A Man with a Maid
In the last section of my memoirs, I related in some detail how I at last gained my long-sought revenge on haughty Marion, the sister of my beloved Alice.
Yet to my great delight, this revenge turned out to be an unexpected bounty from the Goddess Venus herself, for not only did Marion succumb to my artful wiles and avow herself truly conquered by demanding virility, but also she brought at our very next meeting her saucy red-haired maid Kay, who she claimed was in dire need of a chastisement for impertinence. And with my aid, the charming Marion entered with full gusto and a wealth of sensual imagination into the fray, thereby providing me not only with a delightful accomplice who, once having been my bitterest enemy, had now become my passionate and secret mistress, but also with another addition to my growing harem of delectable and delightful maids.
When we parted that last time, during which I had managed to reconcile Kay with her ardent mistress, I gave her my word as a gentleman that I would not under any circumstances inform my beloved Alice what well-nigh incredible intimacy I had achieved with this older sister who, though she had not been a virgin thanks to a regrettably one-sided marriage, had once been as prudish and censorious of my bachelor actions as though she had been my own guardian or administratrix. We both agreed that if her yielding to me should come at all to Alice’s knowledge, it should be through Marion’s own person.
Knowing me only by name and by the images and impressions gained from reading my memoirs, you may deem me a profligate and most licentious rogue. With this I have no quarrel, since the passing of the years, the difference in our geographical setting from where these burning deeds of priapic valor originally took place, and finally the impossibility of ever having my inamorata or even myself actually identified, combines in a sense to conceal the most intimate feelings and thoughts and personalities of all the chief characters in my little drama. I do not hold with the vainglorious braggarts who feel that to herald their accomplishments in the boudoir with the fair sex, they needs must trumpet to all the world and sundry the scabrous and shamefully gossiping chronicles of their petty amours. I am neither prig nor puritan-and God be thanked for that-but neither am I a scandal-mongering adventurer who would malign by defamation the very beauties whose sweet generosity granted me such pleasures as few mortal men have tasted.
No, the boaster and the braggart, the Don Juan in the stall who feels it imperative to proclaim his cocksmith’s roisterings under the sheets and out of them to those who would gape and goggle and pry and intrude are, to my fancy, the basest of villains, and if one were to examine at the source their prattlings of tireless bouts of amatory conquest, one would probably find they had more pence in their pockets than honest prick. For the man who has the demon within him to urge him on to blabber all his nocturnal squirmings in the stews is deeply at heart a sadly inferior wretch who must compensate himself for his own actual lack of priapic stamina by substituting tales that would surpass tellings of a veritable Sinbad.
So there, I have said my piece, and done the only moralizing for this volume, for which I crave your honest indulgence. But now let me take up once again the thread of my own delicious affairs at the point which followed the departure of the charming Marion and her exquisitely saucy maidservant Kay.
I had made the resolve to ask Alice for her hand in marriage. Now I will confess that at the outset of my adventures with her I had really no such intention. When one has been a bird on the wing for so long as I, it is difficult at first blush to reconcile oneself to the gilded cage and to the regimen of daily monotony which invariably, alas, seems to follow the most riotously hymenean pursuits. On the day which followed the sweet reconciliation of Marion with her maid, I seriously asked myself if I was not, in making so heroic a sacrifice of my freedom, terminating at one fell swoop all those future bequests which Venus might perhaps have in store for me in my later years.
Would Alice become, once domesticated under my roof as my virtuous bride and the sharer of my fortune, for good or evil as fate might decide, a shrew and termagant, a Xantippe to my Socrates? Or again, even granting that her sweet nature could not possibly foretell any such dwindling away of warm ardor and generous affection, might not the inevitable repetition of our now wedlock-blessed embraces take on a more spiritual and at the same time less passionate tone? Would each of us make the error of taking the other for granted simply because our nuptiality would permit each to enjoy in due and respectful sequence the conjugal rights? These were, I can tell you, serious questions to be considered by a man undertaking on a sudden whim, however noble the pretext and purpose when the vow was originally taken, to sanctify his fleshly lusts and to have them blessed with bell, book and candle under a proper wedding canopy. Mr. and Mrs. Jack-ah, how mundane, how prosaic, how banal! Was not Jack and Alice a sweeter mouthful, and a far more fiery consummation?
But I had in the presence of Marion and Kay announced that I would seek out the dear hand of Alice as my consort, and so I meant to.
And so I did, as you shall see. One of the greatest joys in life, when one is perceptive and virile as well, is the spicy uncertainty of day-to-day existence. It is all very well to plan a week ahead to receive one’s tender mistress, to spend the waking hours filling one’s mind with amorous images and planning the most voluptuous dalliance. To be sure, in some ways this anticipation often exceeds the actual joy of realization; yet, for all this I would not gainsay the zestful relish which is occasioned by the unexpected and unforeseen.
Now I was looking forward to the return of my beautiful Alice who, with her maid Fanny, was shortly to return from a visit to an elderly aunt in Nottingham. I had resolved myself at last to give up my bachelorhood, but this was not quite so bleak a prospect as one might have believed. Because now that I had conquered the voluptuous and older Marion, I knew very well that I could entice her to remain my complaisant mistress, and that I could on occasion induce her to let me have a short, delicious hour with her red-haired, temperamental and vivacious maid, Kay. In addition, there was Alice’s own maid, the voluptuous and devoted Fanny, who would be in our household from the very onset of our nuptials, and who, I had good reason to believe, would not find my attentions amiss.
I was as yet too gallant to remind my wife-to-be that there would be times when Nature would put her hors de concours from my priapic sallies, and I knew that my sweet Alice would not be so selfish as to deny me pleasure when she herself could not accord it to me. I must therefore learn with some exactitude if the monthly curse which all women have had to bear since Eve committed her folly of the apple in the garden of Eden fell at different times for my wife-to-be and her charming maid. If they were not at the same time, I could solace myself with delicious Fanny while Alice had the megrims, and then when it was Fanny’s turn to be diffident, Alice would be the more passionate once restored to healthy action. For just prior to and after that accursed span which blights a woman’s capacity for love, she is exceptionally sensitive to all the little attentions with which a lusty man goes about wooing her.
And finally, there was the matter of Connie Blunt, that adorable golden-haired young woman of twenty-two, whose virginity, for all intents and purposes, I had taken in this very Snuggery which had seen the conquest first of Alice and finally and most recently of haughty Marion. I had promised myself that when Connie returned from her fortnight in Italy-which was a week hence-I should question her at some length as to whether she had actually lost her maidenhead to her elderly husband and whether that consummation had been the knell of doom for his faltering heart, or whether again she had clandestinely sacrificed that tender treasure between her succulent young thighs to another man to console her for being brought to bed with a man old enough to be her father.
So, since it seemed that Alice and her maid Fanny would be first upon my horizon of return and reciprocity, I made elaborate plans for welcoming my sweet fiancйe. This time the Snuggery should witness billing and cooing, the sweet swooning cries of a maiden no longer a maiden but yet in her feminine estate capable of the most maidenly ecstasies of the man-myself-who would soon be her legal consort and have every right over her delectable body. This time there would be no force, no fustigation or feathering, but only sweet fucking and maybe a bit of gamahuching, for I had already discovered that sweet Alice had the most effervescent of sensual natures when lips and tongue plied that coral nook between her shapely thighs with the expert diligence of which I was capable.
So after Marion had left me and we had both pledged to each other to keep the secret of our trysting till Alice should by her own divine intuition find us out, I arranged with the elderly charwoman who did the apartments in our building to give special attention to mine, and I ordered floral displays and purchased a case of vintage champagne and another of the finest sherry (both subtle and stimulating liqueurs on which the amorous female dotes), and I paid a visit to the caterer to order a gourmet dinner on the evening when Alice and I should be reunited and each to the other affirm the intention of becoming man and wife.
During my plans and preparations, I must confess there were moments when I felt the shadow of remorse tinge my mind with a certain nostalgic regret, but I knew that to be a natural consequence of my impetuous decision to wed Alice instead of remaining the stern, aloof master of his destiny and the conqueror of sweet surrendering cunts, which role I had so ably played until now.
I told myself that it was not the sacrifice of freedom I faced, but actually the legal addition of what amounted to a clandestine little harem, all within the family: Alice and Fanny, two handmaidens blessed by Venus herself, both equally tasty morsels for a man’s bed, each endowed with divine precepts, and yet each different in her own sexual propensities as well as physique and physiognomy to gratify the most vile and demanding of lovers.
Of course I knew that as my wife Alice would naturally assume a certain legitimate jealousy toward my extramarital ambitions, though doubtless these would be mild indeed if my attentions centered on Fanny, since then my lovely Alice would have ample pretext to scold and to punish that adorable maid. I had perceived in Alice already a certain penchant for erotic sadism, just as I had done in Marion when it had been her turn to be executioner to Kay’s trembling victim. Well, even the gentlest of women has that hidden resource within her nature, and that is why we men of taste and understanding cultivate the feminine psyche just as much as we do the feminine form divine.
So, I told myself with a certain placid resignation, if I were to mourn giving up my freedom because I could no longer dominate my beautiful victims by the lash and by the feather and by the bondage which the Snuggery so comfortably offered, at least I might witness and doubtless participate in many a connubial scene of domestic “crime and punishment,” so to speak. Undoubtedly naughty Alice would often conspire with me to put Fanny in some disgrace, perhaps for dropping a dish or not dusting the table properly, or for this or that obscure reason, and forthwith sentence her to chastisement in the Snuggery.
And yet I must confess that even this prospect at moments had its lusterless side. For when one can flatly expect and predict the outcome of amorous adventure, one’s ambitions tend to slacken and one takes a smug assurance from what knowledge can anticipate. No, for me, I had to confess, the unexpected and the bizarre created the elixir of excitement in the brew of virile escapade, from which goblet I had always drunk with zest and eagerness.
In short, I was accustoming myself to feel the relatively calmer fervor of a loving husband rather than the devilish and satyr-like avidity of the perennial hunter who constantly seeks new and fresh prey to whet his carnal appetites.
And then the goddess Venus, to whom I had all my life paid such adoring tribute, smiled on me the day before my beloved Alice was due to return to London. She, of all omniscient women, could best appreciate my feelings. So perhaps it was a kind of wedding gift that she sent to my door on this somewhat rainy and bleak afternoon preceding the day of Alice’s homecoming.
I had not, of course, been expecting anyone at all, and so the day being gloomy, I had put on only my trousers, braces, and robe, socks and a pair of slippers, and made myself comfortable with one of Mr. Charles Dickens’ best novels, appropriately entitled Great Expectations. I trow that our Lady Venus, the patroness of all devoted men, must have peered down from Mount Olympus and smiled to behold the work I had selected to occupy my solitary thoughts this dreary afternoon. For I had no great expectations whatsoever, except for the morrow.
What was my surprise then to hear the peal of the bell. Frowning as I sought to recall who it was that might have taken it into his head to call upon me, and finding no answer to that question, I approached my door and opened it.
What was my further surprise to see none other than Miss Molly Bashe, in the company of a slim, haughty-faced young minx of perhaps twenty whom I had not seen before. Her sandy brown hair was most elegantly coiffed with a series of carefully artificed round curls which fell on either side of her lovely head and down to the shoulders, whilst a similar row decorated the top of her forehead and reminded me of the heroine Pamela of Richardson’s great novel of the same name.
I must confess I flushed with startled embarrassment at this second encounter with Miss Molly Bashe, and with good reason indeed! About the time I had conquered Alice, and prior to the conversion of Connie Blunt, I made the acquaintance of Lady Betty Bashe at the house of a mutual friend. This plump widow was just under forty and was busy introducing her offspring into what is called by some, with tongue in cheek, “high society,” and this worthy and consolable widow had taken it into her head that I would make a prize son-in-law. She had therefore proceeded to hunt me down persistently, and her daughter had aided and abetted her vigorously until they both had become a decided nuisance.
I had not been smitten with the charms of either mother or daughter at our first meeting. Lady Betty, as my readers who have perused the first volumes of my memoirs will recall, was a tall, robust and buxom woman who reminded one inescapably of the painter Rubens’ fleshy models. And Miss Molly was a small, dainty edition of her mother in her eighteenth year. But the two of them were affected, insincere and unscrupulous, and to find this portly widow playing the air of a juvenile and affecting the silly mannerisms and even the speech of her own daughter was enough to turn my stomach.
You will recall also that the two of them had insisted that they visit me and that they have lunch with me. Well, they had had a dessert which was rather more than they had bargained for. I had Connie and Alice and also Fanny apprised of this rude self-invitation of theirs, and all four of us had given them a most sanguine and ardent welcome. They had received their fair share of fustigation, feathering, yes, and fucking too, with the little fillip of erotic excitement which all of us procured in having mother and daughter perform the secret and mystic rituals of Lesbos. We had at last driven them off in triumph, warning them not to dare breathe a single word of what had happened, nor to seek vengeance on my three lovely aides. Nor had they. And until this very moment I had believed that Lady Bashe and her daughter had been paid off in full and were now thoroughly expunged from the slate of my life.
Yet such is the marvel of our lives that fate takes pleasure in contradicting our most cherished beliefs. For, as you shall see, dear reader, Miss Molly’s visit was occasioned by the most astonishing motive!
Keys: m aid erotica literotica sex
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