Michael slept well, despite the aches and bruises he had acquired climbing through the crawl spaces last night. He got up and washed straight away. As soon as he had dressed he went to breakfast. This was unusual for him, but not unheard of, as it meant he could have some time with his mother. Of course, if mother was having breakfast, Cynthia would be around.
He was rewarded the instant he came downstairs. Cynthia came around the corner and gave him a sweet smile.
"Good morning, sir," she said.
"Good morning," he replied, hoping to say more, but she breezed away on some errand or other. Michael walked into breakfast.
"Good morning, Mother," he said. He kissed her on the top of her head, as was their custom, then sat down next to her. Of course, 'next to her' was so far away two people could have sat between them if there were chairs present.
"Good morning, Michael," his mother replied, "So nice to spend some time with you. How are you?"
"Fine, Mother," he said, trying to be jolly while they said all of the routine things, "How are you? Looking forward to seeing Aunt Caroline?"
"Oh, I am," she said, doing a little excited wiggle in her chair, "We are going to make such a fuss the Alderman won't know what hit him!"
She told him about all of the plans they had and the plans they were trying to disrupt. It was nice to hear her excited about something. She was hoping that one of his three married older sisters would have produced a grandchild by now (she would have settled for the unmarried one doing so) but until that blessed event occurred she would raise hell. Locally, at least.
"How are lessons?" she asked, "Suiting you better than school?"
"Yes," he lied, "Victor is an excellent teacher. I have a reading day today. Excellent idea, it lets me flex the old gray matter."
"Very good," she replied, and they ate in silence for a while. He knew that she knew he was lying about Victor, but he also knew she did not really care about it. She only cared that she had a child at home, even if that child was nearly a man with whom she had very little in common.
Cynthia came in to let Mother know the car was ready. Mother nodded politely, but made Cynthia wait while she slowly finished her meal. Michael did not mind. He looked at Cynthia and when she looked back he held her gaze. She smiled a little and bit her lip.
Michael wished she would give him one of her wide smiles. She had an amazingly wide mouth, which looked even wider due to her thin lips and cute little chin. She was deliciously unusual, from her pale blue eyes to the gap between her front teeth. Even though she was perhaps ten years older than him, her features made her look girlish. Now that he did not have to look away he felt like he could look at her for hours.
Cynthia broke their stare as his mother put down her cutlery and finished her tea.
"I will be back late, my dear," she told Michael, "Will I see you again tomorrow for breakfast?"
"Yes, Mother," he said, and she was gone. Cynthia followed, giving him a tiny wave just before she disappeared through the door.
The one thing Michael had been worried about today never came to pass. As was the routine for a reading day, he only saw Victor three times, and on none of these occasions did Victor appear embarrassed or angry, or anything else for that matter. At five o’clock they met for the last time and Victor nodded and shrugged as usual as he looked at Michael’s work, then quizzed him on the texts he was reading. At five-thirty Michael had a solitary dinner in the small dining room, and by six-fifteen he was in his room, reading once again. By eight he had decided to get ready for bed, having dismissed the idea of crawling through the house again.
No sooner had he finished in his ensuite there was a knock at the door. Puzzled, he opened it to find Cynthia there.
“I have a message from your mother,” she said, coming into his room uninvited, “Which she wanted to deliver personally. I, erm, thought we might have some messages to exchange ourselves.”
“This isn’t really proper, Cynthia,” he said, ambivalence racking his brain, “If you give me Mother’s message and perhaps we can sort the rest out in the morning?”
“Well, sir,” she said, becoming demure all of a sudden, “Your mother will be home very late on account of a new meeting coming up. Your father will be away overnight so you are not to worry.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine,” he said, reaching for the door handle, “I should teach her how to use a phone one of these days. She likes to talk, you would think she would be glued to one already. She likes to write too. Text messages should be second nature.”
Cynthia stood just close enough to the door so he could not reach the handle without asking her to move. He looked at her and she was smiling a little smile and batting eyelids at him. He took his hand back.
“Now, this other business,” he said, “I do wonder if we should talk, but perhaps-”
“No one knows I’m here,” she interrupted, “They think I’ve already been and gone to bed.”
“Oh, really?” he said.
“Yes, so we can talk,” she said, “About our ‘business’.”
She licked her top lip when she said that then drew it into her mouth and blinked slowly at him. He was caught in her blue eyes for a moment before he took the opportunity to look at the rest of her. Sadly, her lady’s maid uniform left everything to the imagination. He turned away to gesture at the sitting area, and when he wasn't looking she threw something under the bed. Something made of straw and hair and… other things...
“Maybe we should sit down then?” he said. He sat in the armchair and she sat on the small sofa next to it. For some reason she sat on it as far from him as she could. Michael was confused.
“I know you like me, Michael,” she said, “And I like you too.”
“That’s very forward of you, Cynthia,” he said, “I don’t think-”
“I think we could have fun together,” she continued, ignoring his objection, “And I think it would be good for you. It would be good when you get a girlfriend, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re very kind to say ‘when’, really,” he said, “But… I mean, what would it… erm, we…”
As he mangled some more words, Cynthia slid along the sofa to get close to him. He was suddenly aware that he was only in his pyjamas. The thin material was doing little to conceal his excitement, the same excitement he felt whenever he was near Cynthia. Usually he could hide it, but not this time; Cynthia had already noticed and had looked at it. She did not quite start, she just… looked.
"Were there any girls?" she asked, "You know, when you were at school?"
The question caught Michael off guard.
"It was an all boys school," he said, "So no. Well, no students or teachers. There was a nurse, but she was quite old, and the headmaster lived at the school with his wife and daughters, but they went to a girls’ boarding school so we never saw them."
Cynthia looked at him the whole time, listening to every word. She seemed to be slowly pulling up her skirt, but perhaps that was just his imagination.
"It seems sad there were no girls," she said, "Sad and frustrating I bet. Did you and the other boys… try things?"
He looked at her. Feeling like he had a gormless look on his face, he tried and failed to make another one. As soon as he realised what she was talking about he blushed and another series of babbling sounds came out of his mouth. Cynthia laughed.
"I'm sorry sweetheart," she said, leaning toward him and touching his knee, "I was only teasing."
"Yes, well," he said, "I never did anything like that. Some of the older boys did, but not me. The nearest I got was some tackle-measuring in the showers."
Cynthia gave an exaggerated gasp and covered her mouth.
"Really?" she asked, her voice an excited squeak, "You can't just leave it there, you have to tell me."
Michael took a deep breath and looked at her. He saw her maid's uniform and makeupless face and for a moment thought about shouting at her for her impertinence. Who was she to ask? She was staff, there to take orders and do chores!
On the other hand, she was not just staff. He had lusted after her for over six months, and here she was in his bedroom. Her skirt was up far enough to show her knees and her blouse had several buttons undone which he was sure were fastened when she entered.
"Alright," he said, "We showered together most days at school. There were always jokes and taunts about who was fat, and who didn't have pubes, and who might be looking at someone else that way."
He looked at Cynthia and she understood, giving him a nod to continue.
"Well, some things become less of a joke and more of a contest," he continued, "And once everyone had pubes the length of one's tackle became the latest way of, well, literally measuring against each other."
"Come on then," she purred, "How did you 'measure up'."
Michael blushed again but he held her gaze.
"Very well, actually," he said. He was about to say he was one of the biggest, but modesty stopped him.
"I should check, you know," she said, leaning towards him.
"Should you?" he asked, leaning back and moving his hands to the sides. Consciously or otherwise, he was not about to stop her.
Cynthia just nodded and leaned further in. Michael could see down her blouse and there was nothing under there but pale skin. His heart rate rose and he felt the first electric touch of her fingers on his thigh just inches from his penis. He tore his eyes away from her cleavage to look away her face. Her attention was on his groin.
Her fingers brushed against that bulge then slowly wrapped around his erection. The thin material of his pyjamas felt rough as she moved her hand back and forth. Without thinking Michael leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back. His hand touched her knee and she grabbed his wrist. He pulled back from the kiss, wondering if he had done anything wrong, but she just smiled. She kissed him again and guided his hand between her legs. He stared at her knee, progressing to the soft skin on her inner thigh as she slowly opened her legs.
Meanwhile, she had made his member stand fully to attention. Their kiss had stalled. Instead they sat with their faces touching, breathing on each other. He felt her nod as his hand reached the top of her inner thigh. He felt soft hair and heat.
"We could be more comfortable," she said, "Join me here."
She took her hand off of him and moved to one side. He sat next to her and they started where they left off. Their arms got in the way of each other at first, but each fumble seemed to amuse Cynthia. That softened the sting of Michael's embarrassment over his inexperience.
"I didn't tell you everything," he blurted out, "I should be honest."
Cynthia drew back a little and nodded. She took her hand away from his member and played with his waistband.
"In the showers," he continued, "We did try things. Things like you're doing now. I didn't really like it, but it helped, you know, it was better than having to do it yourself or not doing it at all."
"Ooh, that sounds like it was fun," she whispered, pulling his pyjamas down just enough to touch his public hair, "If I do something for you will you tell me more?"
Michael nodded and Cynthia stood up. With a few delicate movements she removed her blouse and dropped it on the armchair. He looked at her breasts as she massaged them a little. Like her lips, her nipples were so pale they were hardly any different in shade to the skin around them. He could see the difference in texture clearly and he wanted to feel them in his hand… or his mouth.
"There," she said, sitting next to him again, "Tell me some more and you can play with them."
Michael took a shuddering breath and opened his mouth to speak. It was a little while before anything other than air came out.
"Well," he began, "It became a regular thing. Five of us would help each other out. We drew lots before the shower as to who would do who. One of the others liked to stand behind you while he did it. I didn't mind, it meant I didn't have to look at the chap doing it, but he also liked to do it before he was, you know, 'done'. He would rub himself against your back. Harmless, really considering what we were all doing, but strange all the same."
Cynthia took his hand and put it on her breast. It felt incredible. It was soft like nothing else, and just bigger than his hand meaning when he squeezed some of it escaped between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel her hard nipple against his palm and he moved his hand so he could feel it with his fingers. Cynthia smiled and moaned in the back of her throat.
"Go on," she said, working her hand into his pants.
"There's only one more thing to tell," he said.
"OK," she said, and he felt the tips of her fingers make contact with the head of his penis. He took a sharp breath in.
"That chap, the one who reached around," Michael began, his breathing making it difficult to speak fluently, "He wanted to do more, and he was crafty about it. He said he would tell everyone what we had been doing, and everyone would believe him because he used to do it with some of the older chaps."
He stopped as Cynthia got up and pulled at his pyjamas until she freed his cock. She knelt in front of him and wrapped her fingers around his shaft.
"Well, you weren't lying about being one of the bigger ones," she said. "Keep going."
"Well," he continued, his eyes fixed on her naked torso only a foot from his erection, "I went along with the others. First, he made one of them put my cock in his mouth. It felt weird and his teeth got in the way."
"Did you cum?" she asked. He nodded.
"He pulled back the skin and just sucked the tip," he said, making an odd strangled sound as Cynthia did just that to him, "And when he wanked me I c-came in his mouth. He s-spat it out."
She drew back, leaving his purple glans alone while he got his breath.
"And what did you do?" she asked.
"I did the same for another chap," he managed to say, "But his cock was smaller than mine so it was easier to do it without biting him."
"Did you spit too?" she proved, clearing assuming Michael had let the student finish in his mouth.
"I panicked when it happened," he confessed, "I didn't know what to do so I swallowed."
Cynthia's mouth closed around his cock. There were no teeth, just soft wetness. His head span, but she did not do it for long.
"Was that all?" she asked, sounding a little disappointed. Michael nodded.
"None of us wanted to do it again," he said, "And that was about two weeks before I came home."
Cynthia stood up once more and undid the zipper on her skirt. She let it fall, revealing herself fully to him, then she placed it on the armchair with her blouse. She pushed his knees together and stood astride them, one hand on her hip, the other between her legs.
"It sounds like you might prefer girls," she said, "How about I finish you off then I let you explore down here a little?"
She took her hand away revealing her blonde bush. The golden hairs were long but not thick, so he could see her pink lips clearly. They hung down slightly and glistened in the lamplight. As he stared she leaned forward and touched him under his nose with her moist fingers. The smell was intoxicating.
Without another word Cynthia went back to his penis. Already excited, but not as pent-up as he had been last night, Michael was able to enjoy her mouth for a while before he felt his balls churning. He felt something scratch him as she held his legs apart. When he flinched Cynthia looked at him and stopped sucking.
"Don't worry," she said, "I swallow too."
She doubled her efforts, and in moments the twitches of orgasm began. He felt himself cum, but all he saw was her head motionless as she swallowed all of it. When he was finished she licked his head clean and smiled at him.
"That was nice," she said, putting his soft member back into his pants
"That was amazing," he stammered.
She sat down next to him and spread her legs, putting one of them over his thighs. She took his hand and put it between her legs then stretched toward him to be kissed. He obliged as his fingers explored her.
Her quim was a curious combination. There was wiry hair beaded with moisture turned cold in the air. Then there were the outer lips, warm but barely damp. As he rubbed her juices flowed and spread and she guided his fingers inward. There was the prize. There was heat and the slick smooth treasure of her sex.
His initial giddy exploration over, her hand returned to guide him and she broke away from the kiss. With the hand nearest, she pulled his head to her breast and he needed no further guidance. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked on it greedily.
Meanwhile, he worked a finger inside her and moved it back and forth. She whispered guidance to him as her hand moved away from his and let him do it on his own.
"I want to cum," she said, "Let me..."
Her hand worked its way under his a little, her fingers working the area at the top of her slit which he assumed was her clitoris. Again something scratched him, this time on his wrist, but before he could think about it she spoke.
"Bite," she said.
He released her nipple and looked at her.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"Bite," she repeated, "My tit. Bite me so I feel it."
He did, giving her little nibbles at first then holding bits of her skin between his teeth. Every time he bit harder and she moaned louder. Between bites she whispered something he could not make out, words that were not meant for him. When he took her nipple in his mouth again he closed his teeth around it. She cried out and swore.. Fearing he had hurt her he let her boob go, only to see her eyes roll back in her head. Her body jerked as she orgasmed. A bright flush spread across the pale skin of her upper chest and neck to accompany the angry red of his teeth marks on her breast.
After a minute she pushed his hand away from her quim. In another she recovered and kissed him. Without warning she stood up and dressed again.
"I should go," she said, then seeing him crestfallen she added, "But I will be back tomorrow. I forgot to give you the other message. Your mother and father are meeting the Philberts in town tomorrow and are staying the night. I won't need to leave you until morning."
Michael sat looking at her. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Try not to think about it too much," she said, "Or Victor might catch on, and you don't want that."
Without it another word she left, pausing only to blow him a kiss from the doorway. Michael just sat, his brain and body drained but his imagination running wild.
"Twelve nights," Victor said when Cynthia returned to the servants' quarters, "Do you think you have done enough?"
"Not yet," she replied, "Of course not. Our work is paying off, have some patience."
"I have decades of patience, little quim," he snapped, "Armuke does not."
"No, I do not," Amy said, making both Victor and Cynthia freeze and look at the floor, "But I do have faith. Faith in darkness. Use every means to make him ours. The days pass and we have no second chances."