Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set (41 page)

"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in
unfeigned admiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings
true."

"It saved me from ennui," she answered, yawning.
"Alas! I already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long
effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help
me to do so."

"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all,
it is of some little use," she remarked, pulling off her dress. "Fuck
me sir, for I crave cock,' as Queen Victoria wrote to Albert."

Maid to Serve

Chapter 1

I slumped down into the creaking
chair and tried not to cry as I felt the cum inside me trickling out onto my pristine
maid’s uniform. This wasn’t how I expected my first day working at a posh hotel
to begin.

I was born in the workhouse and spent my early years
shivering, hungry and weak. Life as a toddler consisted of punishment, readings
from religious tracts and gruel. My mother wasn’t around to protect me, having
died in childbirth and with her went any chance of knowing who my father was.
Not that she would have been much help if she was around, parents and children
being forced to live in separate sections just in case we should become lazy
and shiftless by spending any time with our loved ones.

My life first changed when I turned twelve. My birthday had
been spent picking oakum with the other inmates but the day after that I was
called to see the Matron. I stood in her little office looking around at the
paintings on the wall, the surfeit of coal roaring in the grate, the plate of
fancies on the little table beside her armchair. “Eyes on me Martha,” she
snapped, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yes Matron,” I curtseyed.

“I have a set of papers here that will certainly improve my
situation if not yours,” she continued. “You are to be indentured as apprentice
in the cotton mill. What do you think about that?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what to think Matron.”

“You really are a dunce aren’t you? We provide you with
room, board and an education and all at no cost to yourself and you haven’t a
thought in your head have you?”

My room was a mould filled ward with the other girls, my
education was still healing from the last lesson with the cane and I worked
every day for the parish so in my mind they’d got me pretty cheap but of course
I said nothing of this. “I don’t know Matron.”

“Well here’s something I know, you’re going to lose a finger
or an arm in the mill and there won’t be anyone who’ll shed a tear for you,
least of all me. What do you think about that?”

“I’ll be careful Matron.”

“You always were the most obstinate of girls. It’s no wonder
your mother took one look at you and decided to die is it?”

I rankled at that but years of keeping my emotions in check
worked in my favour and my anger didn’t show. I remembered though, for years
afterwards I remembered Matron and when the time came, I taught her a lesson
all right. But that is for the future, for now I will move my tale to the mill.

The less I say of it the better but a few words are still
needed. As the years in the mill ticked by, my body began to change and the
mill owner noticed. Nobody at the workhouse seemed to care that he only
apprenticed girls, they were just glad to be rid of us. At first it was
lascivious looks whilst we worked but it soon progressed to action, not that I
even understood what was happening of course.

When he tried it with me, I was terrified, frozen to the
spot as his hands wandered whilst his expression warned me my position was at
stake if I protested. That night I ran away, leaving behind me the last secure
post I held until I turned eighteen and was taken on by the hotel. I spent a
long time surviving on my wits but you can’t eat wits and I was soon closer to
death than I think I realised at the time.

Faint and wan, I stumbled into a town one night, knocking on
one door after another with not a soul offering me any assistance. It began to
rain as the last of my strength failed me and I collapsed in the porch of a
church, my eyes closing as I wept bitter tears at my lot in life.

That was the moment when fortune at last favoured me. I was
found asleep or unconscious by a ray of sunshine in the unrelenting storm of my
life up to that point, in the form of the wife of the clergyman arriving to
change the flowers for a service. She took pity on me and carried me inside, an
easy task given my skeletal form.

“You poor child,” she said as I opened my eyes a minute
later, looking up at a vision of kindness, a beatific smile upon her face.
“Where have you come from? To whom do you belong?”

“Nowhere and to no one,” I muttered before passing out
again.

When I woke up a second time I felt sure I had died. I was
laid in an enormous bed with the sun streaming in through the window beside me.
Looking down I could see I had been bathed and placed in a clean nightshirt.

“You’re awake,” a voice said and I looked to the doorway to
find the same pretty face smiling at me as I’d seen in the church. “The doctor
will be pleased.”

“Where am I?” I asked. “Is this heaven?”

She let out a titter of laughter, putting her gloved hand
over her mouth. “Merely the home of a simple clergyman and myself.”

“How did I come to be here?”

“I had you brought here and here you shall stay as long as
you wish.”

So began an idyllic period of my life with Elizabeth and
Nathan Spencer, spent in the service of the Lord. I believe I may have stayed
there forever if it wasn’t for the Lord of the Manor. He returned from war a
few days after I turned eighteen and I was introduced to him in the parlour. He
owned the house and most of the surrounding town and when he found out I could
not prove my lineage he informed me I was not welcome in any part of his
dominion. Thus I was cast out once more, an innocent girl given the fare to the
city and the clothes on my back and nothing more.

Chapter 2

My heart sank as the coach rumbled into the city, the
metropolis was so intimidating and I had no clue how to find a position
suitable to myself. I alighted at a public house and as I did so, a gentleman
passed by, tossing his newspaper into the gutter as he went. I assumed he’d
dropped it by accident and ran after him to try and return it.

“Do you mock me yokel?” he growled, turning away and
storming off, leaving me with the paper in my hand and ha’penny in my pocket. I
found a bench in a small park and sat with my back to the quacking ducks on the
small pond whilst I ran my eyes over the paper.

Towards the back was a situations vacant section and one
advertisement caught my eye.

Hotel Pompoir seeks chambermaids aged over eighteen. No
experience preferred. Uniform provided. Must be able to start immediately.
Apply at hotel reception. Salary negotiable.

It seemed too good to be true. A position that specified no
experience could hardly have been more perfect. I asked directions to the hotel
of the nearest passers-by, a couple with linked arms walking with a
perambulator. “Excuse me, do you know where Hotel Pompoir is?”

“I do,” said the gentleman.

“How do you know where it is?” snapped his good lady.

“My dear, I merely know because I pass it on the way to the
bank.”

“A likely story. You’ve stayed there haven’t you? Haven’t
you?”

I made my apologies as their argument began to escalate,
walking out of the park and asking the next person I saw, an old gentleman with
a shock of white hair spraying outwards from under his top hat. “I can show you
if you like,” he leered. “Know it well I do.”

“No thank you, just the address will suffice.”

He looked disappointed but at least pointed me in the right
direction. Twenty minutes later I was standing outside a tall brick building,
awning over the door, ivy crawling up the walls. A simple sign was bolted to
the wall. Carved into brass were the words ‘Hotel Pompoir’ and underneath
‘Simply gripping.’

I walked inside to find myself in a simple reception area. A
few armchairs were dotted around and gentlemen in suits lounged within them. To
a man they all turned and looked at me as I entered and I felt quite self
conscious as I approached the desk and rang the bell.

A woman appeared from a doorway and strode over. “Can I help
you?” she asked.

“I’m here about the situation vacant,” I replied, holding up
the newspaper.

“I’ll call Mr Pompoir. Please wait a moment.”

She vanished and returned shortly after with a man in his
fifties. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a greying beard but his
eyes seemed far younger than the white hairs suggested, piercing blue and
staring intently at me as he rounded the desk and held out his hand to shake
mine.

“I am Mr Pompoir, delighted to make your acquaintance,
Miss…?”

“Martha.”

“Miss Martha.”

“No good sir, just Martha.”

He frowned, glancing behind him at the receptionist before
looking back. “Very well Martha. Would you like to come with me and we’ll soon
see if you are suitable for this position.”

I followed him through the reception and into his office.
Within was a long desk with chair before it which he motioned for me to use. I
sat, feeling increasingly nervous as those eyes of his scanned me up and down.

Don’t look desperate, I told myself. He won’t give the post
to one who’s desperate.

“Tell me a little about yourself?” he asked, sitting behind
the desk and folding his arms.

“Well I’m a hard worker, I have spent time in a cotton mill
and working for a clergyman before now.”

“I see. Tea?”

“Excuse me? Oh, no thank you.”

He poured himself a cup from a china pot on his desk and
stirred sugar into it. “Do you know what Pompoir means?” he asked after taking
a sip and setting the cup back down.

“I’m afraid my French skills do not stretch that far sir.”

“It is the act of stimulating the penis with the muscles of
the vagina.”

I blushed and almost fell from me seat at the obscenity he
uttered. “Excuse me?” I got out at last after opening and closing my mouth
without a sound for several seconds.

“I know, I feel that my ancestors must have had a great
sense of humour to bestow me with that particular soubriquet. Still, what’s
done is done and we must make the best of what we have. For example I knew a
man once whose last name was Satyriasis. Do you know that one?”

“I think not sure but I hope…”

“It’s Greek, means the excessive sexual desire of a man.
What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know sir,” I said, suddenly feeling as if I was
back before the Matron in the workhouse.

Pompoir frowned at first and then smiled at me. “I like the
look of you Martha, you’re a pretty young thing and I think you’d fit in as one
of our chambermaids.”

“Oh thank you sir, I promise you won’t regret hiring me.”

He held up a hand to silence me. “Hold on. If you’re to work
here there are certain conditions you must agree to. First I must conduct a
physical inspection I’m afraid. Do you object?”

“No good sir. Do you wish to check my height or weight
first?”

“Neither. I wish to take your measurements for your uniform.
If you would be so kind as to undress behind that screen and let me know when
you have done so.”

Chapter 3

“Excuse me?” I asked, automatically drawing my shawl tighter
around my neck. “You are not suggesting I disrobe before a stranger?” My cheeks
burned at the very thought of it.

Pompoir looked disappointed. “Very well, thank you for
coming in but I’m afraid I must get back to work.”

He rose to his feet as I panicked, the single ha’penny
weighing heavy in my pocket. “Please sir, forgive me. I spoke without thought.
Allow me another chance I pray.”

His eyes fixed me in a stare and I felt a shudder run
through me, not yet understanding what it meant. “You must not protest in such
a manner ever again if you are to work at the Hotel Pompoir. My word is law and
my staff do as I command. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Now go behind that screen, remove every stitch of your
clothing and return to this spot post haste. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” I repeated, curtseying as I stood. I walked
behind the Oriental screen in the corner of the office, my heart aflutter as I
fought my instinct to turn and run for the street. I knew that if I did that,
it could be any length of time before I found another position and if I could
not, the workhouse would be waiting for me.

It was the thought of the gates slamming shut and me in an
inmate’s uniform once more that forced the doubts from my mind. They returned
as I removed my gloves but I forced myself on. Another thought intruded on my
mind as I undid the button holding my shawl in place and set it down beside my
bonnet. It was the thought that this would be the first man to ever see my
naked body.

“Time is pressing Martha,” he called from the other side of
the screen. “Haste if you please.”

“Yes sir,” I shouted back, almost tearing the strap of my
dress as I tugged it from my shoulders. Lifting it above my head, I set it down
and glanced at myself. It felt very odd wearing only stockings and plain cotton
drawers in a hotel office. “May I keep my undergarments on?” I asked.

“Certainly not and I shall not warn you again. No more
questions.”

My hands were trembling as I slid my stocking down and they
positively shook as I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my knickers and
slid them down. I took several deep breaths as I stood back up, almost frozen
in fear at the thought of Pompoir about to see my naked body.

“Are you done yet?” he snapped, peering round the side of
the screen.

I let out an involuntary yell, pressing one arm across my
chest and cramming the other between my legs.

“Out with you,” he said, tugging my arm and dragging me out
into the middle of the office. “Arms by your side Martha. How can I measure you
that way?”

Reluctantly I did as he asked, feeling his eyes burn into
me. He walked around me in a circle before leaning back against his desk and
folding his arms. “Good skin although there is a scar near your hip?”

“A beating when I was a child sir.”

“I see. Well never mind. Sometimes a flaw can make a
painting. You have a long neck, that is good. Your breasts are…” He reached out
and actually touched me. I almost left then, ridiculous as it would have been
to sprint through a hotel reception wearing nothing at all. The touch of his
hands as he cupped my breasts as if weighing them, brought goose bumps to my
flesh. He lifted and lowered each one for a few moments before letting go at
last. “Good, decent weight, excellent size and as to your nipples…” He again
reached out and as I stifled down a protest he tugged each nub between
forefinger and thumb, rolling and squeezing them until they hardened
significantly. “Reaction is good.”

“What do you need to know that for?” I asked and he put his finger
to his lips in response, moving behind me. “Bend over Martha and before you
protest, remember what I told you.”

I leaned forwards, taking hold of the desk whilst feeling
his eyes upon my exposed behind. “Good, good,” he muttered, running his hands over
my buttocks before squeezing them hard. “You may stand up again.”

He came back to stand in front of me, tape measure in hand.
“Arms out at your side.” I did so and he began measuring me, wrist to shoulder,
armpit to hip, hip to the ground. He slid the tape around my breasts, nodding
as he took note of their size. I felt hugely embarrassed at this turn of events
but at least there seemed no hint of impropriety from Pompoir. Finally he knelt
before me. “Legs apart,” he said, running the tape up from my ankle to the very
top of my inner thigh. I held my breath as his finger almost touched the most
intimate part of me and to my surprise a little voice in the back of my mind
spoke up at that moment. I hope he does, it said and I blushed even deeper,
feeling a wetness form down there as the voice continued to whisper to me.

“Excellent,” he said at last, standing up and moving to sit
behind the desk. “I’ll have your uniform ready for you to begin work tomorrow
morning. You are to be here at five am. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir and thank you sir for this opportunity. I can
assure you…”

He held his hand up to silence me. “One last question. Have
you ever indulged in the pleasures of the flesh?”

“I’m not sure I understand sir.”

“Sexual congress, intercourse, making the beast of two
backs. Have you ever fucked in a word Martha? Have you ever been fucked?”

My eyes widened at that word, shocked that he would say such
a thing before an eighteen year girl.

“Well?”

“I have never.”

“Never what?”

“Never…you know.”

“Say the word Martha. You’ve never been fucked.”

“I cannot good sir.”

“Say it or the position is gone.”

“I’ve never been…never been…fucked.” The word felt like a
blasphemy as it emerged from my lips but Pompoir beamed back at me.

“Excellent. You may get dressed now and I shall see you
tomorrow at five.”