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

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  “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 reminders 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.

  Chapter XIII

  Becoming the Part

  The dress code at the Lodge was more often than not, bondage (so it would be clear who were subs and who were doms). Me, carrying a key around my neck, meant I was willing to act as either because I did not yet belong to anyone. I was part of a ménage à trois outside of the Lodge (within the confines of Flo's house) but otherwise I was free and this offered me more scope.

  There were other themes for more public events, such as invitation-only masked balls. The most privileged guests were, on occasion, invited to actually dine in the confines of that auspicious realm of pleasure. I was never offered this rare insight into the personalities of the people most high up in that particular sphere of society, though Mark had been part of those events once or twice. I think he had only attended those few times because certain rules were in force around the dinner table that he did not always approve of submitting to.

  Sometimes the fastidious organisers stated we were to wear period costume, burlesque, office wear, uniform of the emergency services or, even, masks only (though jewellery was still allowed). I remember my first masks-only night. I had found a wonderful creation in a traditional haberdashery that was fashioned with dark-green velvet and peacock plumage plus elastic, so I wouldn't have to hold it against my face all night long. I wore plain black stilettos and a single peacock feather hanging from a long, silver necklace that dropped below the gap between my breasts.

  I recall that as Flo, Mark and I took off our robes in the hallway as per usual, but this time to reveal us all in pure nakedness, I felt as though I were in fact walking sex. My bald womanhood was really the only piece of me that was on show. Everything else was decorated in some part, though I admit, my breasts were prominent still and caught the attention of many an admirer.

  That night my chosen poison was the Dildo Chamber. In the room, there were three small wooden benches, each with a fixed but replaceable dildo in the centre. They were of varying sizes but each had the capability of vibrating or twirling at the head. I chose the largest of the three and sat beside it, waiting until I had an audience. It was still early and guests were yet to arrive. A few lone males found me eventually and one of them asked, “Would you like to be prepared?”

  I nodded and he bent down, before pushing my legs apart. His hand rested on my belly and he took his time over my nipples. I knew not the man nor did I care whether he was attractive or not. He was just preparation for what came next. He patted my pussy and reassured me, “She's ready.”

  He withdrew and stood with his back against the wall, alongside the other men who were forming a perimeter around the room. I moved into position and slowly sunk myself down on the manmade phallus. I gasped and threw my head back. Said instrument had a lovely set of accompanying bollocks and I felt them cushion my anus quite comfortingly. I sat there a few moments to adjust myself to the size of the plastic weapon before moving up and down methodically. I put my hands behind my head and rocked back and forth, with my eyes closed. I carried on and discerned that men were moving forward to kiss and fondle my breasts as I moved. I kept my lids firmly shut and yet their mouths and hands kept coming, indiscriminately. I came with a cry and hunched forward, regaining myself quickly. Someone switched on the dildo without my agreement but it was too late, I was taken by paralysing ecstasy. I bucked into the cock fast and screamed. Between the hot mist clogging my sight, more and more men entered to watch the scene. I screamed. I contracted. It did not stop so neither did I. It felt as though my whole pelvis was chewing at its toy and thrashing at it in rebellion. I had perfected multiple orgasms by that stage. Between the agony and the ecstasy, I awoke to find some gentleman had flown to my side to hold me up. As I caught my breath, he rubbed his hand between my breasts and smeared the sweat that lay there across my nipples and further down toward my stomach. I heard one man say, “I think she wants more.”

  “Yes,” I vaguely stammered.

  Two men moved me so that I was on my feet. Another man turned himself into a surface for me to rest on by bending himself over. I clutched at his back while some of the others muttered amongst themselves. My legs were spread and my backside was lubricated with some of the juice from my pussy. One of the men asked, “Which size?”

  “It's never been pierced before,” I admitted.

  “Smallest then,” one said.

  “Yes,” I muttered.

  One of the men pricked open my anus with the smallest dildo and eased it inside. I cried with unparalleled delight. Every inch of that undiscovered tunnel vibrated with powerful, quivering enchantment. That tiny hole felt largely full. The man I rested on groaned too.

  “This man needs the same treatment,” I instructed, and some of the others got to work on him. The Lodge really was a place where anything went and nothing seemed absurd or ridiculous. It was all natural and healthy exploration while we inhabited that domain.

  Others in the room tweaked my nipples or kissed my buttocks. Others prodded my weeping hole with their fingers or touched my clitoris with their teeth. I was open and ready for pleasure. The man attending to my backside switched on the vibrate to the lowest setting and gently swung the implement in and out of my anus. The man beneath me was shuddering against my chest and moaning. I came with a force that almost slung me across the room and I knew not where my cum sprang from nor where I was during the almighty crash through my system that rendered me speechless for some minutes afterward. That encounter satisfied me enough. I knew that later that night, once Flo, Mark and I were home, we would talk about it and make love over it for some hours. The rest of my evening was spent sipping champagne at the bar, chatting to an equally naked waitress. We shared stories of hospitality work and the time passed very pleasantly. Many tried to solicit me for assignations but my refusal seemed to enrage their fervour and that pleased me.

  My leisure time in those days was taken up by either evenings spent at Flo's house or nights out at the Lodge. I soon came to realise that I had become key to Flo and Mark's pleasure and that without me, their relationship might suffer. Mark's pleasure gave her satisfaction and it seemed that for the time being, I was what initiated his joy. A lot of the time, I slept with Flo in her bed, but never with Mark. There were boundaries. I never tended to her but she did to me, quite often, and I never complained. It was easier than doing it myself. She was Mark's slave anyway and only opened herself for him and men he chose for her.

  At the Lodge, I saw how Flo opened her body f
or several men at once at Mark's request, but I was never sure whether she liked it or not. She screamed and begged for more and thrashed with delight, but I saw something in her eye that was not entirely satisfied. Some part of my intuition told me that she had grown tired of their lifestyle and wanted other things.

  Meanwhile, I found my place at the Lodge as a domme. I enjoyed whipping the men and they liked it that a woman who looked like me was actually in fact very strong and bloodthirsty. They also liked that I adopted the part of parlour maid so well before turning on them so sadistically. You see, I had found a little book amongst Flo's things at the house. It was a list of prostitutes that used to inhabit the original house of pleasure, Hambleton Hall. There was one record of a woman who had captured my attention and I considered myself a lot like her.

  Flo had peeked in on me one night in the Riding Crop Room and afterward, back at her house, she had questioned me how I had gotten so good at recognising what it was that these men responded to, and whether I had always liked to play-act. I simply said, “In hotel work, you see it all. Mostly, they don't think you're bright enough to have noticed what has been going on in their rooms. And of course, they might never have imagined I was storing all these details away for rainier times. But, you know…”

  “But you have taken to all this oh so quickly!” she exclaimed.

  We were alone in her bedroom and lolling about after an evening's toil at the Lodge. It was nice to be somewhere warm and soft, safe and cosy, with our little dressing gowns on and lots of cream to rub on our aching bodies.

  “Maybe it is because with you and Mark, I feel safe.”

  And with that, she gave a wry smile and held me, kissing my cheek.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “But also, maybe it is just that I see people, you know? I really see them. It's always what's kept me entertained in my job over the years. It's what Alex and I had in common and we used to share the vilest jokes about people. Oh, we were vicious, but it gave us pleasure of a manner.”

  “You're a dangerous combination, of calculations and beauty. I think, sometimes, nothing turns a man on more than a woman who can be whomever she wants to be. A confident one, too. Now, that is a catch for a man. In fact, you're the only woman I know who can adequately switch between the roles of the BDSM culture. Many women do not like to inflict pain or humiliate their partners. Some just cannot separate play from reality.”

  “Yes, quite. As soon as I am no longer a mystery, as soon as they know the real me, they will get bored. The illusion is everything but it never lasts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hardly ever feel pain as others do, Flo. My nerves were whacked by chemo and other things… Sometimes, when I cum, I only realise afterward that it has happened, because often, I experience what I can only describe as temporary blackouts, where the pleasure bursts through occasionally. So for me, it's a whole different experience. Probably a little like drug-taking! So that's why you see me looking so spaced-out sometimes!”

  We giggled and I continued, “And because I cannot enjoy pain in its full, I like to inflict it instead. Feeling, when it comes to me, is therefore heightened in those short bursts; not only pleasure/pain but also, all the basic human emotions. I used to have to battle through the day sometimes to overcome my emotions, which used to creep up on me sometimes so unexpectedly and almost render me disabled. But, Alex helped me with all that. I kind of made peace with my past. Now, I prefer nullification, both the giving and receiving of.”

  My mind wandered to the description of the girl in the list of Hambleton Ladies. Like her, I would long linger in the minds of men who took me as their slave or domme but I would never stick around long enough to become enslaved by love myself. I would give no affection in return. I liked the concept of being a cool, detached agent of pleasure

  “I noticed you had snuck a look in the book,” she said, as if reading my mind.

  I waited for her to add more, trying to hide my look of fear.

  “It's okay, no matter. I just wonder whether you're ready for some of the more intense role-play now? From the diary?”

  “The diary?”

  “Madam Lamb's diary, yes.”

  “Tell me a tale,” I said.

  “There were once whispers…” she started, and I begged her to continue, “…yes, I suppose I can tell you. The Grandmaster is thought to be the descendant of the bastard child of one of the ladies of the house. It was rumoured this whore, whose name I cannot recall, died immediately after giving birth. However, there were no complications, apparently, nothing to explain why she faded away. Many decided it was of a broken heart. The ladies lived by their own rules but true love had no sway over a man's choice of wife back then. Whether her lover really felt the same way, who knows. Whether he was meant for someone of higher calibre… quite possibly.”

  “And the child?”

  “Luckily a lot of the women maintained lactation for the men who liked it so the child survived. A boy, the child was. Brought up by the Madam herself until he was old enough to attend school. The women of the house had enough and would have possibly clubbed together for his education. I guess a lot is conjecture, a lot truth, but stories warp with repeated telling. I guess we have to be thankful for modern communication and social advances!”

  “To me, romance seems no easier now, Flo. Harder even perhaps. I mean, what do men want? What do we want? Don't you fear that Mark will never make that commitment?” I asked boldly, realising my mouth had spoken of its own accord!

  A shadow was cast over Flo's face and she was not offended, just reminded.

  “To tell you the truth, Lottie, I want a child. I've asked him numerous times. He says that we will have to immediately cease the lifestyle if we become parents. He is dragging it out, year by year, but how many years I have left I don't know!”

  “Oh, Flo,” I said, rubbing her arm.

  She whispered, “I often consider just taking what I want, but…”

  “You want it to be mutual and…”

  “Yes, all for the best.”

  “How long has he shared you?” I asked.

  “Nigh on ten years. Sometimes I wonder whether we would have stayed together otherwise. I often think it's our regard for the culture that has bonded us for so long like this.”

  I remembered that conversation for a long time afterward. Some might have perceived that Flo was getting everything she wanted, i.e. other men and still the love of the one man she really wanted. Seemed idyllic. I saw that she was in fact just a woman who wanted to procreate, just like most of us. It had never been a consideration for me because the possibility was small, but, I could see why she looked so sad sometimes. I also remembered that day because later, as we slumbered, Mark crawled into her bedroom and pulled me out of bed into his arms, forcing me to keep my whispers until we were out of the room. Once in his bedroom, it wasn't long before we were in coitus. And by that, I mean frantically making love with kissing and touching, not the disconnected fucking we'd previously engaged in. That was the first time I was disloyal to Flo. There were so many times after that, I couldn't possibly count them. I was never given the chance to question him. I just knew the sex with him was unreal. He had the largest cock of any man I had ever met and he was notorious for it at the Lodge. All the women wanted him; just because of the sight of it if nothing else. His appetite seemed to know no bounds. He threw me around the bed and we performed the most marvellous acrobatics. But, I did not love him. I couldn't force myself to even if I tried. My default setting with him was that, together, we were simply a well-oiled fucking machine. Our bodies, just clicked. But I hated that he smoked. I hated that he spent too much time at the gym. I hated that he was happy to enslave Florence, who just wanted his babies. His habits, tastes and customs angered me but I desired him all the more because of it. I just pushed my morals to the back of my mind and told myself it was pleasure, that was all it was, and what Flo never knew would not hurt her.


  * * *

  I wanted to take part in one of the re-enactments on one of the nights where everyone was in period dress. My chosen outfit was that of a servant girl; a plain dress in a clay-brown colour. Simple white frills poked out from beneath the collar and long sleeves and the empire line only accentuated my full bosom. I enjoyed the way the garment clung to my waist and how the heavy-duty, poor cloth swathed the bumps of my body beneath. I wore cotton shoes but decided that outfit was actually preferable to most modern creations. I was comfortable but still womanly. It was bizarre. My undergarments were a delicate cotton camisole and large bloomers. It's funny how different you feel in certain outfits. The mind is a powerful thing.

  I wandered the Lodge as per usual. Flo knew of my desire to be part of one of the role-plays and she fetched me to the banqueting hall, where a large group of people were waiting for me. A lot of the others were much more extravagantly dressed than I and Flo was wearing a black silk dress with cream lace trim and dozens of petticoats beneath. Her small breasts were pushed so far out to represent the equally modest bottom that men might never see.

  She signalled to Mark, who wore full Duke regalia (including powdered white wig), and he spoke loudly, “This is the slave who claims she didn't steal food from under our noses for the poor. We know otherwise.”

  “Punishment must be dealt,” indiscriminate voices suggested.

  “It must,” Mark said, and he took me willingly.

  I was bent over and a birch rod was extracted from a drawer.

  “Do you agree to be punished?” Mark asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The dress swishing at my feet was a comfort. I felt protected by it.