Valves & Vixens

by Nicole Gestalt

  His solar powered chariot carried me to Georgie’s place in the afternoon. I so looked forward to what we had planned: having a picnic at the park where we’d sip on hot tea and dine on cool cucumber sandwiches. On my way there, I smiled to my perverted thoughts, such as how after I’d sip my hot tea, I would immediately go down on Georgie’s prick, my hot-breathed mouth making him stiff - stiffer while I sucked on him gently at first and then hard, making him pant and moan. When he’d release his seed in me, I’d munch on my sandwich, so I can savour two delicacies all at once. When I got there, all the more excited, Georgie didn’t seem like himself. We went to the park and had the picnic as planned, but he was quiet, had no sense of humour, and - this will be the hardest to believe Diary - he did not touch me anywhere. That was a first. He always had his hands and his mouth all over me. Not this time. Something changed, and I didn’t like it.

  “What’s wrong Georgie?” I asked him. “You aren’t being yourself.”

  “Olivia, there’s something I got to tell you.”

  “What’s that darling?”

  “I don’t think we should be seeing each other anymore.”

  I could feel my face turning as white as a ghost as I asked him, “Why?”

  “People are starting to talk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we should get going back.”

  So away we went, my mind all heavy, my face so sad and weary. I tried to remain quiet, but I could not. I asked him, “What do you mean that people are talking? Talking about what?”

  “Olivia, you aren’t the right fit for me.”

  “Not the right fit?” I laughed. “Your cock fits inside me like a hand to a glove.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” he snapped as the solar powered chariot whisked us away back to my home. “I need to be in the company of proper ladies.”

  My mouth gaped. I was more than offended. I was hurt. “How am I not a proper lady? I am the oldest daughter of a Marquise!”

  “Then why don’t you act like it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You are odd. Too outspoken. You speak your mind too much. You are different. That’s what people are talking about.”

  “What poppycock,” I crossed my arms, my eyes watering so much that I could hardly see anything at all.

  “Sorry. I’m only speaking the truth.”

  “Piss off.”

  The silence between us was deadly. We didn’t say nothing else more to each other when we were closer to the destination. Once we were back to my abode, I stomped away from his chariot without an adieu. I ran up to my room, locked the door, and did nothing but cry, Diary.

  I loved Georgie. He didn’t love me, he never loved me. I was only his slut, never his lady. I cried so much that the pillow got soaked. When I stopped, I wasn’t thinking about him anymore. I was thinking about Emily. I will most likely never see her again. All my fantasies about her, useless now. My crying re-erupted again, and this time, the crying didn’t stop until my door was knocked to let me know supper was ready. I couldn’t eat Diary. I didn’t want to speak or talk to anyone at the dining table either. I just wanted people to piss off, leave me alone.

  My heart is broken. My feelings are hurt. I know I’m different. I may have been bred proper, demure, and polite, but that doesn’t mean I have to look, be, and act that way all the time. Sometimes, I want to be speak my mind, and shout, and make noise, and shake my hair loose to rid of its curls and buns, to not have to look like a porcelain doll. To just be me - to laugh, crack jokes, ask questions, and break rules. Can’t you blame me Diary for simply wanting to be free?

  Now, more than ever in my life, I am caged.

  Sincerely,

  Olivia

  Her diary entry stopped at that, and she hasn’t written in it since. The phrase that affected me the most was the last one she had written. It was printed in my mind. Olivia wants to be free. Wasn’t she already free? She’s not me. I don’t have wings to fly. I don’t have freedom beneath me. It is me that is caged. She is rich. I am poor. She is blessed. I am damned.

  How could a woman so free - abundantly rich and blessed - still want more from freedom?

  There are some mysteries of the universe that shall forever remain unsolved.

  Chapter 6

  Edinburgh, Scotland. 3 October 1847

  Dear Marquise Francis Blake,

  I’ve never believed in miracles, and yet somehow, yesterday, one came along out of nowhere. It happened while everyone - including you - was asleep. I was tending to Olivia, as usual, preparing her to reside to bed. Fluffing her pillows. Serving her a before-bed time snack of milk and cookies. Such trivial tasks that I always held so dear.

  “Ready for bed Olivia?”

  “No!” she sassed at me. “I want more milk and cookies.”

  “Haven’t you had enough of that?”

  “I have just a terrible sweet tooth Angelique. Please?” she pouted. “I’d love you so much if you give me one more helping of it tonight. Do it for me.”

  If milk and cookies was all it would take to make her love me...

  “As you wish, Mademoiselle.”

  I was as sneaky as a mouse, stepping into the kitchen, setting a tidy plate of three cookies and a full glass of cold milk. I silently returned to her sleeping quarters, my eyes widening in shock to find that she had disrobed herself out of her pyjamas. From where I stood, I could see that she was lying on her stomach, her magnificent fat bottom and the curvature of her back exposed before me, her blonde hair tumbling to the side in waves, far away from touching her skin, just the sheets. She had the sweetest smile when I laid the milk and cookies on her snack dining table.

  “Thank you Angelique,” she spoke, reaching out for a cookie and munching on it hungrily.

  “It’s my pleasure, Mademoiselle.”

  “I have a name you know.” She was already eating her second cookie.

  “I know that you do, Olivia.”

  “Have a cookie.” She handed the last one to me. “I’m almost full.”

  “Why?” I looked at her strangely. “Are you actually ill this time?”

  “Why do you ask such silly questions?”

  “People of your...nobility, don’t hand their lady’s maid cookies just because they’re full.”

  “Our pooches don’t like cookies; so instead, I will give it to you. Have it.”

  Lady Olivia was so intent in letting me have that cookie. If I did not take it from her hand, I was afraid of what temper she’d throw her way at me if I did not accept.

  I sunk my teeth into it. I immediately smiled.

  “Why are you grinning like that?” she giggled. “Is it that good?”

  “The last time I had a cookie was when I was une petite fille.”

  “Really?” her eyes widened in shock. “Don’t you like sweets?”

  “Oh I love them. It’s not that often, Mademoiselle, that people of my kind is allowed to enjoy such a luxury.”

  “Why?”

  “Now you are the one asking silly questions,” I chuckled, swallowing my last crumb.

  “I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

  “You have a mouth and a mind; both are meant to speak.”

  “If only Georgie would think like you do. He thinks I am improper.”

  “No you are not. You are perfect. Young. Bright. Funny. You are free.”

  “If I’m free, why am I not happy? Why do I feel so caged?”

  “What’s causing your troubles?”

  “Angelique,” she paused. “I have a question for you, but you must keep our answers only between you and me, and speak about it to no one. Promise?”

  “You can trust me Olivia. What’s your question?”

 
; “Have you ever had romantic desires for - ” she leaned towards me, whispering in my ear, “Women.”

  “Yes,” I whispered into her ear. “I’ve had a few.”

  “A few?” she jumped, her bare breasts bouncing, sitting with her legs crossed, her entire visage lit with over-excitement. “Angelique, are you telling me that you are a lesbian?”

  “Yes dear,” I gulped, partly afraid and yet uplifted to admit my most guarded secret.

  “I think I am one too.”

  “You can’t be. You like men and cock, don’t you?”

  “Yes, that I do, but that doesn’t make me less of a lesbian, does it?”

  “That’s up to you to define that for yourself. Only you know you more than anybody else. But, even as a lesbian dear, you have no choice but to marry a man one day, sooner than later, right?”

  “Only for convenience,” she confirmed. “It’s a ladies love that I want as my real and true husband.”

  “You are one odd child,” I shook my head, scratching it.

  “What does it matter? I know what I like and want, and what I like and want is a women to love. All I wonder about is - ”

  She did that familiar pause when she was contemplating what was on her mind before saying it.

  “Angelique,” she touched my hand. “How does it feel to fall in love with a woman?”

  “How you feel when you fall in love with a man, not that I’d know from experience. I’d like to think that it’s no different than when falling in love with a woman.”

  “Really?”

  “Love is love no matter the gender.”

  “But the sex is different though, isn’t it?”

  “In some ways, it is, but as I understand it the feeling is no different; it’s exactly the same.”

  “I got a secret to tell you. I kissed a girl before. She fondled my breasts while we did it. But we didn’t do anything else more.”

  “What else did you want the two of you to do?”

  “Well,” she blushed. “I really wanted her to suck on my nipples and to slip her tongue in my pussy.” There was that nervous pause again.

  “Don’t be afraid to speak what’s on your mind.”

  “Angelique, can you show me what it’s like?”

  “Are you sure Mademoiselle?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lock the door. Hurry.”

  I quickly obeyed her command. When I turned around, she was lying on her back, her legs spread for me. Her breathing was slow; I could hear it. It was calm, but nervous.

  Courageous, but afraid. Like me.

  I went on the bed with her, trembling inside, for this was the first time I was ever in Mademoiselle’s bed. And to have her beneath me, looking up at me with her tender blue eyes.

  The Heavenly Father has blessed me!

  I held her trembling body close to me, resting my cheek against her bosom. Her breasts were soft, warm, and comfy like pillows. I caressed them, my lips brushing along the nipple, areola, and the breast itself. My tongue caressed the first nipple, wiggling around it so to summon it to harden. And hardened it did, right at that second. Olivia was so silent, but it was her smile that was loud as she looked down and watched me sucking her nipple into my mouth. I suckled on it, gently, moaning so to create a soothing vibration to make her even more excited. It worked. I slid my hand between her legs, and there it was, her vaginal lips as moist as my lips that sucked on her other nipple, glazed with my saliva as it was being toyed by my swirling tongue. I caressed her pink hole, sliding one finger into her. Her Kitten - it squeezed around me. My finger was the key to her locket; it wouldn’t let go. I was locked inside of her, if only it was forever.

  My finger moved around and around in there, going in deeper, in those hot, quivering, shivering, wet pink depths inside of her. I slipped another one in; Olivia, in response, bucked her hips, gyrating into me slowly. Oh what Paradise - to be sucking on her breasts, finally relieving my hunger, no, my starvation, for those delicious beauties. I watched her lips quiver when my fingers, from two, to three, paddled inside of her, swimming in her nectar. She closed her eyes, trying hard to stifle a gasp as my lips hovered over her belly, reaching lower, and lower, targeting her clitoris, that electric-nub. When I sucked on that, the pleasure inside her exploded.

  She came all over my hand, her Kitten tightening and loosening and tightening and loosening again around my still moving fingers. I drank every drop of her sweet and bitter juices, my mouth cupping her entire vagina, including the pubic hair. I lifted my head up for air. She looked perplexed, as if she had just woken up from an unbelievable, impossible dream.

  “You are right Angelique,” she said. “Sex with a woman, it doesn’t feel different. It feels better.”

  When I lay beside her, she committed an act that I did not expect.

  She kissed me.

  The warmth of her lips was like a flame of a candle; how it made my heart burn. Her tongue was luscious, the lingering flavour of cookies on her breath. Her moaning was soothing in my mouth; mine in return was mellow to her ears too. I don’t know how long we kissed Madame, for the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes into hours and the hours seeming to last for days.

  Our kiss - I didn’t want it to end.

  When our lips separated, that was when I realised the relationship between Lady Olivia and myself had changed forever. It was then that I realised, as I looked into her eyes, what she meant when she wrote in her diary about how she wasn’t free. It was our kiss that unlocked that cage, made her spread her wings and fly. Not just fly, but soar - higher, and higher, to Heaven. The wind beneath her, a breeze called Liberation. Olivia and I, the two of us - despite our social class differences - were... Equal. Unified. Feeling alive. One. The Same. We were free.

  Chapter 7

  Edinburgh, Scotland. 15 October 1847

  Dear Marquise Francis Blake,

  Have you ever been in love? Has anyone ever asked you such a question? I do not mean your love for your money, fashion, corsetry, jewellery, or all the other finer things in your aristocratic life that I cannot and never can relate to. Neither do I speak about the love you have for your children, for you are indeed a great mother and love your children dearly. Or even the love you had for Marquis Blake - may his soul still rest in peace. You remember the first time you were in love with a boy? All these feelings - the butterflies in the belly, the natural reddening of the cheeks, the fire of lust in the gut, the hopeless desire of love - I have felt it too. Not with a boy, but with a girl.

  Your daughter is not my first love, but she is, dear Madame, the greatest love I’ve ever known. Despite my misfortunes, how is it that God has somehow granted me with such luck?

  I suppose it’s true that we really are all His creatures and that in his eyes we are Equal.

  Since Lady Olivia and I first shared a kiss and lavished in our sexual intimacy, it’s been as if we are living a fairy tale where we are the queens, the princess, the fairies, and yes, even the princes! In secret, of course. We do not frolic through forests, parks, and gardens like George and she did. We do not skip outside of the palace’s walls to parade our love and lust for all to see, and we have never done anything in the light. Only in the dark. The two of us, lovers of the night with the door of her bedroom always locked, the key kept close to Olivia’s pocket and the electric candles blown out with the blinds shut. It is behind that closed door and those four walls where Olivia and I partake in so many pleasures of lust, love, and romance. Nightly, your Olivia, lays sprawled on her back, her head on my lap, as I gave her a scalp massage that for some strange and yet erotic reason has her moan, gasp, tremble, and come as if I were fingering her, when I am, in fact, not touching her anywhere else but her head. Some evenings will be entirely spent on me sucking on her brea
sts and having her weep for the pleasure is too much, but she can’t get enough and only wants me to stop when she has told me. As the good servant, I always obeyed my Mistress. If she wants me to lick her anus, I do it. If she wants me to finger her pussy and nibble on her buttocks at the same time, it is my pleasure to do so. If she wants me to fuck her Kitten with my tongue - oh, I can’t stop even when she commands me to stop. If she wants me to whisper dirty phrases to her in French as she sucks on my breasts or goes down on me - baise-moi, fait l’amour avec moi, lèche-moi, bouffe-moi - I say it with passion because I mean it. We spend hours making love with the pale moonlight causing the sweat on our naked bodies to glisten. I sometimes sing to her in my native language the way I used to when she was a little girl, except instead of lullabies, they are love songs, lulling her to sleep with a smile. Parting from her before the clock strikes midnight is bitter, but sweet - so sweet that it gives me a toothache - knowing that I have to live another day before I can return to my Olivia after the clock strikes ten in the evening . Every night is special.

  Other than our love making and fuckery, precious moments have been shared, such as the time when she asked me about my past life. She said, “I’ve known you all my life Angelique, and yet, I know nothing about you. Isn’t that sad? Please tell me stories about you when you were young.”

  I told her stories that not even you know, Madame, for you have never asked such a trivial question as that. My life is nowhere near as opulent, luxurious, and rich as Olivia’s, for I did not have stewards, butlers, housekeepers, lady’s maids, valets, cooks and chefs, foot men, chamber maids, and so forth. I did not live in a palace. My life was more humble in the countryside of France, where I wanted for nothing but food in my belly, a roof over my head, and my family by my side. My career as a lady’s maid has spanned from France to Ireland and England, where I have tended to many children as if they were my own children, and catered to my mistresses, wanting for nothing but her satisfaction and approval. To be a lady’s maid is - to me - the greatest position in servitude life to be. It was my calling then; it’s my calling now. You must find all this boring, Madame, but my Olivia, she kept asking questions, always wanting to hear a story about me. I’ve been in love with women of my position - scullery maids, house maids, and kitchen maids - as well as women whose place in society was far higher, never close to my reach. No matter the woman and no matter her social status, I loved all of them the same, each as exquisite as the next. Out of all the lovers I’ve had, the ladies I’ve fucked, and the women who had my heart and my soul before Destiny broke us apart forever, Olivia is different in that she really does seem to care for me as a person now. Olivia, after I had told her every story that I can recall of my past life and my past lovers, asked me one last question.