She looked behind her. Nothing. She looked over her other shoulder. The long, dark corridor was empty. Nothing moved in the gloomy old house. But someone - or something - had definitely touched her behind. Alarmed, she scuttled back to her room and shut the door. To her frustration she saw that although there was a large, gaping keyhole, no key was to be seen. She had heard that in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ladies would sometimes hang their panties on the bedroom door handle to cover the keyhole and prevent their being spied on. So Chelsie chose suitable undies for the following day and draped them over the handle. Then she hurriedly undressed, put her nightie on and jumped into bed. Normally she would have taken her panties off but given the unsettling experience she had just had she decided to keep them on.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Chelsie started and before she could call out the door opened and in strode Mrs Jenkins. Mrs Jenkins was the housekeeper. A warm, plump, motherly lady in her late thirties she was the antithesis of the dreary, faintly sinister atmosphere which the rest of the establishment seemed to exude.
"I've brought you a potty," she cried cheerily, "in case you want to spend a penny during the night. We all use them here, you always have to go so far to find a toilet."
Chelsie had noticed that although she had a bathroom it did indeed lack a toilet.
"Oh, um, thank you!" She mumbled. Mrs Jenkins put down the article near the bed and with a cheery "Goodnight!" she was gone.
During the night Chelsie was assailed by demon lovers. One after another they ravished her, their members bloated with lust. The last was the demon king. Repeatedly he took advantage, scarcely softening between ejaculations. Chelsie woke early, feeling exhausted. She lay drowsily under the covers, vaguely wondering why her panties were around one ankle and her nightie was bunched up round her waist.
She slid her hand down to where her panties were supposed to be. Occasionally she had sexual dreams, but that night's had surpassed them all.
"I'm all wet.."
Why did she feel like this? She reached for a tissue, then on second thoughts slipped her fingers more deeply inside herself. Spasms of pleasure rippled through her bottom and tummy as she settled into a rhythm, and the wetness increased, a tiny rivulet welling up between her fingers, running over her bottom and onto the sheet. Her breathing became ragged, punctuated by occasional gasps. Close to orgasm now she began to pant, her eyes shut tight. How could she be like this, she wondered? The previous night her boyfriend had made love to her time and again, knowing he would be deprived of her company for six weeks. She had counted his orgasms - five times he had climaxed, the first two or three times filling her with copious quantities of his sperm, marking her as his property, the last achingly dry, her pussy aching too, and contented after she had lost count of her own orgasms. It was nearly four o'clock before she had slipped into a deep sleep...
There was a knock at the door. Chelsie barely had time to compose herself before the irrepressible Mrs Jenkins was standing beside her.
"Good morning sweetheart, how are you this fine morning? Did you sleep well? And did you do a wee-wee?"
"Um, yes," replied Chelsie, reddening.
"Oh, that's good," said Mrs Jenkins. "I'll send Marietta up for the potty."
She whirled around and Chelsie heard her footsteps briskly echoing along the corridor. She just had time to put her panties on properly (hoping the little wet patch on the sheet wouldn't show) before quieter footsteps could be heard, followed by a softer knock on the half-open door. Marietta peeped in, then entered diffidently. Marietta was one of the maids, a little, dark-haired pixie-like girl about two years older than Chelsie, twenty or perhaps twenty-one. When she said 'good morning' her quiet voice sounded eastern European.
Marietta retrieved the potty and put it in the corridor. Then she returned and spoke again to Chelsie.
"Please to run a bath for you, Miss?"
Chelsie was embarrassed. Again she flushed.
"Um, that's all right, thank you, I'm sure I'll manage..."
"Oh, but Mrs Jenkins, she want me to take care of you, Miss, help you with your bath."
Chelsie didn't know what to do. Perhaps that was how they did things in these big old houses.. She couldn't upset her hosts. She decided to submit.
"Ah, well, thank you, that's very kind of you, I mean I don't want to be any trouble..."
Marietta was already in the bathroom. Naturally there was no shower, but the bath was huge and oddly shaped, with a protruding rib or ledge. Marietta began running water. Chelsie got out of bed and stood in the bedroom, waiting for Marietta to finish and leave her. But Marietta had no intention of leaving.
"Please to let me help you with nightie," said Marietta. Now Chelsie was distinctly alarmed.
"No, it's all right, I'm quite capable of undressing and having a bath by myself!" she stuttered, but Marietta was determined.
"Oh, but Mrs Jenkins, she tell me to look after you, I get into trouble.." She looked pleadingly at Chelsie. Chelsie hesitated, and a second later her nightie was lying folded on the bed.
"Ah, you have panties, please remove, then we have bath."
At least she's leaving it to me to take them off, thought Chelsie, blushing furiously, as she tugged the damp garment off and threw it on the bed. She reflected that it was the first time she had been naked in front of another girl since year 9. Marietta looked on approvingly as Chelsie made her way into the bathroom.
The bath was full of foamy water, and Chelsie eased herself into it. It felt good, slightly hotter than she would have liked, but she saw no reason to complain. Still Marietta would not leave her. She sat on the edge of the tub and with a small sponge delicately washed Chelsie's face, then dried it, equally gently.
"Honestly Marietta, I'm really sure I can bathe myself," exclaimed Chelsie, to no avail. With a larger sponge Marietta soaped Chelsie's shoulders, arms and neck. As she used the sponge, she gently held Chelsie with her other hand. Her touch was light and tender. A tingle ran through Chelise's chest and tummy. Easing Chelsie into a more upright position Marietta moved on to her breasts. She made no concession to the private, intimate character of that part of Chelsie's body, her fingers continuing to caress while she sponged.
Next she motioned Chelsie to perch on the platform or ledge which she had noticed earlier. Chelsie sat with her legs together at first but Marietta indicated that she had to straddle it, and raising each leg in turn she washed Chelsie's legs and feet. For reasons that she could not understand Chelsie felt her arousal beginning to build again; she had, after all, been close to orgasm only a few minutes before and it had taken little to return her to a state of high stimulation. She no longer wished to resist - far from it in fact. With a sigh she lay back while Marietta washed her tummy down to an inch or so above her pussy. The fingers of Marietta's left hand snaked and curled around the edge of the little, recently waxed cleft... and Chelsie sighed again, more loudly, almost urgently this time. It was nice to be bathed.
Then Marietta made her turn over. At first she washed Chelsie's back and then her bottom. She pressed and rubbed harder, and deep. Chelsie whimpered and hoped Marietta would not notice the extra wetness on the ceramic platform. Then Marietta turned her attention, as Chelsie knew she must, to the part of her that was now crying out for attention. Cursory application of the sponge was quickly replaced by Marietta's soft little fingers, probing, rubbing... An involuntary spasm of pleasure made Chelsie raise herself slightly. Marietta's fingers slipped into place more firmly, with a rhythm that would not be denied. She slipped her other arm under Chelsie and hugged her, her cheek against Chelsie's.
Chelsie uttered a loud sigh.
"Oh Marietta, no, no, please Marietta, no... Ohh! Marietta, please don't, oh no... OHH!"
She ground her pussy as hard as she could against Marietta's hand. Oh, why was she like this, why?
"Miss, I know you need..." Marietta's voice was a soft purr in Chelsie's ear. "All ladies need... I make sure you no need for a little while... You no fight... it just natural, for all young ladies."
And Chelsie did need. She needed the shuddering orgasmic release that followed a few minutes later. She needed the warm contentment that followed that. Marietta held her close as the spasms in her bottom and tummy subsided. Then she let Chelsie sink gratefully into the warm, soapy water.
"Oh Marietta," sighed Chelsie pathetically, "Help me now, please."
Marietta lifted her gently out of the water and wrapped a huge, heated towel around her. Drained by her orgasm, Chelsie was almost a dead weight in her arms as she towelled her and led her to the bed. Chelsie sighed gratefully as Marietta lay her down on the towel. She kissed Chelsie's half-closed eyes, then briefly her lips and her left shoulder. She raised Chelsie's left leg and nuzzled the inside of her thigh. Her busy little tongue flicked around and between Chelsie's desire-swollen lips. Chelsie shuddered and whimpered, and pushed Marietta's head hard against her. Sensing orgasm was close by the spasms in Chelsie's bottom Marietta changed rhythm, teasing and tormenting.
"Oh Marietta," moaned Chelsie, "please don't stop, oh, please!"
With a chuckle Marietta gave her the release she craved. Afterwards she bestowed kiss after kiss on Chelsie's face, tummy, breasts and pussy. With a final, lingering kiss she withdrew without a word, and Chelsie knew she must finally get dressed and face the world.
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The elderly lady who Chelsie knew as her great aunt, but who was really a rather distant cousin, was the reason for her visit to the big old house. Recently widowed, the old lady was planning a visit to the USA. She required a capable young travelling companion, all expenses paid, and her son Gerard had proposed Chelsie. Chelsie, who had just left school armed with three A-Levels at Grade A and a university place for the autumn, was initially apprehensive and her boyfriend was vehemently opposed to the scheme. However, her parents were pleased and flattered that the wealthy branch of the family had chosen to accord her this honour, and they would not let her refuse. The idea slowly grew on Chelsie - and now, months later, here she was.
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Later that morning, exhausted by her sleepless night and subsequent events, Chelsie sat, bored and nervous, in the rather grand library. Listlessly she flicked through some of the dull, dusty old tomes. Then one caught her attention. It was called Shame and Vice of Bygone Times. Inside were illustrated erotic poems and tales, all told with a heavy mock-moralistic commentary, and all centred on Delaroche Court.
Guiltily Chelsie scanned the first of a series of lithographs entitled Faithless Lord & Fickle Wench. It depicted the wench in question seated on the lord's lap, her gown artlessly undone and the upper half of her body all but naked. In the second the lord's breeches were unfastened and the wench could be seen fondling the swollen member which protruded, while subsequent illustrations showed them naked and enjoying intercourse in a variety of positions. The accompanying text read,"With each sweet moment of joy is passion spent? But no, like the phoenix it arises e'er renewed, but his honour dies and her reputation is no more".
Then suddenly Chelsie gave a start. She had come across a further series of etchings, these with the title Entertained by a Shameless Hussy. They showed an after-dinner scene at a great house, perhaps Delaroche Court itself. The ladies have evidently withdrawn and the gentlemen, clad in the fashion of the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, are watching a girl dancing on the dinner table. Slim, with small pointed breasts, she appears to be in her mid-teens. In the first couple of pictures she is draped in two or three pieces of flimsy material, but as the sequence progresses these are discarded until finally she disports herself in joyous nakedness, to the evident appreciation of her audience, several of whom are seen with the fore-flaps of their breeches unfastened, members straining upwards. In the final picture her eyes are closed in apparent bliss and a golden stream arcs from the pink rosebud, scarcely concealed by a few wisps of hair, between her legs. A gentleman darts forward to catch the little fountain in a beer tankard; behind him another man, aroused beyond bearing, ejaculates helplessly over his shirt and breeches...
But it was not the content of the lewd depictions which shocked Chelsie. With horror she stared at the face of the dancer. In every picture she was the spitting image of Chelsie, or maybe Chelsie two or thee years earlier, before rampant hormones, comfortable living and frequent sex had imparted slightly plump womanly curves to her thighs, bottom and breasts.
"Aha!"
Chelsie gave a guilty start.
"I see you're finding out about our guilty secrets!"
Her cousin Gerard had come into the room. Engrossed as she was, Chelsie had not noticed him. Hastily she slammed the book shut.
"Er, um, was I? I mean... er... I just picked it up at random. Can't believe people were like that in the old days."
She laughed guiltily. "Wasn't really reading it, quite disgusting, just happened to glance at it. Is it really about here?"
"Oh, don't worry," said Gerard breezily, "I've spent many happy hours poring over it. Yes, it was compiled by one of my forebears back in the early nineteenth century. It's all about the house, and it's all supposed to be true, but I bet a lot of it's made up, even though we minor aristocrats are a dirty lot." He laughed heartily.
"Anyway," he said, "how are you getting on? Bit boring for you I should think, but never mind, you'll be jetting off tomorrow.."
Chelsie, slightly recovered, put the book down. She felt a bit more at ease. Gerard picked up the book and replaced it on the shelf.
"Better put it away," he said, "don't want that little minx Marietta finding it, she'll be in a hopeless daze for the rest of the day. Have you met her? Randy as a bunny-rabbit!"
He coughed slightly.
"At least, so I've heard. But Mrs J thinks the world of her, so mustn't say anything, if you know what I mean. Anyway, would you like me to show you round the house and grounds? I would say 'can I show you my etchings?' but of course you've already seen 'em!"
He laughed heartily at his uproarious wit, and even Chelsie, despite feeling very on edge, managed a half-hearted giggle, although she hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. Gerard, who Chelsie had hardly ever met, proved to be an agreeable companion, with an exhaustive knowledge of the house and its history. Dinner was magnificent, the service presided over by Mrs Jenkins. Marietta, now in waitress attire, hovered in the background along with another maid, casting fond but furtive glances in the direction of both Chelsie and Gerard from time to time.
After dinner, as soon as she decently could, Chelsie excused herself. She felt worn out, though it was hard to understand why. The urgent needy feelings in her tummy and bottom had also, disconcertingly, returned, and she wanted to be alone. Once in her room she disrobed, picked up her nightie and then threw it back on the chair. With a sigh she sank back naked on the soft feather bed. Repeated and long-drawn out masturbation soothed the pangs, and after her second orgasm she fell into a deep sleep.
She was awoken half an hour later by Marietta, bringing her potty. In keeping with what Chelsie now recognised as normal practice for Delaroche House, Marietta knocked quietly and without waiting, crept in. In truth it hardly mattered - Chelsie had forgotten to hang her panties over the keyhole, which afforded a splendid view of her recumbent body, and in fact the maid had spent several seconds peeping at her before she knocked.
Chelsie sat up sleepily.
"Oh Marietta, I've got nothing on."
"Ahh! Miss, I am so sorry, I think I wake you, you are so tired! Let me help you with your nightie."
Chelsie was too tired and dazed to argue. Like a child she raised her arms for Marietta to place the garment over her head and with lingering slowness slide it down till it covered her body.