Butler of Lady Chatterley
A note of caution for those who follow my writings regularly.
I confess that I took up the gauntlet thrown down by a reader who expressed his admiration for my writing but believed I would never be able to portray a man with his sexual desires towards a woman, since I am a lesbian. I owe my craft to my ability to write about characters that I have no personal experience with, such as Turks and Elizabethans, so why not this, I thought.
The heat between my legs grew warmer. I knew he had looked at me. There were two kinds of glances: the conscious one, which was the respectful butler's greeting; and the subconscious one, which was the male looking at the mysterious "bit of ass." This seemed inevitable given the roles: I was Lady Penelope Chatterley, a daughter of Lord Chatterley, he was the butler, Mellors. Until now, these two roles had never overlapped.
It was entirely my fault. Why, I wonder, had I left the study door unlocked? Perhaps I had forgotten that everyone, including the butler, was asleep or gone, and the only other person in the house was me. I would retire to the study after supper for some reading. It was while browsing the shelves that I accidentally activated a hidden set of shelves. I was captivated by the title "Justine, or the Misfortunes of Virtue." Following the story of the protagonist Justine, I sympathized with her. When she refuted her sister's advice that "girls don't starve to death," I identified with her. And yet, just like Justine, she was subjected to the cruelty of inescapable male lust, and offered no compensation. The cruelty in the story as when de Brassac instructed his catamite:
"Tie the rope tighter about her waist. If the twisted cords cut off her breath, it will make no difference. I shall not be able to let it go until I am drunk with blood by morning."
I fainted, my hand moving involuntarily to the evidence of my arousal underneath my underwear.
Later, I promised myself this would never happen again. However, it did. Papa's collection contained many such works.
The intrigue inherent in "the history of O" called to me time and time again. The account of O's ordeal, as she was ordered into a car, ordered to take off her underwear, and then driven away, fascinated me. She would be inducted into a society with strict rules: do not meet a man's gaze, do not talk to other women, and wear a dress that exposed her breasts. She could be disposed of by any man. Sometimes, I imagined I was O in moments of solitude, relishing the feeling of powerlessness.
One night, in particular, I was leaning back at my desk by the window, my high heels and white knickers the only clothes covering me. With my knickers pulled up to my knees, I sat on my desk, cupping my exposed vagina and feeling a sudden, overpowering climax. I would be O, and imagine these actions.
Later, as we started reading the next day in the dining room, everything seemed ordinary. He asked me if I'd like a glass of wine, and like always, I accepted. As chairs were drawn out and people gathered, he requested that he sit beside me. I had no objection. Perhaps I hoped it would rectify the situation?
"Excuse me for a moment, my lady. It's the shoes. Manolo Blahniks, aren't they? A pleasant choice, don't you agree?"
I blushed.
"Yes," I answered, "your opinion is valued."
He gazed at my feet and then my legs, his eyes lingering on them for that one long moment I would never forget. It haunts me still.
At evening, as usual, he asked for a glass of wine, and like always, I thanked him. But then he said, "May I sit beside you, my lady?"
I was not offended, but hoped he would understand my confusion when he caressed my feet with his hands. Did he want to clear the air, as I had thought?
"They are lovely shoes," he remarked, "manolo blahniks, I presume."
I turned bright red.
"They are," I replied, "I'm glad you like them."
Did he overstep boundaries or just being considerate? I settled on the former assumption.
"Thanks, Mellors."
"An additional glass of wine for you, my lady? You appear quite parched tonight."
"Yes, Mellors."
I watched him leave to bring another beverage.
"Would you care for a drink in the study, madam?"
I thought it inappropriate to refuse, thus I consented to his idea.
"If you'd be so kind, madam, please lie down on the couch?"
Conscious of my dress with a split skirt, inexplicably I proceeded to do so even though it would potentially expose more than intended in front of a servant.
"See anything you like, sir?"
His tone and scrutiny caused me to think of the story of O.
"There was indeed." I admitted, flushing.
"Is it true that I should verify that?"
I replied, "Yes, sir."
"Now, help me get a better view of you. Spread your legs further."
The moment to object had passed, so I obeyed.
"Take off your dress."
"Yes, sir," I stated, removing it and standing in front him in my underwear and stockings.
I could feel him behind me, smelling my neck. He began rubbing oil onto my cheeks.
"You possess a lovely arse, madam."
"Thank you, sir."
"Tell me if you will be a good girl," he asked with a smile.
"Yes, sir."
"Mellors, why am I about to spank you?"
"You think I'm naughty as I touch myself while reading dirty books."
"Are you a nasty wanker?"
The thought sent chills down my spine. Could I actually say those words to my very own butler? I did.
"Please sir, I'm a nasty wanker girl needing her aristocratic arse spanked."
"Over my knee, now, missy!"
I'd fantasised about this so much, feeling his rough hands on my rear.
"This has never occurred to me before. Never imagined that I'd have a butler's hands on my arse cheeks," I remarked.
"Neither had I, until last night. But it didn't stop me from staring lustfully at your stocking tops," he groaned. "Now I get to fondle your sexy arse."
"Before yesterday, this would've been a fantasy I could've only dreamed of," I said.
"I imagine so," he stated, "allowing me to caress your no-so-spankable arse cheeks now."
He caressed my buttocks as he spoke.
"You've been disobedient, ma'am. So your naughty arse must be punished."
This first strike, his large hand making contact with my left cheek, evoked sharp pain, which spread from my bum to my legs, making me grimace. Back and forth, strike after strike, his hand came and hurt me more. Surprisingly, the pain transformed into a sense of arousal. The more I was spanked the more an increasing sensation of wetness emerged between my thighs. I was moaning aloud.
"Is Missy enjoying this, sir?"
He pressed his fingertips into my cleft, locating my wetness.
"Here, taste your wetness."
Feeling ashamed to do so, I licked his finger.
"Ara, my lady, you are quite filthy," he accused.
"No, sir, I'm not!"
"Fine, Missy [naughty slang]," he chuckled, "then I'll spank you even harder."
Each strike produced a surge of pain, so intense it morphed into a wet delight. Facing his driving force, I screamed and rigidly kicked.
"Missy, are you being naughty?"
Number seven stunned me into silence. My field of vision became blurred by agony. Although I was in agony by spanks six through nine, it wasn't until sir spanked me again, leaving me to comprehend what was happening. To my surprise, my body was no longer in distress, but rather soaking my stockings. My screams turned into moans and groans.
"Is this what being spanked feels like, Missy?" he inquired.
"Taxi for Mr. Clean!" I cried out.
He interrupted me, "Spread your cheeks wide open Missy, I need access to your filth."
Using his right hand to spread my backside, my naked arse offered him a view of my pink cunt, his left hand continued the spanking endeavor.
"Maybe we should start over. Let me bend you over the armchair," he voiced.
With insanity, I said, "No, Sir, keep spanking me! It's the closest I've ever been to climaxing!"
Now on top of the armchair, sitting on my thighs and leaning forward, my cheeks spread for him.
"Pinching your lush, gyrating arse now!"
Pinch after pinch, he spanked my cheeks while I clung to the armrest, my knuckles white in response to my firm grip.
"Ouch! Incoming spank brights!" I yelped.
Soon, he paused, "Get on your elbows, dear."
In gratitude, I signaled yes. I pivoted slightly and lay down on my chest.
"My eyes will witness your whopper," he joked.
With that, I heard his zipper being undone...
[Spanking punishment continues...]
"The upper part of your mouth conveys one message, Ms., while the lower conveys a different one."
As the seventh slap hit my already stinging bottom, I moaned. It was difficult to dismiss the fact that it was true. I was moist down there. By the ninth, my legs kicked, and I struggled, my ass was burning, but there was enough moisture elsewhere to extinguish any fire.
"And the tenth one has excited me even more." He exclaimed proudly, his palm on my throbbing buttocks.
"Now, Ms., since you can likely feel my increased arousal, I won't risk ruining your chances of getting married. Your buttocks are sore, so I'll need to use another opening. Get on your knees."
My mind was a whirlwind. If just reading about girls getting spanked aroused me, actually experiencing it was an entirely different level of pleasure. The pain in my bum was accompanied by tingling in my vagina, and my nipples felt ready to burst.
"Yes, Sir," I sobbed, standing, I couldn't help but touch my aching bottom.
"You don't resemble a lady anymore, Ms. Let's see your breasts, bra off!"
I had no choice, I told myself, a fib I kept struggling with, despite knowing otherwise. He'd seen me masturbating, but he'd never threatened me. It was entirely my decision to comply; if, that is, one agrees that one can be free in a highly aroused state.
My breasts are small, about 32A, according to my bra. But he looked at them like they were the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.
"Nice tits, Ms., what are they called?"
"Nice tits, Sir," I said, blushing as he examined me.
He pinched my nipples, making me squirm and moan.
"I like them petite, Ms. But I have urgent requirements to attend. Now, get on your knees."
I'd read about O doing this, but never had any personal experience with men. From the descriptions in the book, this appeared simple. A man would place his member in your mouth and use it like a vagina.
"Look up, Ms., I'd like to see into your lady's eyes as you suck my cock."
His extremely explicit words made me flush, but I followed his instructions.
As he unzipped his pants, I couldn't help but question my upcoming endeavor. It looked intimidating; it was moving. My only consideration was how to accept the entire object in my mouth. I wasn't concerned. He pinched my nose, forcing me to open my mouth wider, and he inserted the tip.
"Lick, Ms."
So I did. It tasted weird but he seemed to like it. I licked, which caused him to moan. He held on tightly to my head to keep me in place as he thrust in and out. I sucked as hard as I could, which pleased him. The salty taste intensified as his organ throbbed in my mouth. He shook and stiffened. I couldn't help but be surprised when he thrust into my mouth one last time, filling it with cum.
"Swallow, Ms."
I obeyed, he moaned louder.
Soon, he slipped out of my mouth. His semen dripped onto my breasts. My first thought was how lucky I was not to be wearing a bra. I looked up.
"Open, Ms."
I did so.
"What a magnificent spectacle, Ms. You, with your mouth filled by me. Swallow, slut."
I blushed at being called that by the butler and complied. Now, I thought, I really needed a drink. As if he'd read my mind, he said.
"Given that the maids are asleep and we have the house to ourselves, I suggest you go to the kitchen and get a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Bring it and two glasses back here. You may also use the tap to clean your mouth."
Conscious of my sore backside, I walked in stilettos, socked, and girdle. Thoughts of the role reversal were overpowering, making my vagina ache even more. Distracted by the thought of being the one serving, walking down the hallway just as I was, showing everything I had, to bring him a drink.
It felt better to pour myself a glass of water. I'd have preferred something colder from the fridge. That was unsettling, but he'd given me orders.
I took a bottle of Chablis from the fridge, as well as two glasses, and set them on a silver serving tray.
"Now, Ms. That's what I call maid service as well as a charming sight, Missy, with cum on your chin and tits."
I felt my cheeks burn but I did my duty.
"Here's your wine, Sir."
"Sit at my feet, Ms., and sip your own glass."
I cozied up at his feet and took a gulp of the wine.
"Does this experience compare to the books you read?" he inquired.
"It varies, sir."
"Better or worse?"
"Better, sir."
"I never imagined I'd witness you like this. No need to worry; I won't disclose this or extort you. But if you want this to continue, you'll perform a task for me now."
Grateful, I replied, "thank you, sir."
"I need you to get up, bend over at the waist, legs apart, and grasp your ankles, clear?"
His referring to my position affected me as usual, clearly realizing he was aware of the effect.
I'd never fantasized about being in this position before. My bumburned, and stretching my skin reminded me of it. As my hands wrapped around my ankles, he viewed my privates. Was he planning to claim my virginity? I started shaking.
I felt him tenderly pat my bum.
"Don't stress, miss; I just want to see your wet vagina and tightly sealed anus. What do you possess?"
I comprehended my task and responded, "wet vagina and tight anus, sir. I hope your desires are satisfied?"
"I was. You'll make an excellent lover, madam, but it won't be me. However, my penis is once again erect. On your knees - unless you desire something else?"
"No sir, I'll perform oral sex on you."
Once more, I took him into my mouth and allowed him to utilize it until he climaxed.
"Excellent girl," he said, touchingly stroking my hair as his penis withdrew.
"Thanks, sir."
"Go hydrate yourself further, and wipe the semen from your groin and chin."
"Yes, sir."
I returned to the kitchen to fetch water.
"You're a beautiful woman, my ladyship. Thank you for permitting me to satisfy you. I'll return to my prior position tomorrow and promise not to bother you. However, should you yearn for this again, order a glass of tap water alongside your nightly beverage; do you comprehend?"
"Yes, sir," I chuckled, "and thank you Mellors."
"My pleasure, lady c—now go to the restroom."
How did he know my intentions?
I scooped up my clothing and sprinted to my bedroom, where... well, I'll allow you to visualize the conclusion.
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