Bedtime Confessions (The Chambermaid's Tales - Short Stories) by Sarah Michelle Lynch Page B
Authors: Sarah Michelle Lynch
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Cody's tongue (he still crept into my thoughts sometimes) and the very thought of that made me beg for her to make me cum. It ended up that she and Mark both worked on me; she licking my pussy while he probed both holes with his fingers. Oh yes, I could play the submissive little girl very well, taking whatever these men and women had to throw at me.
My natural inclination was, however, toward dealing out punishment. My own penchant for order from chaos, for control and physical exertion, was thus satisfied. For a lot of men who have erectile dysfunction or who simply cannot reach full tilt anymore, something they learn to enjoy is being engaged in a separate type of copulation. Something outside of soft foreplay, more communicative pleasure/pain. It seemed to me that this was definitely a more mature man's sport but I very much enjoyed it. Conjuring dormant desire is something of an art, after all.
The parlour maid version of me – an early incarnation of the Chambermaid – quickly learnt everything she needed to know.
Whenever we arrived at the Lodge, I nearly always left Flo and Mark to their own devices in the gallery rooms or communal chambers. I headed to the punishment chambers. I would wait in a suitably darkened dungeon in one of my many outfits, which mostly featured aprons or pinnys of various varieties. Sometimes I carried some cleaning equipment in my front pocket.
A gentleman and his wife entered and I looked up from where I sat on a wooden chair. The other woman stayed in the shadows but her husband stepped forward and admitted, “My wife requires me to be punished for my failures in the sack.”
In essence, they wanted something to get off on together. Perhaps that evening and maybe even when they got back home.
“On the table then,” I said, and he was strapped to one of the infamous Hambleton beds that were present in most rooms. Shackled down, I saw his penis was a little enlarged already. It pointed east in his leather pouch as if refusing to bend to the will of anyone but him. He wore nothing else except a leather mask across his eyes and the slippers most of the men wore.
“ What is his crime?” I asked the woman, who was dressed in a leather dress. I was in a red and black corset mixed with lace, satin and velvet bows. I could see his eyes darting to my clothing every now and again. He wanted punishment, it seemed. Those breasts which I had hidden for so many years out of shame and embarrassment were on show almost every night (whether at the Lodge or for Mark or other lovers) and were pushed up nearly right under my chin. But, only to taunt these men who I knew did not deserve my bosoms. They only deserved to look upon what they couldn't have and use the sight of them for their own gains or losses later.
“ He played with himself,” the woman said, playing her part. “Alone. Without me.”
“ Why was this? Such a disrespect!” I exclaimed.
“ I am sorry,” he shuddered, aching for me to whip him.
“ He wastes what few chances he has on himself!” she said.
“ Vile pig. Ugh. That's very bad behaviour,” I said.
“ I know,” he moaned.
I retracted a little feather tickler and started my work.
“Let's clean the muck off you, dirty little boy. Very bad boy.”
I teased his feet to begin with, before venturing to between his legs, across his stomach, under his armpits and up and down his throat. The insinuations were driving him to distraction. His cock welled in his tiny little pouch and his wife was drawn to the sight. She knew the ruse would need to continue, however.
“Let's rub down our clean little participant, now, shall we?” I said to her, and she got up to take some massage oil from me that I'd doused my own hands with.
We rubbed his body all over, as though preparing him for some sacrificial rite. His wife even teased her fingers underneath the leather pouch to punish him, before taking away her touch as soon as it got too much.
“How would you prefer
My natural inclination was, however, toward dealing out punishment. My own penchant for order from chaos, for control and physical exertion, was thus satisfied. For a lot of men who have erectile dysfunction or who simply cannot reach full tilt anymore, something they learn to enjoy is being engaged in a separate type of copulation. Something outside of soft foreplay, more communicative pleasure/pain. It seemed to me that this was definitely a more mature man's sport but I very much enjoyed it. Conjuring dormant desire is something of an art, after all.
The parlour maid version of me – an early incarnation of the Chambermaid – quickly learnt everything she needed to know.
Whenever we arrived at the Lodge, I nearly always left Flo and Mark to their own devices in the gallery rooms or communal chambers. I headed to the punishment chambers. I would wait in a suitably darkened dungeon in one of my many outfits, which mostly featured aprons or pinnys of various varieties. Sometimes I carried some cleaning equipment in my front pocket.
A gentleman and his wife entered and I looked up from where I sat on a wooden chair. The other woman stayed in the shadows but her husband stepped forward and admitted, “My wife requires me to be punished for my failures in the sack.”
In essence, they wanted something to get off on together. Perhaps that evening and maybe even when they got back home.
“On the table then,” I said, and he was strapped to one of the infamous Hambleton beds that were present in most rooms. Shackled down, I saw his penis was a little enlarged already. It pointed east in his leather pouch as if refusing to bend to the will of anyone but him. He wore nothing else except a leather mask across his eyes and the slippers most of the men wore.
“ What is his crime?” I asked the woman, who was dressed in a leather dress. I was in a red and black corset mixed with lace, satin and velvet bows. I could see his eyes darting to my clothing every now and again. He wanted punishment, it seemed. Those breasts which I had hidden for so many years out of shame and embarrassment were on show almost every night (whether at the Lodge or for Mark or other lovers) and were pushed up nearly right under my chin. But, only to taunt these men who I knew did not deserve my bosoms. They only deserved to look upon what they couldn't have and use the sight of them for their own gains or losses later.
“ He played with himself,” the woman said, playing her part. “Alone. Without me.”
“ Why was this? Such a disrespect!” I exclaimed.
“ I am sorry,” he shuddered, aching for me to whip him.
“ He wastes what few chances he has on himself!” she said.
“ Vile pig. Ugh. That's very bad behaviour,” I said.
“ I know,” he moaned.
I retracted a little feather tickler and started my work.
“Let's clean the muck off you, dirty little boy. Very bad boy.”
I teased his feet to begin with, before venturing to between his legs, across his stomach, under his armpits and up and down his throat. The insinuations were driving him to distraction. His cock welled in his tiny little pouch and his wife was drawn to the sight. She knew the ruse would need to continue, however.
“Let's rub down our clean little participant, now, shall we?” I said to her, and she got up to take some massage oil from me that I'd doused my own hands with.
We rubbed his body all over, as though preparing him for some sacrificial rite. His wife even teased her fingers underneath the leather pouch to punish him, before taking away her touch as soon as it got too much.
“How would you prefer
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