The Scullery Maid

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The Scullery Maid

 

By Dreadlocks

 

I couldn’t help but be swayed by the waif-like girl who scrubbed at the stones, the hearth being used almost continuously that winter. Were it not for the wasp-like frock she wore, her womanly figure may have been entirely obscured. Someone cared about how they looked; at one time at least, although the garment had certainly seen better days.

One of my maids had recently been taken ill and had made the long journey home to Londonderry to recover with her family. In the interim, I needed another to cover the vacancy. Looking to the shopkeeper, I inquired after the girl.

It seemed that she was much maligned in her home and fled to Bristol to escape the shame of an ill-advised romance with a local barber. She had once been his assistant but quickly became much more than that, apparently.

The shopkeeper had no particular attraction to the girl and was easily plied with the lubricant of a gold sovereign. It seemed so ludicrous that a human being could be worth so little to anyone, but so it was, and far be it from me to deny the girl a better existence.

All she owned in the world fit into a small case, which easily fit under the seat of my barouche. Never in her life had she ridden in such style, and was amazed by the accoutrements within.

“How do you call yourself, girl?” I asked, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence in the box.

“Emily, ma’am.” She answered. Then thinking to be more thorough added, “Farnsworth, ma’am, Emily Anne Farnsworth.”

Surely the name didn’t match the title, as the only Farnsworth in the area were of blue blood, and certainly wouldn’t allow such difficult times to fall upon one of their own, however egregious her transgressions. “Farnsworth? Do you mean you are from Wells?”

“No, ma’am. My family was once associated with that great family and took the name many years ago. No, we are of simple means. My father is a butcher, in Bibury.” Realizing she had spoken too liberally, she apologized.

“No need for apologies here,” I assured her. As we pulled through the gates to my estate, I was pleased to see her smile. “You like what you see?”

“How could anyone not, ma’am.” She mused, eyeing the formidable castle and grounds.

“It may seem overly large, but you will soon learn every inch of it,” I promised, as one of my footmen opened the carriage door to allow us to disembark. “Mr. Goodwin, will you please see Miss Farnsworth to Mrs. Chadwick and inform her that with her arrival, we are at full complement.” The older man seemed put out but quickly set to the task.

“Very good, milady.” He whispered, as he handled the young girl’s case with little effort.

I watched as she followed him, and could not deny that I was most enthralled with the girl, despite her standing. She was a true beauty, and I hoped that she might clean up well, so that I might enjoy her company in a more civilized manner.

Not many in my circle were familiar with my propensity for women, and none were aware of any of my more questionable vices. Those I kept strictly to myself, as any revelation of their true perversity would undoubtedly lead to my downfall.

Despite my stature, and however distant, royal blood, I had a most lamentable weakness. When it came to matters in the bedroom, I was far less domineering than my title might suppose. The unfortunate truth was that I was interminably submissive.

I did my best to hide it from the few lovers that I have taken to my bed, disguising my pliability as a love for equality. I had never been with a man in my life, and that fact alone had many in my household wondering if there might never be an heir to replace me, that would be fruit of my own womb.

Later that same evening, I was pleased to find one of my favorite playmates at supper, a complete surprise. Marion, the dear daughter of my distant cousin, had been a constant companion for many months. She was of the same ilk, finding no pleasure in men whatsoever.

It was so fortuitous, as I had just completed the decoration of a most secret room adjacent to my boudoir. Aside from the paneling of the place, no one was aware of its existence, as it was kept under the strictest lock, the key to which I wore between my ample bosoms.

The ‘decorations’ had been inspired by one of my favorite memoirs, and another devastating secret I hoped to take to my grave. I had come across a copy of the forbidden text some years before, and I would love to have thanked the Marquis myself, were he not already enjoying that eternal sleep so avidly promised.

As each piece arrived from Paris, I had given strict instructions that the crates only be opened by my own hand. Although this raised some suspicion amongst the more inquisitive of my house, most seemed oblivious.

“I trust you will not be making the journey back to London too soon, Marion,” I suggested, running a fingernail over her delicate skin as we retired to the salon.

“No, milady. I have every intention of staying the week, as long as I am not too bold by so abusing my invitation.” She winked, her expression hardened by her most forbidden knowledge. She alone knew my secret, and kept too well how easily she might ply the knowledge.

Occasionally, she would use the threat of exposure to heighten my pleasure, for she knew that the idea of that ultimate humiliation was a constant source of arousal.

“It is finished.” Was all I allowed, as we sipped port, the idea trying her patience, for she alone knew what the room contained. Marion would have her way with me. She had done so many times before, but only now it would be in earnest, with tools to tempt even the most diabolical perversions.

Marion’s eyes grew wide as she entered my little chamber of horrors. To an untrained eye, one might think they had entered into the lair of the inquisition. But, although the implements appeared mighty, none were meant to truly maim or harm. They could certainly inflict pain, but then, what is pleasure without a modicum of pain to temper it.

Marion had stripped me, most savagely, and I would most certainly never be afforded the luxury of wearing that gown ever again, so ruthless was her handling of it. She had tied me securely to the cross, which was hewn so coarsely that the discomfort of being so bound was reminder enough of its purpose.

Being naked, and so rudely exposed while Marion remained decent was one of my favorite compromises. The lash bit into my skin as she experimented with its temper, finding the tempo and the threshold of endurance that I might tolerate without crying out.

I could see the reddened welts that crisscrossed my breasts and torso, and even those that errantly landed too close to my quim. A break in the lashing found Marion rummaging through the drawers of the oriental chest of drawers. This went on for a moment until she found something that caught her eye.

She kept it secret from me, palming it in her closed hand until she was directly before me, the ruff of her bustier painfully caressing the raised lines on my bosom. Raising the item to my face she unsheathed the demon blade.

“My dearest Marion. Would you have me shorn before all the world?” I begged, glazing over a topic that was so forbidden and yet so thrilling for me that the very notion of it coming to pass brought beads of sweat to my brow.

She teased my hair with the blade, severing a lock next to my ear; one that might not be missed unless one knew where to look. We both took in the scent of my sex as she dangled the long red tassel before my eyes, allowing it to drop to the stone floor.

“No, my dearest Bridgette, I will not grant you that pleasure. Although you might find it irresistible for the moment, you may hate me for it tomorrow.” She traced the dullest side of the instrument down the front of me until she arrived at a more expendable thatch of hair. “Now these fine curls, my darling, are in the most grave peril.”

Without so much as another thought, she knelt before me, my legs bound and spread advantageously so that my pudendum was ripe for the plucking. The tugging became a provocative scraping, and I knew that I was being divested of that secret symbol of womanhood which I had worn since I was twelve.

“Oh, milady, you will be so very exposed now.” Marion hissed, her deft hand guiding the blade until every hair that I once called my love nest, was nothing more than a barren branch, exposed and wet with its own shame.

“Oh.” I gasped. “I am uncovered for who I truly am.” Looking down I could see the freshly pared skin, pink from the friction of the razor. “I am brought down.”

“That you are, Bridgette.” She stayed on her knees, sliding her tongue between my newly silken folds, and the difference was beyond imagining. “Would that I might never grow a hair there ever again.”

We kissed passionately as she disappeared to her chambers at the other end of the wing, and we promised that the following night would bring even more debauchery than we might dream up only in fantasy. Would that everything have remained that simple.

The morning brought with it the nagging headache that always accompanied an evening of indulgence. To my delight, however, Emily had found her way into my chambers, looking ever so smart in her freshly pressed livery. She was busy setting a fire in the hearth when I made her aware of my lively state.

“Good morning, Emily.” I smiled, admiring the way the outfit caressed her figure.

“Milady.” She curtsied and attempted to leave, before I prevented it.

“How are you finding your new place?”

To my utter surprise, she turned and smiled. Not the demure smile that one might expect of a servant, but a wide toothy grin. “You are a naughty one, aren’t you, milady, or should I refer to you as Bridgette?”

Before I lost my temper, something even more powerful swept over me, and I found myself intrigued by the forwardness of the young upstart. “You think you know something, don’t you, Emily?”

“You have no secrets from me. I saw and heard it all when I was sent to gather your glasses last evening. Mind you, as shocking as it was, I couldn’t help but find myself heated over the spectacle.”

Her knowledge was of the most devastating nature, and even though I should have found myself enraged, I was, in contrast, ridiculously aroused. I felt moisture building between the freshly denuded lips of my quim, and all I could imagine doing was throwing myself at the feet of this scullery maid.

“You ought to show me how ashamed you are of that glabrescent mound of yours,” Emily demanded.

I was surprised by the grasp of the language this girl of simple means possessed. It lent justification to what I was about to do. I had retired naked the night before it would be nothing to throw the sheets back and display myself to this girl, who was at least ten years my junior. As much as my right mind would have resisted the temptation, I was not in that mind at that particular moment. As she had bidden, I slipped the thin coverings away from my lower half, exposing to her, my shame.

“You know, milady, I would not have been so kind as to spare your crimson locks.” She leaned down and ran a curious fingertip over my shaven pubis. “You may find my condescension far more tempting than that of your friend, for I have nothing in the game other than my own satisfaction.”

That was all it took. Some force grabbed ahold of me and hauled me out of that bed, planting me humbly at the feet of my scullery maid. I lowered my face to the tips of her well-worn shoes and placed a delicate kiss upon the tip of each.

“Oh, how delightful.” Emily giggled. “Now, why don’t you give your excuses to that imposter, Marion, and find yourself back here again this evening.” She gathered her things and walked away, leaving me prostrate on the floor, naked. Turning at the entrance, she smiled as she dangled the key which I so carefully hid, slipping the golden chain about her neck. “I’ll be waiting, in there.” And with that, she was gone.

What had happened stirred me to my very core, and the idea that I might very well be exposed as the most ridiculous spectacle in her Majesty’s court, drove me mad all that day. I quickly dispatched Marion, saying that I was not at all well, and that she might better protect herself.

The ploy worked well enough but did little to dispel the feeling of dread I was beginning to host in my gut. Marion, I knew. She had as much to lose as I, should any of our dealings be exposed. Emily was certainly an unknown.

Something told me not everything she had told me about her origins was entirely true. She was obviously well educated, and that sort of command does not come of scrubbing floors and setting fires. I suspected there was more to her than met the eye.

All day I went in fear of crossing her path. To my relief, when in fact we did find each other in one anothers’ company, she played the part. I wondered for how long I might expect her to be so courteous.

I barely ate anything at supper, and that played well into the excuse I had given Marion, who surely must have told some of my staff, for they were exceedingly concerned. As I stood from table, I pulled Mrs. Chadwick aside and requested that Emily be given to me for the evening.

She was obliging but wondered why I might not want my own lady’s maid to wait on me, seeing as I was unwell. I assured her that Emily seemed to have her wits about her, and was well up to the task. The stage was set.

I took a glass of port, if only to calm my nerves. I ran a fearful hand through my waist-length hair, wondering if Emily might follow through on her threat of that morning. Surely, she wouldn’t be so rash as to humiliate me so.

Each stair I climbed sent a shiver through my spine, knowing that this girl, this mysterious waif from a haberdashery in the village, was about to have her way with me. I was only mildly surprised to find a fire lit in the hearth, warming my boudoir and setting the stage.

Something told me that this girl would not want me in her presence clothed. Perhaps the fire was a clue. Piece by piece, I disposed of my clothing, until I stood naked at the center of the room, surrounded by what I had discarded.

The door to my secret place was open, and the scent of lavender and myrrh wafted from within as I grew close.

“Comest not to me, lest thou art divest of all your modesty.” Her voice sounded almost chant-like. Who was this girl?

I paused in the doorway, finding Emily as exposed as I was. She was exquisite. Her pert young breasts stood proudly on her chest as though a most skilled artist had painted them there. Her long blonde hair cascaded about her shoulders, and her equally hairless quim glistened with the same anticipation as mine did.

Without entering I fell to my hands and knees, somehow knowing that my crawling might please her in some way. Again, I bent to her feet, this time, paying homage to each of her toes as she towered over me.

“Enough, Bridgette. That is quite enough of that. You have displayed to me your willingness to bend to my wishes.” She reached down and lifted my face, her fingertips beneath my chin.

I thought to speak but then realized, I was without words. I think this was as she wanted it. It would be better if I remained silent.

“Shall we begin where I found you last evening?” Her suggestion was all the encouragement I needed. Pulling myself from the cold stone floor, I pressed my back against the roughly made cross, feeling once again its cruel nature.

Where Marion had sufficed with rope, Emily had found manacles, and secured the metal cuffs around my wrists and ankles, their jangle giving me shivers as they were skillfully fastened to the cross. My body was drawn tight between them, with no room for movement.

And where Marion had made use of a leather flog, Emily chose the most wicked of all the instruments I possessed. The bullwhip was Spanish and I could smell the rawhide as it kissed my flesh, the narrow strip immediately raising a searing welt across my breasts.

I did my best not to cry out but it was pointless. By the third lash, I was wailing into the confines of the cold stone chamber. The fact that no one would hear my screams did nothing to quell the fear of being discovered.

“This is very nice, and we may come back to that before the night is through.” Emily soothed, running her pointed tongue over the angry lines of skin that stood out as though they might be applied by some magic.

So pronounced were the lash marks that I wondered if I might wear them always. In my mind, that thought seemed to caress the most devious part of my being.

“Tell me what you fear most,” Emily asked, pressing her lips against my own, her tongue forcing my lips open and allowing her to explore within.

“To be found out,” I admitted, truthfully. As painful as the whip had been, it would be nothing were I to be exposed to my peers.

“Of course, you know that I would be the one to do just that, where you to disappoint me in any way.” She stated as fact. Wordlessly, I nodded, knowing she might even find pleasure in my undoing.

Walking to the drawers, she pulled out the one thing I feared most, especially in her hands. “Shall I finish what Marion started?” She opened the razor, its well-honed edge glinting menacingly in the lamplight.

I knew my eyes were wide as saucers as she approached, and I remembered her words. My body went slack in the metal cuffs, causing them to rattle against the wood.

“Surely, you didn’t think you would escape with that magnificent mane, Bridgette?” She giggled, running the blade along the length of my hair, its edge severing small snippets of hair as it passed through it.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I was betrayed by my own lust. She knew exactly what I craved, despite my knowing how devastating the act might be.

“Shall I give you a choice then?” She bent to my sex, allowing her tongue to caress my nubbin, bringing it to its most rigid form. Suddenly, she brought the blade to bear, its devastating edge perilously close to my most precious anatomy. “The devil’s teat removed, and all our fun complete, or your fiery mane and the game goes on.”

“Oh, God, my hair. Just take it.” The words just flew out of my mouth, but I was earnestly relieved to see that evil instrument well away from my sex.

The method by which Emily proceeded was pure inspiration. She sat on the edge of my torture throne, her quim pointed into my open mouth. Her scent was absolute heaven as I descended upon it, knowing that as soon as I did, her blade would begin my ruination. To make matters even more ludicrous, as the blade did its worst and I felt her breath for the first time on my shameful skull, her toes made certain that I was well entertained.

It was madness. There I was, worshipping this girl whom I had only hired the day before, while she divested me of my prideful locks, all the while ensuring that I found the process the most sexually arousing experience of my life.

Each bundle of hair that fell from my head, buried what she was doing beneath with her toes, well inside me. I lost track of the count, but I had reached my peak so often that I thought I might literally die of pleasure.

Emily herself had to pause a few times to allow the waves of lust to course through her, lest she shave off more than my hair.

“I would never have cut you, you know.” She admitted, running her cool fingertips over my bald head.

“How am I to face the world now?” I asked, looking at myself in the mirror that graced the wall in my boudoir. My head was white as snow and bulbous as a hen’s egg. The only thing betraying the grotesque globe were my ears, which seemed to be mocking me as I stared at my reflection.

“You have two choices, my slave.” Emily referred to me, for the first time. “You can send me on an errand, so that I might retrieve a wig, or you can bravely bare yourself as the submissive you truly are.”

I looked back into my lair, all that remained of my beautiful red mane scattered about the floor. I thought how fitting; to simply leave it there to be pushed into the corners like so much straw in a stable.

After I had dressed Emily in my own finery, admitting that she looked far better in it than I ever did, I donned her livery and curtsied to her in earnest. “It is time to pay the piper, milady.” I sighed, opening the door to the passage and my inevitable humiliation.

2 responses to “The Scullery Maid

  1. I absolutely love the detail you put into this — the dialogue alone and verbiage used was really well done. I also liked how you teased that Emily was more than she seemed. If you continue with this storyline, it’ll be interesting to see where it goes.

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