“Okay, you can stop now,” he pleaded, gently pushing my face away from him, his facial expressions seeming to be in both pain and ecstasy all at once. “Wow Olivia, you surprised me.”
“Did I properly serve my Lord?”
“You were excellent!” he declared. “You will do that again,” he said affirmatively, as if I had no choice.
I can’t wait to do it again Diary. This art of cock sucking, they don’t teach you that type of subject in school, and yet, how I excelled in my first lesson without any sessions in advance!
George was proud of me. I am proud of me too.
Sincerely,
The Good Slut
I closed the book immediately after I read that entry, Madame. I was wrong for snooping in on such privacy. I should not have looked into her Diary at all, but I couldn’t help it.
I was as curious as a pussy. Cat, that is. The pussy between my legs, it was more than curious. It was wet. Oh so wet . What turned me on the most were not so much her descriptions of this boy’s cock. I don’t like cock. I think it’s a silly, vile, obnoxious thing that has never aroused me. That was, unless it’s a dong, but that’s different, for it’s the woman attached to it - and knows how to use it - that makes it divine.
It was that pet name. The Good Slut. And how your precious Olivia expressed such pride in being granted such a degrading name. Looking around at first, and happy to see that nobody, neither you, Olivia, or your other servants were around, then I snuck into Lady Olivia’s closet to hide myself. I slid three fingers into my pinkness where the moisture of and the warmth of me drenched them from the tip of my nails to my knuckles. I closed my eyes and thought about Olivia - the good slut - proudly showing off how she was the true “proper lady” that wanted nothing more but to graciously serve her Lord. My fingers hurried in and out of me until my legs shook. I bucked against myself, moving faster and harder until I made myself breathless. And just for a second, and only a second, I swear of it, I thought about her going down on that monster of a prick, and reining it like the Queen that she was. That giant cock - she owned it in the same manner that you, Madame, have ruled over me. A sharp gasp escaped from my mouth, my body quaked fast. I came all over myself, my clear nectar dripping to my wrist. I have never come that much, Madame. It was Olivia that did it to me. Now do you see it? She seduced me. Since I snooped into her diary, I haven’t looked at her the same way again since.
I promised that I would never again commit such a crime as to read these lettres dangereuses. For a whole week, I didn’t dare even look at it! Forgive me Madame, for I have sinned again.
I read another entry of her Diary.
Chapter 2
Edinburgh, Scotland. 11 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
It had only been a week since I read Olivia’s diary, and oh my! She wrote many entries - one for each day, each one as naughty as the next. She continued seeing Lord George, and not just for leisure and company. Her descriptions of serving that boy’s big cock became more detailed and longer. She even had illustrations in some of the entries. One drawing was an innocent drawing of Lord George, fully clothed, wearing those aviator goggles around his neck, a top hat with goggles on that too (which I assume is the current fashion amongst his and Olivia’s youth, perhaps?), and his shirt, trousers, and boots. From the picture, he did look handsome. That was the only innocent drawing in there. Mostly the drawings were of Lord George’s cock. I could only assume that it was an accurate portrayal. I was shocked that Olivia took it so far. Furthermore she explained in detail, with even more illustrations, of what they did together. That shocked me too. Not only of the acts that she was committing with this vile and perverted young man, but of the places where she committing them. It will shock you too Madame, and here’s why. Many times, Olivia has sucked Lord George’s cock in your bed Madame. His come was all over your sheets. I saw the evidence myself. Sheets so sticky, wet, and gross with that boy’s semen. If I didn’t discover it and wash it in time Madame, you would have been in for quite an unpleasant surprise. And I would’ve been made to clean the muck out anyway.
She hasn’t only performed such a monstrosity in your bed. She did it in the dining room, where your royal guests dine. She did it in the kitchen, where your cooks prepare those grand dishes. She even went down on him in your palace gardens, behind the bushes, against the trees, watering and sprinkling the roses, daffodils, and poppies with his impure seed.
Olivia had mastered the “art” in a matter of four days. George was impressed and quite happy.
Not only did she want to be a ‘good’ slut she wanted her to be a great one.
“There’s more than one way to serve a Lord,” George told her.
“What other ways are there?” Olivia asked.
“Sometimes a Lord such as I wants to bugger the arse-hole of his Lady.”
“Oh really? I’ve never done that before,” she confessed. “Let’s get started then.”
Yes, she allowed it. Olivia let that boy penetrate her there. She described how it hurt so much that her eyes were gushing with water and yet it felt so good to her that she grinned at the same time while that boy was thrusting into her backside. He told her, “It’s okay if I release my pudding back here, my slut. It won’t produce any offspring.”
“Yes you may,” she cried. “Serve me your pudding in my arse, lots of it.”
He unleashed a cup-full of pudding inside of her . “I loved it Diary,” she wrote. “I’m more than in love with bum-fucking. I am quite obsessed with it? Is it wrong? If it is, I don’t want to be right.”
That was all they did for two days straight. Lord George fucking her arse for an hour, maybe two, “if he wanted to,” Olivia wrote. “If only it would last longer.”
She ended each diary entry with -
Sincerely,
The GREAT Slut
Oh Madame. It made me wish that sweet Olivia had a cock so she could fuck my arse for hours too. I dreamt about it. A cock suddenly emerging from her crotch region, and her wagging it at me as if it were a pooch’s tail. Her coming towards me as I was bent over the edge of your bed - yes, your bed! My nose lavishing in the scent of you on the pillow as she pillaged my anus, breaking it in two, until I cried and came all over the sheets just like Lord George did.
I woke up from the cold floor of the servant’s quarters, the tattered blanket barely covering my shivering body. What did I discover between my legs? So much wetness! From what? A dream! And about of all people, your daughter, Marquise!
I swore again that I would stop reading that blasted diary. It was getting me in trouble, if only in my mind. I felt so guilty. It was exposing such indecencies that was not meant to be shared by anyone, no pairs of eyes were supposed to be reading it except for the author of such a perverted Diary. But if I was guilty, why didn’t I feel worse about it? I didn’t want to be right either. I thought it surprising that Olivia made not an effort to try and hide it or lock it. It was as if she wanted an audience to read her bawdy thoughts. Her writing - all the details and descriptions and the illustrations - was crafted as if she were writing a novel of her own. It was as if she were preparing for a steam press to publish the flaunting of her sexual liberation.
I had an insane thought. Perhaps she purposely wanted me to read it. Her audience of one. Silly, I know. I’m laughing at myself, how foolish can I be. Why would your sweet Olivia want me - her lady’s maid - to read her private diary? What gave me the right to read, let alone touch, such a prized possession that only pretty, proper, demure, and rich girls like her are entitled to look at, touch, and read? If she ever caught me, she’d think I was stealing it. She’d think of me as a thief. And what would happen then? I knew exactly what could commence...
I could get discharged, thrown in prison or - even worse - end up dead.
I have a confes
sion to make Madame. I love Lady Olivia just like I once loved you, my Royal Highness. I wasn’t only in lust with your mature girl. I was enamoured by the precious beauty.
It’s a blessing to love her, but a curse.
Olivia could never love me in return. Why would she? How could she? I could never be her lover, not even her friend. I’d be lucky if she even considered me human at all. In reality, I was of no more importance than the dirt beneath her metal-patterned pastel coloured silk slippers.
I could never hold her, touch her, serenade her, woo her, and kiss her, for these reasons. One, I wasn’t a boy. Two, I was a girl. And three, I will always be Angelique, the lady’s maid. Beneath her, never above her. She was my Superior. I was her inferior. Alas, that is my fate, one I’ve been used to all my life Madame. An often times wretched fate, and yet one that I reside at warmly as my permanent humble abode. Why, you wonder? Because at least I can still dream.
Chapter 3
Edinburgh, Scotland. 22 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
Being that it has been over a week since I’ve written to you, it is fair to assume that I had not looked into Olivia’s diary. After reading back the last letter I had written to you, I was frightened. I have never in my four and thirty years confessed in writing about my love for someone, let alone for a love such as Lady Olivia. I tried to forget about it by keeping my mind off you, Olivia, and her dirty-minded diary and instead on only my loyal servitude. It was hard Madame, not as easy as I thought it would. The reason for that is because your Olivia has seduced me again.
This happened only yesterday.
I was in Olivia’s room, styling her hair. While I was pinning her hair into a voluminous bun and decorating the sides with golden clockwork pins, I couldn’t help but be distracted. I was pining over the back of her supple neck, where the hairs there are wispy and soft, seeming more golden white than blonde. I wished my lips could caress her there. When I helped to disrobe Olivia - which of course is nothing new, I’ve been tending to undressing and dressing her since she was a little one - my eyes darted to her naked bottom. More than ever before, I thought it so titillating. It is so fat and round Madame, the flesh shakes and jiggles in the tiniest of her movement, rippling like a pond. Usually, it’s so fair, but this time, there were red splotches all over it. I had never seen her red like that before, until now. It looked beautiful. Her pale white canvas was now graced with artwork. The giver of those red splotches was the painter, a giver of dominance and control over Olivia - the muse, the object of this artist’s desires. I was tempted to ask her how her ass had got so red, but I held my tongue and focused on the task at hand. I was quiet, silently picking out her drawers. My curiosity was raised higher when, as I was helping her slip into them, I noticed how even her round luscious breasts were the same colour as her bottom.
“Been rough housing with a mate?” I courageously asked her.
“Oui,” she attempted to speak in my language.
“Avec qui?” I asked her with whom.
“Un garçon méchant,” she declared.
“Un garçon méchant?” I played dumb, as if I had no idea as to who she was speaking of.
“He spanked me.”
I was sincerely shocked that she blabbed it out to me.
“Qui est-ce?”
“C’est George.”
I didn’t ask her who George was. As you know, Madame, I knew exactly who he was.
“We were only playing, frolicking through the woods,” she went on. “He was chasing after me. He was so quick! He grabbed me by the collar of my afternoon dress, tackling me to the ground. Once I fell, he lifted up my dress and pulled down my drawers, exposing my bum.”
The thought of it - it made my clit buzz and my pussy shudder.
“Then suddenly he started spanking it,” she continued as if she were talking to herself rather than speaking to me, she wasn’t even looking at my direction. I was invisible and yet I was not. I listened closely. “He did it so hard that I let out a shout. And he didn’t stop. It hurt. He kept spanking it over and over, one hand after another, while he was laughing at me and calling me a - ” She was silent. Something was holding her back from admitting what I already knew.
“Calling you what Mademoiselle?” I gulped.
“It does not matter,” she said quickly.
There was a moment of silence between us as I helped her dress into her morning attire. It was a most gorgeous periwinkle blue dress, the skirt of it ruffled at the back, slightly puffy and exaggerated to give off the illusion that she had a bigger bottom than average. I cinched her waist with a dark bronze corset that had a clockwork design all over it, complimenting the pins that she wore in her hair. I pulled the leather strings of her corset a bit tighter, so it cinched her waist just a notch more. The lovely dear gasped a little, not at all whining about how tough I was since she had long been used to this only type of aggression that I put on her. It had to be done, because as you always remind me Madame, Olivia always has to look at her best anywhere, no matter the time or place . So I made sure that she was as perfect in my eyes as she is in yours. I also helped slip on her clockwork earrings and necklace then helped her with her bronze lipstick and dark-tinted eye-shadow that completed her look. She looked so ravishing, not that she didn’t know that already. She looked at herself in the mirror, turning around, the skirt of her dress rising up a little by the air beneath her, and then posing at herself, gracing the mirror with the most proud smile of satisfaction. If only that smile was for me.
“Anyway, back to where we were,” she was still looking at herself in the mirror, talking to me from her reflection. “After the spank I could feel warmth rising from my flesh, oh, how it tingled. George turned me over on my back, and then spanked my breasts too until they matched the reddish colour of my arse. You can’t see it now,” she bent over a little, her corset having pushed her breasts up high. They jiggled a little, and of course, naturally Madame, I was hypnotized. “But at the time, there were so many red splotches on them. And they were tingling too.”
“This George sounds more like a bête,” I commented. “Why do you associate yourself with such a creature?”
“It is true, he is a bête, but he’s a beautiful one,” her face glowed. “I like his company. He is a lot of fun. You want to know why? It’s not just because of the naughty things he does to me. He also takes me on rides on his airship, and we fly high up in the sky, and from there I have the most beautiful view of Scotland that you could never see from land. I never knew just how lovely, how emerald green this part of the world looks, until George showed me it from up there. It’s so dreamy, like he is,” she sighed. “He inspires me so much Angelique. He really is an amazing boy.”
“You like this boy a lot it seems, don’t you, Mademoiselle?”
“I wouldn’t let him do what he did to me if I didn’t Angelique. And I don’t trust any lad to take me a ride on his airship. Not all of them know how to fly as well as he does. I really like him.”
My heart suddenly felt cold. Not that it was all that warm to begin with, but oh, how much colder it got. If only you were there Madame, I have never seen her smile like the way she did while talking about that boy. And the sound of her voice, there was immense warmth there. It could melt Antarctica. Her cheeks were pink like a tulip. Her face so more warm, soft, and supple than usual. As she spoke, I could see it - her longing for this lad’s presence to suddenly appear. Thankfully, no technological advancement of this day and age could make that happen, but how her face longed for that invention to come true. And how it made me feel even colder. What was this frost that I was feeling? Was it jealousy?
“Why are you telling me this Mademoiselle?” I looked down as I helped to slip on her shoes that was adorned with clockwork features and little broaches of Queen Victoria all over it. “You’ve never spoken to
me of such intimacies about anyone, especially not between you and a lad.”
“Who else do you expect me to tell?” she said with an attitude. “I can’t tell my mother.”
That attitude in her voice was normal. Such a sassy thing your daughter always has been Madame. She got it from you.
“What about your friends?” I asked her politely.
“They’d judge me.”
“So you come to me instead?” I raised my eyebrow. “But why?”
“Because,” she stared at me with her big blue eyes electrifying with a threatening glare. “If you were to tell anyone about George and me, nobody would believe you. I could get you discharged for lying and have you sent to jail for corrupting my image and my reputation.”
Madame, even with her tone of voice so cruel, so menacing, so evil - like yours when you are wicked - my heart still fluttered for her. And I will admit, the lust in my body intensified.
“You wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you?” the tone of her voice was low and fiery.
“No I would not Mademoiselle,” I spoke calmly,trying to not show her that I was slightly afraid of her. “I won’t expose a word about our conversations to anyone. I promise.”
“Very good pet!” she patted my head. “Now run along.”
I obeyed her command. Away I went, tending to my other duties that had nothing to do with her.
Later that same day, I dressed her in her yellow afternoon gown that was in the same fashion as her morning gown and I styled her hair into bunches of curls, adorning the top of her pretty head with a feathered matching hat that had a mixture of silver and bronze clock gears and red rubies all over it. Oh how marvellous her light pink breasts looked the tops bare but displayed modestly enough to not offend or over-excite. There was a knocking on the door as we went downstairs. The butler answered it and before him was a young man. He walked in with a strut to his step. His Brutus hair style was as shiny as his teeth. His breeches, coincidentally matching the colour of Olivia’s decorative afternoon dress, were indeed rather tight and had ties and buttons at the knees. His boots were the shiniest pair I have ever seen. His shirt was white; the waist coat double breasted. His black overcoat had fur around the collar and he sported a tall hat on his head that had the aviator goggles that Olivia spoke of so much. I couldn’t help but look out the window; from the outside I could see that he had one of those shiny bronze cars that is run solely by the light from the sun and the moon. It was dazzling, just as the boy was. Not that I found him as handsome as Olivia clearly did, but that could have been my jealousy taking over . If I really had to be honest with myself, and just toss my jealousy aside from the moment, the lad was very good looking.
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