Retired advertising features writer. UK Lord Dastardly leaned back in his leather armchair, holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other. The warm flickering of firelight illuminated the rich panelling of his study and the shelves of leather-bound books. His wife was visiting relatives in the country, he had enjoyed an excellent dinner, and now he needed just one more thing to make his pleasure complete.
“I would like Betsie to bring me my bedtime cocoa tonight,” he said.
His house keeper turned from her task of closing the curtains, and looked at him with troubled eyes. “She’s just an innocent girl sir.”
“I should hope she is,” said Lord Dastardly. “What are you implying Mrs Higgins?”
“Nothing sir,” she dropped him a curtsy and left the room.
A couple of hours later there was a timid knock on the door. Lord Dastardly had been awaiting the arrival of his parlour maid with growing excitement but he forced his voice into its usual lazy drawl. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened and Betsie came in, carrying a mug of cocoa on a tray. She was a plain-looking girl but had an excellent figure, with a slender waist and wide hips. He had never been able to gauge the size of her breasts beneath her crisp apron, but hoped they would be of a size to fulfil the promise of the rest of her body.
“Come in girl and put the tray on the table beside me.”
She came close to him and put down the tray. She smelt of carbolic soap. Her hands were shaking slightly and a few drops of cocoa had spilt onto the tray. She turned to make a speedy escape but he grabbed her by the wrist.
“What’s the meaning of this, you clumsy girl? Mrs Higgins will be very cross that you made a mess on her expensive tray.”
“I’m sorry sir,” her voice had a faint country burr that he found enchanting.
He frowned. “And how dare you bring me my cocoa with an apron on – take it off at once.”
She looked confused. “I thought I was meant to wear an apron sir.”
“Well you’re not. It may be all right for your parlour maid duties but when you have the privilege of entering my study in the evening I consider it an insult. Take it off at once.”
The girl was anxious and upset by his obvious annoyance. She fumbled with the bow at her back and took the apron off. “I am sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”
“Saying sorry is not enough Betsie. You must sit on my knee and apologise properly.”
“Wh-what Sir?” she stared at him as if she didn’t understand.
He took a large folded linen napkin from the table, shook it out and placed it in his lap. “There, are you satisfied now Betsie? You must sit on this napkin and say. “I am sorry to have upset you Lord Dastardly.”
Nervously she perched on his knee, as far away from his lap as possible. She was wearing no bra and he could that her breasts were as firm and full as a man could hope for. They pressed against the thin cotton of her blouse so the nipples could be seen as tiny bumps on the crests of the delicious mounds.
Before she could speak he said in a tone of surprised disapproval “Well, well, well, you are a naughty girl Betsie.”
She flushed pink. “What do you mean sir?”
He reached out and lightly stroked the back of his hand against her nipples. “Do you know what it means when a girl’s nipples stick out like that Betsie?” she looked down and her cheeks flushed from pink to scarlet. “It means that you are aroused. Does sitting on my lap arouse you?”
“No sir.” She tried to pull away but his hand had slid inside her blouse and she could not escape without a struggle. For a moment she paused, her muscles tense. He stroked her gently, his dextrous fingers circling round her nipple, with a touch as light as a butterflies wing.
“Relax child,” he said, reassuringly. “There’s nothing to worry about. There, that’s nice isn’t it?” She sat still, and he rubbed and coaxed at her nipple with slow, languid movements. “This as an old Chinese remedy,” he said. “It makes you lose your tension.”
She did not reply but made no further attempt to escape and he knew that his fish was hooked. All he had to do was to play it until his prey was caught. Her nipple became engorged beneath his touch. At last he could grasp it between his finger and thumb. He rubbed it, twisting it slightly and she gave a low moan of pleasure.
Swiftly he undid the buttons of her blouse to allow his other hand access. Now he was caressing both her nipples, enlarging them until they felt like little cherries under his nimble touch.
Lord Dastardly was a patient man and for a long time he did nothing more than fondle and caress Betsie’s firm young breasts. She was relaxing under his skilful ministrations, leaning towards him so it was becoming difficult to bend his arm enough to reach her nearest nipple. It was time for his next move. He must be very careful. If he made a mistake now his fish would be lost.
“I’ve just had a thought,” he said. “Mrs Higgins is going to be cross if you get your skirt creased. You must take it off.”
She looked at him, with eyes like saucers. “No sir, it wouldn’t be right.”
He looked shocked. “Don’t tell me you are wearing nothing underneath.”
“Oh no sir, I have my knickers on.”
“Well then. All right and proper.” He sounded so matter of fact that she seemed reassured. She slid off his knee and undid the waistband of her skirt. He pretended disinterest and looked away while she took her skirt off. He knew that any display of eagerness on his part might embarrass the girl into a change of mind.
“Come and sit back on the napkin,” he said. “No not like that,” as she tried to return to her previous position. “It’s not comfortable for me if you sit like that. Sit astride, as if you were on a horse.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure if I ought to sir.” Her face was flushed and the pupils of her eyes were huge and black. She was aroused but still unwilling to allow him to go further with his caresses.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything to you. You can sit and keep me company while I drink my cocoa, then you can take the empty mug down to the pantry.” She looked around, hoping there might be another chair in the room, but Lord Dastardly’s lap was the only place on which to sit.
“Hurry up,” he said, picking up the cocoa mug with both hands. “The cocoa is getting cold.”
Reluctantly she sat astride his legs while he sipped the cocoa. She was very nervous and he sensed that she would soon make a bid to escape. He put the mug down.
“Do you know what areola tissue is?” he said. She shook his head. “It’s the colouring around the nipples.” As he spoke he pulled her blouse open revealing her breasts. She leant away and tried to cover herself, but he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her roughly towards him. “Do you see Betsie? There's an area of pinky brown at the tips of the breasts. It’s so babies can see where to suck – like this.”
He leaned forwards and engulfed the tip of her breast in his mouth, licking and sucking swiftly to arouse her, before she could pull away. He heard her moan and transferred his mouth to her other breast, leaving her nipple moist for the touch of his fingers, which slid around it, pinching and massaging with practiced agility.
He had hooked his fish more firmly now and after a few minutes of licking and sucking, she started wriggling in his lap, with slow rhythmic movements. He pulled her more closely towards him so his little mouse felt her movements and started to grow beneath her weight.
With his free hand he was massaging her thigh, feeling upwards beneath the coarse cotton of her knickers. Gently he moved towards his goal until, at last he felt her secret thicket with his thumb. Gently he stroked her, moving closer with every caress, until his thumb found the valley that led upwards to the little tickler, the body’s fount of passion.
She flinched beneath his touch, aware of the importunate thumb and not welcoming its intrusion. Swiftly he moved his thumb up the valley and started to caress the sensitive mound of her clitoris. She shivered at his touch then moaned once more. Her hips tilted slightly towards him and he knew that he was on the home run.
With his thumb still fondling her clitoris, worshipping with dextrous movements at the
He felt her freeze, frightened by his intrusion into this, her most private of areas. He hurriedly withdrew his hand.
“Don’t worry my peach,” he whispered into her ear. “Only my little mouse will come knocking on your door.”
She did not appear to hear or understand him. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be in a trance as if unaware of what was happening to her.
He pulled away the napkin. His mouse had grown huge and was erect, ready for action. He shifted his position in the chair, spreading his knees wide so her legs were forced further apart. The split crotch of her knickers gaped open, revealing a dark cavern of hidden delights. He took hold of the engorged manhood he called his ‘little mouse’ and guided it into the darkness. The sensitive tip of the erect penis felt the roughness of the thicket of hair in the maids groin, then the smoothness of her labial palps than, at last, Lord Dastardly’s little mouse found the delicious moist hole it was looking for. For a moment it pressed against the distended pillars that guarded the entrance, then it slid inside. For a moment it was welcomed into the heavenly passage, then the hymen stopped its progress.
Lord Dastardly slid his hands round the maid’s buttocks and pulled her towards him so his mouse thrust hard against the obstruction. Once, twice, the mouse battered its head against the unyielding membrane, and then it was in, sliding up the tunnel, until it could go no further. It had reached the point of ecstasy, completely enclosed in firm, warm flesh.
Lord Dastardly gave a sigh. Oooh it felt good. Tight and moist and ready to give his little mouse the satisfaction it craved. He thrust again and again, deeply and slowly, enjoying the rich, sensual pleasures of lovemaking. Gradually the thrusts became more rapid as the pressure in his loins built up. He was breathing rapidly now and he could feel his heart thumping strongly. The point of climax was near. Then it came like a tidal wave, squirting seminal fluid in gush after gush. With one last quivering gasp, Lord Dastardly lay back in his armchair, sated.
A few seconds later he felt Betsie’s orgasm. Peristaltic waves pulsed up her vagina, sucking delightfully at his little mouse as if trying to pump out the last few drops of precious fluid. Slowly the pulsations died away and his little mouse slithered wetly out of its happy hiding place. He replaced the napkin onto his lap.
“Thank you very much Betsie,” he said. “That will be all.”
The maid hurriedly dressed, not looking at her master. Her legs were shaking and he could see a tear roll down her cheek. He felt sorry for the girl.
“Cheer up Betsie,” he said. “I know that, in your heart of hearts, you enjoyed it as much as I did. Here take a shilling. If you are a very good girl and don’t tell Mrs Higgins I might let you bring me my cocoa again sometime.” She was about to leave but he called her back. “Don’t forget to take the tray to the pantry.”
And so poor little Betsie got on with her duties.