Chapter One

 

At twenty two years of age, Celia Buckworth, Lady of the Manor, heiress to the vast fortunes of her husband's father, had received a terrible shock. The girl who served her as a personal maid had hinted that the Lord Buckworth was a 'queer'. Celia was the first to accept her bedroom had not been completely successful in her union with her husband, but in one of those heated tirades that she had given the pretty maid-servant, the girl had burst out that it was because her husband was a homosexual that she took it out on the Staff.

The lovely, proud and tall Celia had been shocked to hear what she feared spoken in so many words. She had simply glared at the girl, taken a deep breath and told the maid to get about her business.

"And Jenny, if I ever hear you mentioning such a slanderous thing again, I'll hound you off this estate," she snapped. She should have dismissed the girl there and then, but servants were hard to come by and this one was particularly good at her job.

Celia had showered after the terrible ordeal and as she powdered her superb torso, so the mirror reflected back her beauty and symmetrical pulchitrude. Celia knew that she was shapely, she knew that she was curvy and she knew that she was something most men would give their right arm to go to bed with. A shudder of revulsion went through her as she thought over the limp attempts of her own husband to attempt to take her normally. She breathed deeply, the effect on her flinty hard nipples was a delightful reaction to see and then her hands carried out a digital inspection of her own body. When she reached the muff of her hair, golden and fleecy at the top of her thighs, her breath became a sharp intake of sound, her velvet skinned bottom rested on the pinky marble hand basin and she parted her thighs as her eyes closed so that she was alone in her own private world when her fingers dipped to the sensitive, puffy lips between her legs. A strangled sob escaped her mouth as her soft caressing fingers became batons of fiercely conducting masturbation, the wetness flooded through her fingers and trembling sensations rippled through her body. She had to get her relief somehow and at the moment her fingers were re the only reliable things that she had.

She thrust them deep into her sex hole, gasped and then pumped them furiously as though in punishment of her cunt for being unable to turn her husband on.

One week later Lady Celia could not bring herself to feel the deep sadness at the tragic death of her young husband. He had been thrown over a fence whilst riding. Everything would had been fine if his horse hadn't decided to jump seconds after the dismounted Lord Buckworth - the front hoofs caught the luckless man in the chest, ripping half his rib-cage away, his heart along with it, and Lady Celia was a widow.

The funeral had been a suitably miserable affair and now the last of the followers had left.

"Will you have your bath, madam?" the servant asked in a soft voice.

"Yes, in about half an hour," Celia told the attractive young maid.

Jenny Bristow watched the water swirling in the white porcelain tub, her fingers idly mixing the scented salts into the water and then she turned the faucets off. How she would have loved to be the one stepping into those waters, how dearly she would have been the one who would be ordering the stuck up bitch upstairs. She took a deep breath and saw Lady Celia coming through the door, the black diaphanous negligee loosely hanging on her creamy white shoulders. Jenny's breath caught in her throat. Celia Buckworth was easily the most attractive thing she had ever seen.

"All right, Jenny, I can manage now," the softly educated, but domineering sound commanded. Jenny's face went red with some hidden anger deep inside her as she mumbled acknowledgement and went from the large bathroom.As she closed the door, she saw the shapely nakedness of Celia stepping into the bath. That cheeky backside, those superbly rounded buttocks ... if only should she be able to get that woman into some state of sexual pleasure ...

Jenny's eyes closed as she thought of all the humiliating things that she would get Celia to do for her: kneeling naked, begging to be allowed to lick her feet ...

Jenny fled to her own small room and threw herself on the single sized bed, her knotted fist thrust into her mouth to quell the terrible ache of passion that welled up in her throat. The young maid tossed and turned in the strangely sweet torment of knowing the nakedness of her to attractive employer bathing just down the hall. The diaphanous dress had done little to conceal Celia's soft, silky charms and as the softly sheened skin had boldly presented itself through the transparent material, Jenny's eyes had almost lost focus.

Jenny lay, at last, on her back and memories flooded through her mind of the shapely woman so busy soaking herself in the luxurious bathroom. Jenny was a born lesbian. Her breeding did nothing to permit her the full licence to be a dominatrix, but her whole psychological make-up would have let her be a very good demanding mistress of other women if only she could get half a chance to get her claws into them. Although she was a country girl, she still managed to study hard, she was an inveterate reader of Sapphic prose and she knew the physical make-up of getting any partner into a state of hungry passiveness.

Her one dream, which had slowly cemented itself into her mind, was to be in complete control of the lovely, tall and beautiful Celia. She would easily, she was sure, if allowed bring the proud woman down to a state of subjected and begging slavery of devoted obeisance. She sighed lightly as her power-mad dream thrilled through her head, then closed her eyes she let herself drop off into a light sleep.

Her eyes opened quickly when she thought she heard her name being called from the hall. She hurriedly rose from the bed, ran her hand through her tresses and the straightened her uniform properly. She was not certain now whether she had dreamed the calling of her name and just as she had made up her mind that she had imagined it, she heard the unmistakable sound of Celia calling out. She sped through the wide palatial hall and knocked on the bathroom door. Her eyes stared to the soapy covered figure of Celia as the blonde beauty lay back in the bath, her toe jammed fully into the faucet outlay.

"My toe, Jenny, " Celia told her unnecessarily. "It's jammed in the water tap." Jenny had to fight the exciting thumping from her chest as she cast her eyes over the concealing suds of her naked Mistress. Jenny saw the coral tipped nipples thrusting through the small perfumed suds of the bubble bath and deliberately turned her back to face to the offending water tap. The toe was well and truly jammed. She reached for some lathering soap and rubbed it gently round and round the adhered digit. As she softly, but firmly, gripped Celia's toe, the supine woman wriggled uncontrollably as she felt the resulting tickling sensation ripple through her foot.

"Steady, Jenny, I am very ticklish." As she studied the bent over posture of Jenny, Celia felt a strange sensation ripple through her body. The hem of the mini skirted uniform had ridden up some way to leave a large expanse of the maid's thighs exposed. They were very good legs, Celia decided, and she had had one or two lesbian experiences at school, so the sensations now rippling through her body were no strange emotions to her. Without thinking she reached her hand forward and let her fingers tickle the thighs from just behind the knees straight up. She saw Jenny stiffen, and immediately regretted her impetuous caresses.

"Miss Celia," the girl gasped as though deeply shocked.

"Don't make such a fuss, Jenny, it was only a teasing stroke." Celia tried to sound airily unconcerned. She felt her foot disengage from the tap at last and sighed her relief.

"Will that be all, Miss?" Jenny was still blushing hotly.

"You can pass me my towel," Celia told her.