"Ow!" said Chelsie. "Stop that!"

 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.

********************************************************************

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.

*********************************************************************

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.

Marietta retrieved Chelsie's discarded panties from the floor.

"You wear panties with nightie, no?"

Chelsie hesitated, then shook her head.

Marietta smiled sweetly. "Ah, Miss, you like to be comfy, of course. I understand. I will wash these. Now I comb your hair."

Chelsie tried to object, but sat when bidden by Marietta on the stool in front of the dressing table with its tall, old-fashioned mirror. Marietta combed her long hair patiently and lovingly, then led Chelsie back to her bed.

"Can I do anything else for you, Miss?" she asked, a slightly pleading look in her eyes. Chelsie shook her head.

"No thank you," she said firmly.

"Then I see you first thing in the morning," replied Marietta. "For your bath." She gave Chelsie a meaningful look and then she was gone.

********************************************************************************

That night Chelsie dreamed again. She was barefoot, standing on a large, oblong dinner table. The remnants of a substantial repast lay around her, although a space several feet square appeared to have been deliberately cleared. For some reason a small chair was positioned on the table near to her. Chelsie was conscious that she was wearing very little. Certainly her underwear was entirely absent. A piece of semi-transparent tulle-like material was draped artfully about her shoulders, hanging in a flimsy cascade across her chest; a larger piece of similar material was fastened with a small brooch around her waist, cut to appear ragged, so that two or three of the folds hung below her knees although in other places it was no more than a few inches long. In her left hand Chelsie held a shepherdess' crook.

Looking around her Chelsie could see, in the rather dimly-lit room, the dinner guests. They were all male and dressed in the fashion of the late eighteenth century. Suddenly there was a minor commotion: Marietta had appeared at the door, wearing a mob cap and a voluminous but low-cut maid's dress, which revealed a considerable expanse of bosom. She was carrying a large empty basin, which she bent down and placed near Chelsie's feet. As she leaned forward the sight of her chest prompted appreciative murmurs from the guests, appreciation which turned to applause as she spoke.

"Beggin' your pardon Miss, an' my lady presents her compliments along with this 'ere basin, an' requests as you will do your utmost to avoid harm to her linen or the rugs."

Marietta spoke not with her customary middle-European accent but in rich, rustic tones the like of which Chelsie had only ever previously heard in old films. Assuming a slightly snooty expression quite unlike the doe-eyed appearance to which Chelsie was used, Marietta withdrew.

Then another voice spoke.

"Gentlemen, your attention please!"

It was Gerard. His costume and bearing were magnificent without being ostentatious. The hubbub died away.

"Gentlemen, may I present to you Miss Daisy March, who is to perform for us one of her most affecting tableaux. Her grace and artistry are without parallel. Tonight she will evoke, through the medium of dance, the sad plight of a young shepherdess whose beau has gone for a soldier, to take up arms against the cursed Frenchies."

A growl of appreciation rippled around the room, seemingly prompted in equal measure by the prospect of the performance which was in store and the thought of doing battle with the French.

Gerard concluded his introduction.

"Gentlemen, I give you Miss March, and I trust you will show your appreciation in full measure!"

Chelsie - Miss March - knew what she had to do. And she felt confident, and powerful, as, with downcast eyes and a mournful expression, she began to move her shoulders, at first barely noticeably and then a little more obviously. She uttered a sob, hardly audible, and put her free hand against her brow. To a man her audience sighed sympathetically. Chelsie - Miss March - had them in the palm of her hand.

The 'tableau', now more obviously a dance, continued. Miss March began to move her hips, again only slightly and then more overtly. She allowed one corner of her robe to slip off her shoulder before replacing it, with every appearance of maidenly decorum. The men growled and murmured with mingled approval and disappointment. Miss March turned away and, hanging her head, sobbed again, more loudly this time. Her body shuddered with emotion, causing the lower part of her costume to slip and expose part of her bare bottom for a fleeting moment. Again, an approving growl, louder this time. Excitement was mounting.

Miss March allowed her costume to slip from her shoulder again, only this time she did not replace it. Slowly she let it slide down so that part of her breast was revealed. Finally, artlessly, she let her audience see the whole of her breast. This prompted clapping and excited applause. Miss March appeared not to notice. She was writhing and gyrating now in a torment of lost love and sexual longing. The whole of the upper part of her costume gave up the unequal struggle and slipped around her waist. She unfastened it and cast it aside. Most of the men were on their feet now, cheering and shouting. Chelsie noticed approvingly that prominent bulges had appeared in the fronts of their tight breeches.

Miss March clasped her shepherdess crook to her bare bosom, then pinioned it in the folds of cloth between her thighs. With the crook firmly in place she rocked back and forth, weeping (as it seemed) helplessly. She began to gyrate faster, her sobs becoming gasps as she abandoned herself to desire. Then, panting with lust and longing she arrived at a moment of ecstasy before sinking, with extravagant sighs of exhausted relief, into the chair. Her slightly parted legs artfully displayed a small wet patch on the front of her costume. It told a tale that no words could express, and some in the audience were moved almost to tears .

Chelsie's crook clattered onto the table and in the row closest to her a very young man, no older than eighteen or nineteen, could no longer contain his feelings. With a despairing groan he also sank into his chair, hopelessly trying to hide from view the very much larger wet patch that had suddenly appeared on the front of his breeches.

Sympathetic murmurs and applause rippled round the room. The men were pleased for the poor lovelorn shepherdess, glad that she had achieved at least some release from her unbearable but all too natural loneliness and longing. But her relief was evidently short-lived, for within a few seconds she had resumed the dance, wiping a tear from her eye with a fold of her dress and affording the onlookers a lingering view of the creamy white flesh of her thigh and hip. Somehow her costume had slid lower so that the whole of her tummy was now visible.

With sighs suggestive of deep emotion Miss March caressed her breasts with one hand while with the other she toyed with the brooch which kept the remnants of her flimsy costume in place. The men roared with frustrated enjoyment. The dreaming Chelsie was now in her element as Miss March's performance reached new heights of wanton seductiveness. This part of the dance she protracted for as long as she could, allowing the men increasingly frequent glimpses of her thighs and occasionally her rosy-pink behind, but keeping the last vestige of her attire in place.

But finally the tableau had to reach its climax. Miss March turned away, and with a coy glance over her shoulder unfastened the brooch. For a minute or two she held her costume in place with her fingers. The men roared ever more loudly. The dreaming Chelsie noticed that even the young man who had had an accident was back on his feet, clapping joyously, the front of his breeches again full to bursting.

The thin material fell to the floor. The shepherdess was naked... perhaps just as she had been when she bade farewell to her true love. Two or three of the men, unable to bear the tightness of their breeches, had unfastened their foreflaps and their members jutted forth, betraying desire as strong as that of the most passionate abandoned shepherdess. Miss March's sweet blue eyes flashed appreciation of the spectators' evident enjoyment of her artistry, and the dreaming Chelsie was spurred to even greater efforts to gratify them.

Her hands strategically placed, Miss March turned to face the audience. Chelsie wondered how they would react when they finally saw the expensively depilated lower part of her tummy. Seductively and slowly Miss March raised her hands to her face. With her eyes closed she uttered a sigh, which was almost drowned by the loudest cheer of the evening. She began to writhe and gyrate as provocatively as she could, now allowing the men the best view possible of all her charms. Their appreciation was evident. She began to fondle herself. Her breathing became ragged, punctuated by gasps. Something spattered her foot, the droplets clearly visible. Out of the corner of her eye Miss March could see a man in the uniform of a cavalry officer, his member exposed and jerking uncontrollably. She turned, caressing herself in full view of him. Like his youthful fellow-guest a few minutes previously he could no longer control himself. His semen erupted in a series of powerful spurts while Miss March pretended to avert her gaze.

If the climactic conclusion to the first part of her performance had been a skillful act, the emotional finale would be unfeigned. Panting with undisguised longing Miss March straddled the back of the chair before reclining on it, legs parted and outstretched. Languorously at first but with increasing energy she rubbed, fondled and stroked, occasionally uttering unrestrained squeals of delight as the blissful contractions began to build. In front of her a portly gentleman, fifty if he was a day, watched and listened, transfixed, tears running down his face. Like two or three of the other guests, his foreflap hung open, and his engorged member stood erect, jerking spasmodically. Then, so ardent was his sympathy for the shepherdess' plight that without warning he also uttered a series of loud sobs, and a copious discharge streamed down over his breeches.

As Miss March reached the climax of her act Chelsie writhed in synchrony. The bedclothes slid to the floor and she arched her back as the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced engulfed her. Awaking with a start she cried out in alarm and ecstasy. With one hand clapped to her mouth and the other between her thighs she shuddered and gasped for nearly half a minute as the waves of pleasure rippled through her. Finally she lay still. Then, as if drugged, she fell asleep again.

Chelsie's dream returned. It was as if it had continued in her absence, so to speak. Miss March lay on her chair, shuddering as the spasms of ecstasy faded. She moaned, sated, and sank back further in the chair, pushing her pink, wet bottom forward to the very edge of the seat. A trickle of wee spattered the tablecloth, and a thoughtful gentleman nudged the big basin closer to her legs.

"Oh, thank you!" she sighed. "I'm just a poor girl sir. I can't help myself."

With that she released a veritable eruption, a golden arc which found the basin with uncanny accuracy. She stopped, sobbed, then with her eyes closed discharged further spurts, each accompanied by an evocative sob or sigh of relief. Finally she was drained. Sinking back exhausted she dabbed herself feebly with a corner of her discarded costume. Her audience roared with approval and delight.

Weakly Miss March climbed to her feet. A kindly gentleman helped her down from the table, and the audience reluctantly allowed her to shimmy unsteadily across the room, a piece of her tulle held decorously in front of her, until she reached Gerard. Dropping the tulle she took his outstretched hand. With his other hand he tugged open his breeches, then pulling her onto his lap he buried his aching, rigid member in her hot and receptive tummy. The audience cheered. Miss March flung her arms around him, closed her eyes, and began to move up and down, murmuring contentedly.

A man near Gerard protested. "Dash it, Bob old chap, share the lady around, do, please!"

Gerard shook his head. "Droit de seigneur old man!" he replied. He could say nothing more, for at that moment his much-needed orgasm engulfed him. Miss March opened her eyes wide before a look of slight disappointment spread across her face. She continued her rocking motions for a few more minutes until Gerard's semi-erect member slipped out of her. Then she climbed off his lap and bestowed a little kiss there, as if trying to restore flagging gallantry. He chuckled, shook his head and tucked it away in his breeches.

"Now run along, my pet! Go and see Jenkins in the kitchen. She'll look after you."

Miss March picked up her costume and slipped out of the room, to yet more applause. The dreaming Chelsie went with her - was her - as she scurried, nearly naked, through the old house's long, dark corridors. In the kitchen Mrs Jenkins welcomed her with her usual kindly smile and a hip bath half full of warm water. Beside it stood Marietta, a haughty look on her face, holding a towel. Chelsie (or Miss March) hung her head in shame, acutely conscious of Gerard's sperm running down her thighs.

"Ah, poor lamb!" said Mrs Jenkins sympathetically. "I expect the young master had his way with you, didn't he?"

Chelsie nodded ruefully.

"Sometimes men can't seem to control themselves. Never mind, my dear. Not long since we had a sweet young wench here to perform for the guests, and I believe there wasn't a single gentleman who didn't take full advantage."

She motioned Chelsie to the bath and washed her all over with a sponge, like a baby. Marietta helped Mrs Jenkins to dry her.

"Gently with her bottom and pee-pee, I expect it hurts, doesn't it?"

Chelsie nodded, and Marietta tutted disapprovingly.

When she was dry Chelsie climbed onto Mrs Jenkins' ample lap, snuggled down and went to sleep.

*********************************************************************************

Chelsie stirred in her sleep. Slowly she came to. She felt drained and exhausted. Dawn was breaking. She had heard quiet footsteps by her bed. A little hand crept into hers. Somebody was trying to climb into bed with her. She smelled the perfume that Mrs Jenkins used, but it was Marietta who was now lying next to her. Only half-awake, Cheslie moved to allow Marietta more room. Instinctively she put her arm around the maid and went back to sleep.

She awoke shortly afterwards. One of Marietta's legs was lying across her, and she was rocking back and forth against Chelsie. Chelsie wrapped her arms around Marietta comfortingly.

"Oh Marietta, what's the matter?"

"Mrs Jenkins, what she going to say if she find out...?"

"Oh Marietta, don't be silly. She won't find out anything. It can just be our little secret."

Chelsie stroked Marietta's bottom under her maid's costume and then rested her hand where she thought Marietta would appreciate it.

"You'll get your dress all crumpled, and damp."

Marietta kissed Chelsie passionately. "Not matter, I got another one," she said. "Oh Miss, you so kind, I do anything you want."

Chelsie warmed to her quasi-maternal theme. "And your panties, where are they?"

"Oh Miss, please don't be cross! I get dressed in a hurry, forget undies!"

Marietta was rocking back and forth harder now, with increasing urgency, pressing herself against Chelsie's hand. Chelsie slipped two fingers inside her and began to massage her with the base of her thumb. Marietta sighed. Chelsie sat up straight.

"I think we'd better have this off, hadn't we?"

She unbuttoned Marietta's dress and tugged it off. Pinioning the naked girl beneath her she covered her with kisses - her face, her neck, her breasts, tummy and thighs. Marietta's back arched as Chelsie's deft fingers brought her to climax while, with her mouth clamped to Marietta's, she stifled her gasps.

Dozing in the early morning light the lovers lay in each others' arms. Fifteen or twenty minutes passed. Then Marietta slid down and rested her head on Chelsie's thigh. Parting Chelsie's legs she nuzzled her. Her breath felt hot as her tongue flicked up and down, round and round.

"No Marietta, no..." murmured Chelsie.

"Oh Miss, but I want to..."

Chelsie sighed with a mixture of contentment and arousal and sank back on her pillow. Shortly she would be leaving the old house, Marietta, Gerard and Mrs Jenkins. She would cross the Atlantic, and there - who knew what adventures might await her?