The start of this chapter comes with my apologies for taking so long to post it. Normal service has now been resumed!
If you remember, Ella had accepted the chance to be interviewed for the live-in position of ‘Mistress’ and had begun her first night in the house by having the strangest meal, and the most pleasant of bath times! She is now about to dress for bed.
It was stunning. It lay there, the lamp capturing the edges of the sequins that arched, their concave, dimpled surfaces glinting.
“I’m supposed to wear this to bed?” Ella turned, wide-eyed to Mary.
“The Master has chosen all your night things, Mistress. He expects that you wear them.”
Ella brushed her fingers against the royal blue chiffon that formed the garment’s skirts. “Is everything in this house blue?”
The maid was silent at first, as she positioned Ella’s arms to receive the night dress over her head. Ella’s nerve ending rose to meet the touch of the young woman’s cool hands as she slipped her palms to the side of each breast and gently lifted Ella’s shoulders, elbows, wrists, to a point. It sent a quiver through her body. Why did an ache burrow itself between her thighs as Mary’s big eyes were joined by parted lips as her gaze met Ella’s? Neither moved, the maid’s arms pressed against hers over her head, their breath meeting in the ever decreasing gap between them.
“Blue? Yes, miss. Mistress.” Mary stared harder. “It is.”
Ella felt the kiss, lingering, yet over before she had time to consciously react. The next feeling she absorbed was one of the chiffon running like a thousand feathers over her flesh, as Mary draped it over Ella’s body and let the length fall down to the floor. The touch of the fabric against her skin left her murmuring. She ran her hands over her curves from her ribs to her hips, uttering a whine as Mary’s hands adjusted the sequinned cups over her breasts and held them there. The tiny kisses along the back of her neck left her mewing over and over. Heat gathered within her. It was a long time since someone had been that gentle, had taken their time like that over her.
“There, Mistress. All tied. It’s not too tight, is it? Great maid I’ll be if I strangle you on your first night.”
Ella put her hand to her neck to find the chiffon gathered and tied behind her hair. Where her own face felt flushed, Mary’s was one of pure concentration, just as if the kisses had never happened. Ella rolled her eyes at herself. Not again.
“No. No, it feels fine. Thank you, Mary.”
“Kiss o’ the Master, that is.”
Ella’s chest thudded. “What is?” She resisted the urge to ask if he’d just floated into the room and morphed into the maid, in order to confuse her. An image of the Master filled her head, an anonymous woman in his arms, kissing her throat, between her breasts, then hoisting her up so he could kiss down her belly until his lips enveloped the hard little mound between her legs. The image vanished, and she found herself frustrated at her own imagination, wanting to see more. Did he have sex? Did he have the servants? Or call for someone to come round? Would she meet strange women over breakfast and hear the endless repetitive grunt of a man fucking the life out of a needy, wailing conquest? She snapped herself back to reality, bristling at this imaginary woman whose pussy had been in the Master’s mouth. Ridiculous.
Mary giggled. “Sorry, Mistress. It’s what the Master always calls a gift.”
“Does he give out many kisses?” Ella’s whole body tensed, still spikey in the aftermath of her head’s own invention. Mary’s hands guided her to the long mirror.
“Can’t remember him ever giving out a kiss like what you’re wearing, Mistress.”
Ella stood in front of the mirror. The night dress flowed around her like the ocean depths, sparkling over her breasts as if the sun reflected on the peaks of the rising waves. From the ribs downwards, the chiffon was two layers thick, a translucent shadow of her nakedness moving beneath it. She became wet instantaneously and bit her lip. It did look good. She looked good.
“Do you need help in bed, Mistress?”
“Pardon?” Ella’s attention turned to Mary.
“I mean, is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Mistress?”
The feeling between her thighs became a steady pulse, and a fleeting notion of asking Mary to get her tongue to lap at it until it eased, came and went, leaving her desperate to dig around in her bag and find a little vibrating help. She never travelled anywhere without it.
“No, thank you, Mary. Is there somewhere else you need to be?” Ella stifled a grin, remembering Mary’s earlier slip-up. Had Henry extended his playtime overnight by employing his own manual vibrating help, or was it going to be short but taste sweet in the twitching Mary’s mouth? Ella wondered if the Master knew about the shenanigans by owltime in his house.
“I’ve got to take the Master his drink before I can go to bed. Then I’ll be done.”
“I have no doubt about that, Mary.” She grinned and watched Mary suck in her lips and look at her through her lashes, reminding her of the face she used to pull as a child whenever she was caught sneaking into the kitchen cupboard for the tin of chocolate bars. “Off you go. I think I can manage to go to sleep on my own.” No change there, then.
“Thank you, Mistress. I hate disappointing the Master.” She scurried to the door, sqeaking an “Ooh, sorry,” and dropping a curtsey before her footsteps clattered at speed on the stone corridor beyond.
Ella turned once again to the mirror. There was this image: a woman, her hair flowing over her shoulders, eyes wide, tentatively touching her curves barely hidden by the exquisite blue. It was as if she had entered some kind of dreamscape since she’d walked through the front door of this place. Her mind struggled to comprehend the dress with her in it. What was in the mirror was beautiful. Yet she was the one standing there.
Was she meant to screw this dress up when she slept? She didn’t want to. Didn’t want to screw up any of it. Everything was so strange, so new, yet so—erotic. Was she so in need of it? Was her life really that shit? She stared at the peculiar, blue beauty that cocked its head and raised its eyebrows. She had applied for a live-in position with a complete stranger, in a house that no-one knew anything about, people thought weird, and that was so far living up to it, at least in her head. Maybe the place was making her imagine things. She was already sure that this week-long interview was going to be anything but ordinary, and she wasn’t wholly sure that she wasn’t unnerved by it, judging by what had happened so far. Was she in need? The answer was self-explanatory.
Again, she was brought back to those old horror films she loved watching. Was she enacting a scene right now of the unwitting damsel in the long flowing nightgown, just waiting for her flesh to be penetrated by the vampyric master of the house? The idea thrilled her as much as it left her with a shiver up her spine, leaving her nipples hard and brushing against the sequin-coated chiffon.
For the first time, she noticed how rough the interior of the night dress cups were; not so rough as to hurt, but enough to stimulate. And it dawned on her that, actually she was already peaked even before the idea of every girl’s sexy vampire dream floated into her head. Was that a deliberate part of the make-up of this night dress? Did the Master do this on purpose? She bit harder on her lip, turning it as maroon as the cheeks that reflected back at her.
Once again, she wondered about his sexual appetites. When he received his drink at night, was that all he got, or did Mary serve up more spirit than that? The idea began to permeate her body, leaving her chest burning and her fingers clenching and unclenching at rapid pace. Irritability spread behind her eyes and left her squirming in front of the mirror. Why the hell was she getting so wound up? What difference did it make to her, one way or the other? Wasn’t it one of those things that had become part of the fabric of old houses for centuries? Masters taking what they want without question? Holding the upper hand over the life, love and loins of the women that surrounded him?
The irritability wouldn’t subside. She eased her door open a crack, hoping it wouldn’t let out some awful groan on its hinges, and peeked down the corridor. She couldn’t see anyone, but the murmur of voices carried on the cool swirl of night air that drifted, then hovered. She stood outside her door; took a couple of barefoot steps on the icy stone and winced. Then she stopped. What if someone saw her roaming about? In this night dress? They’d sure as hell see more of her than she planned. Embarrassment and shame over something that hadn’t even happened, swamped her. She stood there, frozen in every possible way, her straining ears catching fragmented sentences. Mary’s high-pitched tones twittered, and every so often the unmistakable sound of the Master’s treacle-like voice oozed through the maid’s.
Ella’s breath began to come in flutters. She took several steps towards the edge of the wall where it turned at ninety degrees, the voices growing louder.
“In my opinion, Sir, the lady would make a wonderful mistress. It would be my pleasure to serve her.”
“That much is already obvious to me, Mary. Look at you. Your breasts are rarely that perky, involuntarily. Are they?”
A pain lunged into Ella’s gut, and she turned the corner, fully prepared to find some sort of clichéd scenario, the Master’s hand probing inside Mary’s uniform for those darkened bullet tips, or even his hands cupping each breast, his teeth tugging on one as his finger and thumb mimicked the action on the other.
Ella stared, barely able to calm the feeling that had been welling within. Mary stood at a door, the dim light from inside leaving a glowing trace on her skirt, the burning flame in the holder outside the room illuminating the rise of her cheekbone and streaking through her hair in disparate ocherous waves. By her side she held a small tray; the drink was already between the Master’s palms. Interesting, Ella thought, how she had assumed that Mary meant a glass of whisky, or other spirit. A ‘Master of the house’ kind of drink. She pursed her lips at the steam rising in twists from the mug. Every time so far that she imagined the Master to be one thing, some quirk depicted another. Was there anything clichéd about him at all?
The Master stood on his threshold, an intense stare fixing Mary’s gaze. “You believe that she would bring life to this house?”
“I think she’s already made an excellent start, Sir.” Mary bobbed as the Master nodded his head. Ella’s feet screwed themselves to the floor. She begged them silently to move. The stairs were the other side of the opening where she stood. Any second and they would both spot her.
But Mary walked away in the other direction, the Master’s words following her. “Go and make an excellent start on Henry now, Mary. Or maybe he’s started without you.”
From the distance, beyond the light of the corridor, Mary’s reply giggled back. “I bloody hope not, Sir.”
Ella stood there, agape, shocked, amused. Right up to the second she noticed the Maser’s eyes upon the spot where she stood. Her chest buffeted her heart into her mouth. But that was nothing to the sudden thunderous pounding between her thighs.