Anonymous - A Man With A Maid II

I put my left arm around her waist and with my right hand began to stroke her hip and bottom, totally ignoring her cries and gasps and groans, and managing her desperate wrigglings with the grip of my circling arm. Again her head fell back, but this time her eyes were closed and only the trembling of her lips and the convulsive flickering of her nostrils told me what she was experiencing. So, too, did the tumultuous surging of her bosom which strained at the stuff of her dress as if longing to be liberated from its prison.

“Patience, Marion,” I told her mockingly. Now seating myself on the chair again and keeping my left arm around her waist, I verified the appraisal I had already made of her hips and bottom by pressing my right hand even more firmly and tightly against those delicious curves. From what I could determine, she was about to show me a figure at least as enticing as sweet Alice’s. How could a husband have left such a treasure without having educated her into all the ways of bliss that can be procured between a man and a maid? It must only be because she was not willing, or too prudish, or finally, because her husband was an utter fool. I would not make the same mistake he had made, I told myself.

At last I finished with the examination of her bottom, all throughout which she had groaned and squirmed and jerked uselessly at her wrists. She also made desperate attempts to close her widened thighs, quite unaware what a suggestive pose she was proffering even against her will, but of course the ropes at her ankles refused to yield even so much as an inch.

I released her waist also, and for a long moment I stared up at her, gloating at her confusion and feverish anxiety. She was biting her lower lip repeatedly now, and I could see that the beads of sweat had fallen from her forehead, down her cheeks almost like tears. Her thick, long lashes fluttered almost incessantly. Decidedly, Marion’s nerves were at a state of flux and she was at that impressionable stage when she could no longer be mistress of herself so long as there was a master like myself present to direct her course.

Once again I rose from my chair and, pressing myself tightly against the fuming young woman, cupped my hands around her voluptuous, firm behind and pressed her tightly up against me. She uttered a raging cry and struggled vainly to break loose, tilting back her head until the cords of her neck stood out against the soft, warm olive skin in the most obvious display of aversion to my person. Her lips curled back to bare fine, strong, white teeth, and altogether she presented the most alluring portrait of rebellious femininity at bay that I had ever encountered. I was greatly pleased with Marion; by contrast, sweet Alice had succumbed with far less hostility. But this duel which I foresaw between Marion and myself could only procure me a thousand more new and seductive joys which would redound to the more crushing defeat of Marion herself!

By this time, also, she could have no doubt of the state of my own emotions as I kept her pressed tightly against me. My angrily stiff prick at last demanded its rightful emergence into the sphere of action, so to speak, and thrust out boldly through the folds of my dressing gown. The broad meatus, that valiant spearhead on which I proposed to skewer haughty Marion’s proud citadel, rubbed against the hollow of her dress where I knew her crotch to be. And the burning waves of furious, crimsoning shame which beleaguered her now told me that she was quite sensible as to my intent, as well as to the adequacy with which I had come prepared to wreak my male vengeance for her effrontery.

My hands now left her bottom to rove down the backs of her thighs, pressing her full skirts tightly up against them so I could shape out those luscious columns. I felt them quivering and jerking against my appraising palpations, and stifled gasps emerged from between her clenched teeth, while her lashes fluttered and her eyelids blinked repeatedly as she stubbornly twisted her face as far from me as she could get it. But her body, rather more than her face, deliciously told me that she was not quite so impervious to my ministrations as she would have it appear, and as I pressed the head of my cock directly against her veiled grotto, I knew that the moment had come at last to carry out my decision of disrobing her, step by mortifying step.

Without a word of warning, therefore, I released her thighs, at which she gave a gasp, no doubt of relief, only to commence with the dainty mother-of-pearl buttons down the middle of her handsome chest. One by one I began to open these, while she stared at me for a long moment as if unwilling to believe that I would go so far as this. But when I had reached the final button, she said in a shuddering, hoarse voice: “You villain, what are you going to do to me now? I warn you, treating a decent woman like this will mean prison for life for an unprincipled wretch like you!”

“Why, my dear Marion, since it is already certain that you mean to send me to prison for merely tying your wrists above your head just to give you pause for meditation,” I tauntingly replied, “I may as well have some little pleasure for my trouble, to provide some pleasant memories for the period of my incarceration in a cell. Don’t you think so?”

I now unfastened the two tiny buttons of the high collar of her frock, and this gave me full leeway to take hold of the yawning flaps from her throat down to the lower curves of her bosom and energetically rip the frock asunder at the front, exposing a short pink crinoline blouse under which was evidently a tight, white linen bodice. I smiled with amusement at this discovery, for it showed me that Marion was not only fastidious but also extremely prudish in keeping herself so voluminously veiled. For once, therefore, I did not regret this abundance of garments; the removal of each in turn would augment her anxiety and shame and frustrated rage, and thus heighten my own exquisite and gloating pleasures in this conquest of Alice’s over-righteous sister.

“I shall, of course, replace this ruined frock, Marion,” I remarked as I proceeded to unfasten the blouse. She uttered a cry of horror and resumed her struggles to get free. She lunged backwards and then to the side, energetically tugging at the tethered wrists, but her face, was congested and red with the violent waves of crimson sweeping over her, both from her exertion and her mortification. The visions I had of the skin of her warm upper chest and throat were enough to inflame my determination to husk her completely naked. There was on her collarbone to the left a most adorable little brown, oval-shaped birthmark, which I playfully stroked with a fingertip while I paused to let her take stock of her situation. In this disheveled disarray, standing with legs slightly spread and arms tractioned above her head, her face scarlet and her teeth chattering, her sensuous nostril-wings flaring and shrinking, and her large eyes blinking uncontrollably as, no doubt, she fought away the treacherous tears of anguish which all this was causing her, Marion at this moment excited me even more than had my beautiful Alice at the moment of the latter’s subjugation. I was not ashamed of myself for this fickle transfer of affections; a prick has no conscience and it is entirely a creature of hedonism, no matter how cerebrally its owner may be motivated. Had Alice been in Marion’s place at this moment, my prick would doubtless have had as great an exuberance, but Marion must now bear the brunt of its desires.

Now at last I reached the bodice, and I extended my right hand toward the dainty buttons, while my left moved behind her to palm the small of her back so that she might not lunge away from me. As my fingers touched the first button, she panted in a choking voice: “In God’s name, no-don’t do this to me, sir-if-if you mean to frighten me, then be sure you have. I am dying of shame-I-I entreat you to be merciful!”