My breasts were totally out of proportion with the rest of me. I wore a whalebone corset, antique, purchased at great cost by my Master. He knew my liking for the styles and shapes of a certain period and he sought it out for me, especially. It was my most prized possession. It was made from Japanese silk, blood-red, with an exaggerated black lace trim. It fastened at the front, but was long on the body, skimming the top of my pubic region. It was certainly an old-fashioned method of body-shaping, with such strong craftsmanship that meant it could be tightened to create the most sculpted hourglass shape. The client constantly watched my burgeoning chest. That was his weakness, and indeed, most men's. For what I had was out of the ordinary.
I straddled his body at his waist, so that he might sense the heat of my groin against his belly. He groaned, lips trembling. I fell forward, pushed his head back, licked his neck and travelled over his mouth with the tip of my tongue. I looked him in the eye, flashing my best wide-eyed, innocent grin. His eyes narrowed and he must have judged me contemptible. Inwardly, I smiled smugly, relishing the control I exerted. I sat up, my back straight, grabbing the crop again so that I might use it to caress his chest, throat and stomach.
“You are delicious. So clean and innocent, not like the hairy, sweaty brutes I usually deal with. You're… untainted. Natural. Babyish. Ooh, I might take advantage,” I drawled, sultrily. “Oh yes.”
The things he wanted to do to me were racing through his mind, I could tell. Neither able to talk nor use his hands, he was terribly ill at ease. I laughed lasciviously and he must have thought me a witch, or a siren, hell-bent on punishing him. The restraints were taunting and terrorising his natural urges.
I untied the top of my corset, slackening a few laces, so that my breasts spilled out. I looked down, observing the curve of my two glands, which were now swelling out of the unnatural cage they had been formerly squashed behind. I jiggled slightly, allowing further spillage, so that the very tops of my nipples sat on display.
I breathed a few deep breaths, allowing myself the chance to relax a little. I stretched my neck and massaged it seductively, before ruffling my hands through my hair. He watched intently.
“I love you,” he said, rather prematurely.
My gaze fastened on him, hatefully, scorning him. I chastised him, withholding a curse under my breath. He panicked, having spoken out of turn, and I saw his chaste little expression, of admiration and fawning, unspoken desire.
“I am not yours,” I warned, “and you will grow to hate me before long. No more interruptions.”
For his impudence, I released a breast, and dangled it before him. He whined like a pup, salivating at the sight of it. I dropped it against his mouth, grazing it, and he tentatively reached out his tongue toward the dark-pink cohesion at the middle. He seemed to relax, hungrily running his tongue in circles around it. I quickly tucked my tit back behind its protective cover.
I shifted in front of his face, knees now either side of his shoulders, my womanhood spread before him. He eyed my black stockings and suspenders and snarled at the sight of what was undeniably the sexiest lingerie he had ever encountered. A globule of my cream dripped on his face and he eagerly reached his tongue out toward his cheek, quickly taking it into his mouth, before I might wipe it away with callous disregard for what he deemed precious. In between my legs, my groin was severely aroused. It was easy for me to become so. My imagination, my dress and the scene incensed my ridiculously high libido. I knew I could not continue unless I attended to myself. It was too much of a distraction and the wetness would hinder the task at hand.
“My dear, please nod if you approve of me administering to myself before we begin. I am a little too excited. I won't be able to concentrate otherwise.”
He nodded quickly, as if it were the easiest decision he had ever had to make. Those of the boardroom would never have been agreed upon so easily.
I drew two fingers towards my hot, wet folds and began mashing my clitoris. I moaned and arched my back, feeling relief wash over me. What had been crying out for attention was now getting it. I slid my digits over the protruding flesh, casually arousing myself, never rushing the pleasure. I took my time, enjoying the chance to cause my Initiate agony. I drew my fingers away, dabbed them over his lips, and moved back to my pussy. I pushed my fingers inside, moving my hips to screw myself, all the while letting him watch it all. He eagerly devoured my scent from his lips with avid approval. I moaned and breathed heavily, telling him, “Oh, sweetheart, oh honey, I am so turned on. I am so horny.”
“Please,” he whispered.
He broke my enjoyment. I glared.
“Let me, please,” he begged. “Let my tongue, let me…”
Secretly, I wanted nothing more than to have this young man's swollen mouth and tongue devouring my flesh and cream. I wanted him to bury his face deep within my vagina and anus. I loved nothing more than to have a man's most intimate organ touch mine. The gentleman's deep, manly tones aroused me. Oh, to have that voice echoing vibrations inside me, that was pleasure. For me, that was all I might require if asked whether there was one thing I might take to a desert island: just a man's tongue, lips and voice. Therein lay my fount of all joy.
Despite my own pleasure beckoning, screaming for me to cave in, the memory of my Master would always flash through my mind. He was always weighing on my heart and taunting me with his loving commands. His body was my temple, his heart my prison, his love my comfort. I was so deeply in love with him that I would have done anything he asked me to.
“No,” I told the Initiate, “we can't.”
Instead, I mutilated my flesh viciously, using the head of the riding crop, bringing myself to fruition violently and with vigour. He watched and admired it all, though desperate to join in. He squeezed his eyes shut and juddered, and sensing his seed was about to spring forth through no touch of either his or my own, I made myself cum alongside him. I threw my head back, felt my face scrunch up, moaning, “Oh, uh, yes, oh,” into the silence with him.
His cry was deep and guttural, from deep down, while mine was high-pitch and shrill. Even when the orgasm took me, I continued, battling it out of me as hard as I could, so that as my body sank against his, my stream steadily spread across his chest and belly. I fell down upon him, my buttocks on his chest, my stomach pounding with breathlessness at his ear. He turned toward me, kissing my thigh while he had chance, and I was powerless to argue against him.
“I love you,” he told me again, and again I knew he neither understood nor accepted the gravity and expanse of real, unsought love.
I went to the bathroom to collect some tissue to mop both myself and him. Once dry, I knelt above him, applied the gel, placed the shaver between his teeth. I manoeuvred my groin before him. He watched eagerly, painfully, seeing himself make bare what he considered the most glorious entry he had ever laid eyes on. He knew punishment would be dished out if he cut me.
I used a toe of his to make myself cum next and I saw as another splash of thick, useless jizz streamed out of him. I then hovered above him and let him watch as I placed a dildo inside myself, using it slowly and meticulously. I described exactly what I was doing all the way throughout; how to increase and extend pleasure, what it felt like, and how much more I preferred a real member deep inside myself. He shook in his shackles, desperate to escape, and I felt mildly guilty.
I broke free of the corset, and naked, lay myself upon him. I writhed up and down his body, sliding against his sperm, and made him cum again, with simply my body rubbing wildly against his. When it was all over, he was pliant and sombre. He never once penetrated me. I warned him that women were much more sexual than men and that if his wife or girlfriend did not know it yet, then he could teach her that. That he need not seek paid company to get his thrills. He need only be more willing and attentive to the woman he claimed to love. He told me the money was in his wallet. I released him from his bonds and he went to the shower. I ensured, as ever, that I made myself scarce befor
e he re-emerged.
Chapter XVIII
Reunited
When Noah left after that first weekend in my flat, my whole body ached. Not only literally from hours and hours of fucking, but a primitive part of myself that needed to be partnered was bereft without him by my side. But all I need do was close my eyes and then I'd remember his eyes, his mouth, his scent and, most importantly, the way he made me feel.
We stood by the door of my flat, him in his suit and me butt naked still, kissing slowly and tenderly. I could have stood there all day, with my legs and arms buckling under the strain of holding myself up against him. His hand resting on my bottom, he smiled through kisses and murmured, “You'll go and play with yourself once I'm gone, won't you?”
“Would you like me to?” I drawled, with my fingers in his hair.
“Maybe,” he said, smoothing his hands along my back. The soft touch of his fingertips all over my skin was mesmerising and so sensual.
“I don't want to,” I bravely said. “I'll save myself for next time, if you ask it of me.”
With his arms fastened around my back, criss-crossing my entire being, he said with a whisper, “Don't change Charley, not for me, I'm not worth it.”
He kissed me full on the mouth, suctioning my lips to his, groaning as he took the memory of it deep into his core, or so I imagined him doing. He turned toward the door, waiting until I was out of sight of the corridor outside. He looked back at me, with a hopeless gaze, and left promptly. It must have been when he reached his car outside that he thought to text me:
I'll be back in two weeks. It'll fly by. Noah ♥
I wasn't due in at work until 2pm that day so I went, back to bed, and lay there going over every moment of our time together. His scent remained on the sheets and enveloped me. I smiled and giggled. For the first time in my life, I was in love. I knew it because I actually felt really alive. I went to work a couple of hours later, with this secret knowledge. And every time I thought of him, my pelvis flooded with heat and satisfaction. With every drab room to clean or dreary customer to serve, I smiled secretly inside, with the thought that I was one of the select few across the world who was currently – at that very moment in time – revelling in the excitement and joy of newfound love. I decided there was no other drug like it. Nothing could compare. My darling Noah and his arms were all I would need forever more; my comfort, succour and sustenance. I felt terribly and naively sure of that. Some part of me thought it was nonsensical for us to impose this parting on ourselves, but my mind willingly accepted it. It was covetous to ask for more. It was a worthy endeavour to wait for the next chance to explore what was clearly much more than either of us deserved.
Two weeks, however, passed so slowly. I felt as though fate ‒ our mistress ‒ would inevitably turn on us and wrench it all away eventually. This gnawing at my newfound happiness was an evil torment inside the depths of my mind. I had one client during that period but it almost went terribly wrong. It was difficult to keep up the guise of the Chambermaid now I was in the bosom of love – a state not easily rectifiable. I was taken, physically, mentally and emotionally, by this compulsion and utter need to be with him. We couldn't even find the courage to call or text one another. It just seemed to make it harder. I just waited for the day. I counted the hours and the minutes and the seconds. I overcame the pain of being without him by literally taking one breath at a time. I had to envisage the day I would see him again. I needed to picture that just to get by. I think I lost weight. I slept more. I didn't masturbate. I was ill with withdrawal and the pain of abandonment.
I had given him a key the last time he was there, so he could let himself in when he arrived; I'd be waiting for him in bed. I had booked several days off work this time (I had lots saved up) and so had he. We were going to make a long weekend of it. He crept in the door, shut it, and walked toward where I lay. I watched him throw off his clothes frantically. I was already touching myself in anticipation. He was desperate to be with me too. He launched himself under the covers with me and groaned with delight to be back in my arms, kissing me furiously. He breathed heavily, primitively and hungrily, and immediately pierced my belly with his rampant sword of steel. All the pain was worth the delight of that renewed passion. I was once more, totally and utterly, cured of all ills. We searched each other's expressions desperately, so needy of reassurance. He looked pained as he shifted inside me, as if every thrust was drawing him further toward the agonies of co-dependence.
“Charley,” he murmured, “fuck Charley, I missed you.”
“Fuck me senseless, boy,” I demanded.
“Please, I love it when we go slow.”
Inwardly, I groaned a little. He buried his face in my hair, in my throat, in my breast, perhaps anywhere that he didn't have to see the look of love and servility on my face before him. In recompense for me having been drawn away from my former life of promiscuity, he sought to become the most sensitive and wonderful lover that day. I wasn't sure if this change of tact would enshrine our passion but I suppose we were so in love that we did not really need any gadgetry. The passing of time and separation had only made us grow fonder. I watched him kiss every little imperfection across my body. He traced the story of my life with his mouth, eyes and fingers, and his kiss and touch communicated back to me how sorry he was that he had only just found me. He should have been there before, years before, loving me and caring for me. But that was an unreality. We rolled about until I ended up on top.
“I'm in love with your hair,” I told him, as I rolled my hips across his groin and tugged on his locks. He held his hands on my buttocks and gently encouraged my rhythm. With his eyes locked on mine and his arms all about me, I felt sure that was in actual fact the most erotic moment of my life, especially when he mouthed I love you as we both came. We were in tune so well already and to me, he was the most gorgeous man on the planet.
He lay in my arms afterward, across my chest, and I stroked his hair as he rested. He held my hand in his and kissed it, squeezing it tight between his own.
“I've got you a surprise,” he said, and pulled me up to sit in his lap.
I kissed his neck and shoulders, and smoothed my hands across his chest and stomach. I only wanted to find entertainment in him. I needed nothing else.
“Don't you want to know?” he asked.
“What then?”
He gnawed my chin and growled and I purred deep into his throat.
“My lover,” I hummed.
“I'm taking you to a masked ball. I thought…”
My eyes widened and my nostrils flared. I threw him down and pinned his arms on the bed. I nuzzled him like a kitten getting its fill of affection and he laughed so wonderfully, as though he couldn't believe he had found a woman who was happy enough with only his company and not a single thing else. I barely kissed him, instead peppering his mouth with feathery nips and caresses. His face reddened profusely as he watched me enjoy his full lips. Oh how he groaned with my body above him, teasing him, and I sunk my belly down on his cock mercilessly, without warning.
He lay there, in defeat, muttering painfully, “I thought, well, you'll get to dress up. We know how you like that… uh, fuck Charley, you cock crusher…”
I turned backwards cowgirl and he held my hips in his hands, laid there completely paralysed by my power over him.
“Say my full name,” I demanded.
“Charlotte… Charlotte… Charlotte,” he ground out every syllable with precision.
“Oh baby, oh baby,” I screamed, “did you bring me anything?”
He had posted various bits of underwear to me throughout our separation but had promised me something a little more special during his visit.
“Yeah,” he said, panting, “it's in my briefcase.”
“What is it?” I asked, out of breath and delirious, with a huge rod impaling me.
“A corset. An antique one. I had to bid for this one at auction. It's pink… and… oh fuck girl… satin!”
Both of us weary and having ventured to another zone, he mumbled, “Plus, I brought a tux for me.”
“I'm not fucking you again, just because you said tux.”
He gasped with mock disbelief. I rolled toward him and nibbled his ear, heady with so many levels of satisfaction. I laughed and screeched, and he picked me up, and chucked my body to the head of the bed into the pillows once more. He climbed up beside me and threw some covers over us.
“I'm beat baby, let's rest,” he said.
We nestled together, me on his shoulder, tucked under his chin.
“Did my Chambermaid entertain recently?” he asked.
Hesitant, I ummed and aahed, until I explained, “It was someone who was adamant they were going to get the full shebang. I had to shame him into realising that was not what he wanted.”
“Oh. So, not a good one?” he asked.
“No darling. It happens.”
I lay for some time just staring and savouring his embrace. Like a child who feared they might never wake up, I daren't fall asleep, fearing I may never feel as happy ever again.
Chapter XIX
Familiar Temptations
The day after our heady reunion, we walked into town. It was a Saturday and packed with shoppers. He wanted to take me to lunch but I insisted against it. Mealtimes in public places were unbearable with his eyes undressing me. Instead, we wandered around the German markets, stopping now and again to pick up a bratwurst or pretzel. We went into the designer stores of the old lace market and we picked out a gown for me to wear at the ball, just like that. He pointed to it, asked whether I liked it, and I tried it on. He slammed his credit card down and we were done. Seemed too simple really. It was a heavy garment in swathes of burgundy velvet, with a sweetheart neckline and a dazzling cluster of jewels drawing oodles of material to the left side of my waist. It wasn't really my style but it was classy, for sure.
A Fine Profession (The Chambermaid's Tales Part One) Page 22