards, taking his time to squeeze and stroke her beleaguered bottom, and with each strike her moans grew deeper and more intense.
Then he changed his approach and I watched as he swiftly delivered a further dozen spanks, each short and sharp to her by-now surely sore behind, and she cried out constantly as he rained these strikes upon her, and when he had finished his hand did not appear to go to her bottom but seemed to go lower, between her legs. Even I could work out what that must caddebostan escort mean and it was evident in the sound of a new cry, as she basked once more in the pleasure following the sting.
He took his time here, too, and soon the girl was gasping, her body writhing under his holding hand, her bottom pushing back towards him. I saw her hips lift as she offered herself to him even more, and her cries took on a new note as they raised higher and higher towards a crescendo.
I glanced around quickly to ensure I was still alone, concerned that they might be heard and others would be drawn; yet the thick plants within the greenhouse, combined with the lack of attention towards acoustics in the design, served to considerably dampen the sound. Only because of the open window was I able to hear what was happening, and even then the sounds were still very muffled.
Though I had looked away only momentarily, by the time I looked back the girl was clearly in the throes of an orgasm driven by the footman’s hand. Writhing beneath his hold she clutched at the table, and turned her head so that – for the first time since he had laid hand to her – I could see her face. Again, no one who saw could doubt the pleasure she was experiencing at the hands of the footman, and it made me consider both her plight and that of Sally’s the day before in a very different light.
I had assumed that they would soon finish, given how thoroughly he had clearly spanked her, but it seemed that he had other intentions for her.
Even as she lay there, luxuriating in her post-orgasmic bliss, he moved to step behind her, his spare hand slipping between them and, while I could not see what it was doing, to my increasing surprise (and, I scarce dare to admit: excitement) he evidentially appeared to be unfastening his britches. I believe that the maid also realised this, for she squirmed beneath the hand the held her to the table – not, may I add, in a way so as to suggest she was attempting to escape, but rather in encouragement and enticement.
I could quite imagine the view he had of her rosily-spanked bottom rotating before him, held as she was helplessly bent over the table, and I wonder that he might have continued in such a way with Sally yesterday, had the opportunity presented itself.
She lifted her head from the table as she anticipated him, and I was captivated by the play of emotions so keenly wrought on her features; it was clear the moment that she first felt him penetrate her as her mouth opened in a sharp intake of breath, then I saw him push forcefully forward and clearly heard her cry out as he embedded himself within her.
As I watched he took a moment to steady himself, the hand that previously pinned her to the table now moving to her hip. It was clear that he no longer needed to hold her in place – not that she had ever appeared to need restraining. His other hand he slid slowly up the smooth skin of her nude back until it grasped her shoulder, and so supported he began to thrust against her.
It was compelling to watch, and I could not drag my eyes from the scene, despite the naughtiness I felt as I intruded on their intimacy.
At first her face was lifted up, and I could see the pleasure as it played against her face, yet the emotions ran deeper and more complex than that: I fancied I saw humiliation and submission in her features, and yet ecstasy in the tremblings of her body.
But as he continued to push repeatedly into her, thrust after thrust after thrust, her head lowered, coming to rest on her arms, which in turn were braced to support his assault.
I could not possibly imagine the depth of the feeling she must be experiencing – my experiences, hitherto, had been extremely limited, and the whole matter concluded in far less time than I had been privy to this particular coupling – and I watched eagerly, stirred in no small way myself; each sob rent from her with his thrusts tugging deeper at my own arousal. I only envisaged what it must like to be her: I hardly really looked at him; obsessed instead with the thought of what it must like to be taken, rather than watching the act of taking.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age, but was probably only moments, his breathing became more ragged, and his thrusts shorter, faster. She too clearly felt the change as her cries became increasingly higher in pitch; I sensed their mutual climax was most imminent, and clearly he sensed it to.
I watched, mesmerised, as his hand reached forward into her hair, wrapping her long, chestnut locks about his fist, and pulling her head backwards. Though I could not imagine this was comfortable for her, she seemed to revel in it – further fuelling her arousal and submission to him, I realised; and yet in the same moment wondered, with a jolt, if in fact I was reflecting onto her my own desires for submission and, indeed, humiliation.
These were indeed most powerful forces, and I was grateful to him in that moment for baring her face to my gaze again. Never before had I seen such a naked canvass of emotion played out before me, and it was this – the intimacy of seeing her, watching her, during her moment of orgasm – that was far more arousing to me than the nudity, or the simplicity of the carnal act.
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