MASTER CAME FOR ME AGAIN by ice angel *

Master, came for me again

My writing tasks are complete. Exhausted, I sit alone by the guttering candle and strain to hear the hard, familiar footsteps on the paving below. I press a hand on the wine coloured velvet bodice at my breast. It stills my constant heart, which thunders at the thought of Sir Hunter Tremayne.

So would yours, dear reader, had you been lucky enough to feel the kiss of his whip on your naked quivering skin.  Please God let him ride his steed quickly to be by my side.  I cannot resist agitating the curtain and peering down to the dark sodden earth below, willing, willing him to arrive. My ears strain for sound of approaching hooves, all they hear is rain drops splattering at the casements like pebbles.  The clock ticks the minutes by interminably. It is better cold without him.

My quill pen agitates in its holder from the gale forcing its way in at the casement window. Sir Hunter will be with me soon. So very soon.

To pass the time, and keep me from pacing the room again, I take up the two documents on the desk and read the words on which I have been engaged. The first is my last Will and Testament, completed and hour ago and signed by the cook, the house keeper and the butler, now dismissed and in their beds. My three faithfully witnesses.

"I Elizabeth Langdale, of Hampshire, England, being of sound and disposing mind and not being actuated by any duress, menace, fraud, mistake, or under influence, do declare this is to be my last Will, and that bequests detailed below be carried out in accordance with my wishes this day, the 15th December 18-"

But, constant reader, you will be more interested in the second document I have written. It tells of first of my first meeting with Sir Hunter, of the things he taught me and the reasons for the strange bequest in my will. i am a women of fortune and many would squabble over my leaving considerable wealth to Fredrick March, a mere servant, unrelated to me if I did not explain the reason for this curious bequest. 

Come. Walk with me as I move aside the folds of my skirts and sit by the fire's fever glow to remember. READ read on...............

'My tale starts the first day Sir Hunter had cause to speak to me. A poor child of only fifteen, I had only briefly glimpsed the Master in the parish church of a Sunday. Head bowed in my distant pew, I would steal a glance at Sir Hunter’s haughty figure, six feet of him, striding to take communion. I took pleasure in that arrogant bearing, the aristocratic nose down which he peered at those of us who were truly beneath him.  Nothing would have induced me to approach the great man. What business would I, the daughter of a dairy maid, now a milkmaid myself, have had with such a pillar of our community?

However I must correct myself. There was one isolated incident during which I witnessed a flicker of interest from Sir Hunter in my lowly self.  It was a fine summer day, the sweltering heat taking all by surprise.  I had swooned in the church as if I would faint.  The sermon droned on interminably long, the heat seeping in unrelieved and the air hung sickly with the scent of drooping lilies in vases down at the altar. Too timid to9 leave mid-service, I sought to relieve my distress by loosening the ties of my dress. My hand crept up to the sweat-glowed skin at my collar bone and down to the kaces at my breast. Hoping no one was observing a mere farm girl, I took the laces and loosened each one.  My eyes drooped at the relief afforded me and I fear I nodded off to sleep.  Awakening, startled, i found the organ playing and the congresion rising at the end of the service. I confess I leapt to my feet, not quite knowing where I was.  In so doing, the front of my loosened bodice fell away, to reveal pert breasts and small cherry brown of an escaped nipple. A small rivulet of sweat collected between the full globes and trickled onto the cotton of my chemise.  Anguished at the realisation of my near undress, I grasped the cotton and self-consciously grasped it to my bosom.  But not before I felt eyes on me and looked up to find Sir Hunter's gaze ravishing me.

Something in that glance struck a chord within me; His look was stern with a sliver of harshness which prickled my belly.  It remained me of the look in swordsman's eye just before he dispatches hi pray.  An appreciative quirk of his brow told me Sir Hunter had not only witnessed my distress but that delighted in it.  One word issued from his lips, 'slut'.  A suffusion of pink overflowed my neck.  Fearing I would faint, I grasped my little basket, gathered my shawl tightly to me despite the heat and escaped like a vixen with the devil at her heels.

Even with that moment of connection, and being under the same church roof many times after, Sir Hunter never rewarded me again with eye contact.  I was as ignored and insignificant to him now as ever.  I'm Ashamed that I prayed (me the sweet lord forgive me), alone in my bed, that circumstances were different. On occasion thoughts of him so invaded my head that my hands slid down under to the hem of my nightshirt.  Driving my fingers into my fevered body, I imagined with much longing what it would be like to be explored by Sir Hunter's manicured fingers.  But fevered dreams aside we were stations apart in life.  Gradually I accepted that his azure gaze would never alight upon a poor besotted milkmaid again.

Not until that is, the day three years later in a grimy street in London town when I was astounded to find it was Sir Hunter's face which greeted me when i knocked at a strange door.  But I move on to too swiftly, dear reader, and risk leaving you behind.  Let me explain. 

At the age of seventeen, happily living in the village and existing on glimpses of Sir Hunter for me amusement, I was shocked on returning to our cottage one day to find that my poor dear mother had passed away.  Her passing was unexpected.  Always a red-cheeked robust female, no one imagined that she could fall so completely to the consumption. 

My grief was boundless, But it was compounded by the shocking realisation that I was now alone and stared that unforgiving curse, poverty in the face.  The kindly farmer who had employed us and who had supplied our meagre living accommodation succumbed to the coughing sickness the month after my mother.  The new owner, a harsh man and a stranger in town, licked his fingers when he met me, lifting his chin and said 'Now you’re a right saucy creature and no mistake.  Wouldn't I like to have your virgin lips to moisten my hardness?'

One night, alone asleep in my bed, I heard him enter the cottage he now owned.  Whisky staking his breath, he wrenched off the bedclothes, gripped my neck and fondled me with his calloused hands.  As he began to unbutton his britches, I panicked, kicked the drunken monster away and raced out with only a dress, shawl and some pennies.  With the little I had walked from village to village.  But I was young and growing painfully thin.  At all the Hiring markets, it was the voluptuous maidens or the clodhoppers with the physiques of youths that were chosen for work.  I was the girl that was left standing at the end of the day.  I was the one who had been prodded and commented on and left with no employer willing to take a chance on me.

Like so many innocents before me, I made my way to London town to try my luck on its rat-infested pavements.  When I finally reached the city it was alien to me, people as it was with rushing individuals crawling their living from the rancid alleyways.  My last pennies, carefully preserved, I spent on a meagre room in a boarding house above a public house where I was able to wash my shattered body and clean my clothes.  My only bit of luck in all those dark days was meeting s girl within lodgings near Fleet Street who had a country accent and was only a year or two older then myself.  Perhaps recognising in my plight something of her own past, dear Martha possessed the looks and kind hands of an angel.  She allowed me to share her rooms and fed me for a fraction of the cost of a room of my own.  Lighting a fire in the cosy attic room at the top of the house, and helping me dry my clothes she asked, 'And do you have any prospect of any work here in London?'

'No' i replied, ' but i have heard that anyone can find work here'

'Hah, don’t believe it. The streets are more paves with cabbage leaves than with gold. And sadly there’s no call for dairymaids in these parts.  Nerveless, there is a man who provides employment for young maidens like yourself.  He is only in town sometimes, having a vast estate in the country so they say.  But, hi is here at present.  I know because I was working for him myself only the other day.' At this point, she cupped my chin in her hands and stocking, fixed me with her gaze. ‘You scrub up well dear little Lizzie.  In fact I would say your rosebud skin and kitten-eyes would be most prized by this particular gentleman.'

'If this gentleman could help me I would do anything for him.  Work hard on my knees, scrubbing the floors and serving his every whim,' I told her. I guessed that industrious servants were hard to come by in London, but I would see him proud if he could rescue me from my plight.  As Martha brushed my damp hair, petting it till it shone, I began to feel a spark of hope.

Martha continued, running her hands lovingly through my hair to dry it, 'He is very rich and only likes the finest of things.  Girls queue up to be under his protection. But he is also very choosy.  Not for him will any do’ she wound my waist-length hair around rags as she spoke.  'When I have set your hair, we will look in my cupboard and you can try on one of my old dresses.  When I first came here I was aw tiny as you.  I have fattened up nicely since then but I am sure we can find you something better then that gray old thing.'

Rifling in her bedroom cupboard Martha pulled out the most delectable midnight blue silk gown.  'Why, this is a rich women's gown,' I cried, 'how did you come by it?'  Martha smiled.  'Oh there is money to be made in this town if you know how.  And the gentleman I was speaking of will show you how, little Lizzie, as long as you let him, and do everything he asks like a good girl.'

She helped me step into the gown and i stood as resplendent as a fine lady.  Curves i had not before witnessed appeared under the tightness of the laced bodice and the full skirt.  Down the neckline was sewn black lace and tiny beads which twinkled in the candle light.  A neckline much lower than then I was used to exposed the swell of my bosom but Martha only laughed at my concerns and told me the rich gentleman would have no qualms about that!

That night we lay together in her little bed.  I was so grateful for all her help and for the she held me close in her arms, 'to warm us,' so she said.  She rubbed my back and neck, ' to ease the aches and pains', and kissed me softly on the neck whispering in my ear that all would be well.  I had never been caressed like that and it caused a strange moistening between my legs which embarrassed me. 

My head spun when her hand moved to my chest. She giggled girlishly as she cupped my breasts, and exclaclaimed at how neat they were. Like little buns fresh out of the oven she said, they needed tasting. I was a little shocked when she moved her lips down to my breasts and kissed them. I felt suddenly surprisingly warm and had to lift my nightdress to cool myself down.

Helpfully, Martha pushed it over my arms and over my head. It felt somewhat strange to be naked but perfectly safe with someone like Martha.  I felt she was getting a little warm too, I heard her breath quicken as she now feasted  hungelry on my nipples, which had grown hard in way I had never experienced before, except when i had washed in the depths of winter before going out to the cows.

Everything was so strange so different in the curious city, none more so then this crazy night.  When Martha took her nightshirt off too, I was amazed at the size and volume of her breasts, heavy in the glowing light of the fire.  Something deep in my stomach lurched and if found it difficult in breathing.  i had never seen another human being unclothed before but supposed that as she was a girl and not a man there could be no harm in it.  Martha lifted my trembling hand to her magnificent breasts they were soft and full like a cows udders.  Instinctively I pulled at her like i did when i gently milked the cows and saw Martha's green eyes sparkle with desire.

It was so warm and comforting to see our bodies naked and bathed in fire flames.  I lay back on the bed and felt Martha gently lift herself onto of me.  Her little furry bush tickled the inside of my spread thigh.  Driven by a burning passion i took her huge breast into my eager mouth and suckled.  i felt a small sound like a purr come from my throat and felt my finger nails like little cat claws fasten into the bedclothes, as Martha emitted little moans herself.  Without knowing why, I moved my legs apart, probably to cool my burning skin, at this, Martha moved slowly down, planting kisses over my flat belly, licking my belly button, down over my hipbones and down further still to my thighs.  i felt her long silken hair fall against my cunny.

Then my dear reader, the most unbelievable sensation occurred as Martha pressed her warm wet mouth insatiately between my thighs.  I looked down in the fire light to see her tongue out and gently lick me down there, her arse proudly sticking in the air as she knelt.  The sensation was heavenly.  I didn’t this it could get any better till she madly quickened. I squirmed to get free not knowing what was happening to me. She helped me fast with hand, moaning while her other hand played in her moist bush.  She increased her pace sending palpitations though my opening which convulsed my boy in one arching spasm until i cried out to the moon.  As i collapsed in a heap, i watched Martha laying back pleasuring herself alone to a shuddering completion. 

After a superb night's sleep, Martha took out the cotton rags, tossing my black hair into bouncing curls.  She announced that i should get dressed quickly and we would both go see the rich gentleman.  She held my hand as we made our way down the labyrinthine streets. finally at a small doorway, she kissed me and told me to knock and that fine gentleman would be pleased to see us.  Imagine my amazement when the door opened and there stood Sir Hunter Tremayne.  I brushed hotly as his eyes ran slowly up my body, thinking he might turn me away.  But he beckoned us both in, sat me down in the parlour room and, putting his arm around Martha, whispered with her in her hall.  When he returned, Sir Hunter had a serious look on his face.

'Well, well. Little Lizzie Langdale.  What a treat this is going to be. I am in need of your services.  Come.  We will start straight away.'

I held my head demurely in the presence of the great man, and Martha and i followed, into what appeared to be a large bedroom, suitable for a man of substance.  I supposed that this was where i was to do cleaning or mending or some such. Sir Hunter sat in a chaise lounge with his feet up and old Martha to take off my cape. 'She is pretty is she not?' He asked.

'Yes,' replied Martha. 'Very.'

Then his tone became very harsh as he sat up and eyed me with a cruelty i had only seen a glimpse of once before.  'But, she is naughty too, is she not?'

'I believe she is, Sir,' answered Martha. 'Very.'

Then he got up and took a step towards me. 'Naughty girls should be punished should they not?' Terrified, I looked at Martha.

'Of course, Sir' answered Martha hungrily.

I stood transfixed at the sight of Sir Hunter's long limbs as he came towards me, not understanding any of this, unable to move.  But, I was aware of my heart beating strongly and of a delicious hunger between my legs. Scared but anticipating at the same time, i smelt Sir Hunter as he approached.  Leather and cigar smoke seemed to mingle on his breath, he was now so close.  'But girls deserve a spanking,' he said gently in my ear, sending torrents of anticipation shoot though me. 'Get on your knees, girls.'

Not having it in my power to resist, I knelt down.  Roughly he pushed me forward so i was on all fours.  'Martha,' he demanded, 'lift the little bitches skirts'.  Martha pulled up my dress, exposing my naked buttocks which tingled, so exquisite was the feeling of their exposure to this powerful man.  In this state of subjugation, i watched as went to the wall and took off it a horse whip, and a length of golden chord.  My eyes pleaded with him as he stared me full in the face, then brutally tied each wrist to opposite chair legs and picked up the whip.

'Naughty, naughty, little bitch'. His voice was gravelly as he played the whip over my exposed buttocks.  The tender stroking across my white skin as delightful and terrifying.  Then the last thing i saw as he pulled back his arm and brought the switch cracking down on my buttocks was Martha's kindly smile, heavy with desire.  the pain was exquisite, executed so elegantly by Sir Hunter, with such precision.  Not only were my buttocks smarting, but the most interesting sensation was the pleasure that the whipping had promoted in my quim. Sir Hunter brought the whip down again and i felt a swelling develop as i heard myself say weakly,  'please, no,' when what i really meant to say was 'please, yes!'

One last crack of the whip drove me wetly to shuddering orgasm and brought a sardonic smile to Sir Hurter's face.  'Now,' he said 'for the ultimate punishment.'  As I looked behind me, still on all fours, he unbuttoned his breeches and bought forth a huge specimen of manhood, erect as a sapling.  On seeing it, Martha immediately sighed, dropped to the floor and took it into her mouth.  i waited, watching her lapping like a little dog.  Sir Hunter guided her, his hand at the back of her head, all while looking me hard in the eyes.  Then, he boomed 'Enough,' wrenched his manhood out of her mouth and, stood behind me smiling. He parted my thighs and rubbed his throbbing member over my buttocks.  The power of it made me reach out and clutch his hugeness in my hand. Wet and hard, I marvelled at his strength.  For a minute, Sir Hunter delighted In my hold, as i kneaded and played.  Silently i begged for completion, when suddenly he lost patience.  Brushing my hand angrily away, he roughly pulled apart my thighs, and forced his wet length into my widely splayed quim.  In and out he drove while i cried out for mercy.  In a matter of moments, he drew himself and spattered his relief over the roundness of my buttocks, the warm seed dripping down my thighs. 

Martha licked her lips an smiled, knowing it was her turn to finish me off.  The moment was to delicious, as her expert fingers drove round and round against my dripping sex.  Martha, bless her, brought me shuddering helpless again to completion as she kissed me on the lips.

Many times over the years to come i submitted to more delightful four-legged humiliation, always in the presence of the eager Martha.  It took me some time to realise that Martha's desire was not for Sir Hunters but for me. They both took me to their separate beds and thought me all they knew.  Martha loved me until the day she died last year, with some devotion that i saved for Sir Hunter, my mentor and my master.  As we two girls became women and reached maturity, and Sir Hunter grew slower, he installed us in his country home for his endless pleasure.  Under his expert education and care, i grew plump and voluptuous, delighting him with my curves, until now.  As i write this, i am in my sixty-fifth year.  i know i am going to die for i have this afternoon competed my will and had it witnessed by my servants.  My final act has been to drink a phial of poison.  Sir Hunter died last week at a venerable age of ninety-five, and the only place i wish now to be is with him.  i wait for his ghost to ride up on his horse and place my spirit form on its back so i that we can ride away to meet up again with my dear old friend Martha.

There, you have my story as promised.

And my bequest? Well, that is to Frederick March, beloved bastard son of Martha March and Sir Hunter Tremayne.  Somehow my own childlessness has not been so painful with little Frederick around, the offspring of the two most wonderful and important people in my life. May he enjoy on earth the money which is no longer of any use to me?  Ah, I feel life ebbing away from my body. I am done. i hear hooves clattering on the ground below.  Please forgive me, I must depart.  Sir Hunter is ready to take me away, to the other world, to be with him, my beloved master, and to welcome eterity and endless youth locked in his strong arms.