Bedtime Confessions (The Chambermaid's Tales - Short Stories) Read online

  Bedtime Confessions

  8 Erotic Tales

  By Sarah Michelle Lynch

  Copyright © Sarah Michelle Lynch, 2013

  The moral right of Sarah Michelle Lynch to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. You must not circulate this book without the authority to do so.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  British English is used throughout.

  The Chambermaid learnt her craft within the secretive confines of The Lodge, hidden deep within Nottingham's Sherwood Forest.

  In the hotel she worked in, she used her skills as a domme to teach men lessons they took home to their wives.

  Word of her service spread and she became renowned; synonymous with enriching the sex lives of so many.

  But something happened… she fell in love. She left the Master of her heart behind… for some reason.

  As she turns to professional domination as a dominatrix, she recalls her adventures both in a professional and personal capacity.

  What's clear is – this is a woman of complexity. But perhaps, her innermost thoughts – those of her true self – may answer some questions about why she does what she does.

  **Content for adults only**

  Note to Readers

  The Chambermaid's full story can be found in A Fine Profession but these short stories add a touch more insight into her service. They will not hinder the reading of her novel or give away the biggest plot twists of A Fine Profession. Whether you are a new reader of The Chambermaid, or old, welcome to the mind of a domme who likes to dabble. Read these stories first or her novel. Both are written to be enjoyed separately or together, but, better together. The concluding novel in the series, A Fine Pursuit, will feature the story of the one man to conquer her heart…

  Contents Page

  The Master Who Haunts Me

  Introduction to the Service

  Controlling My Desire

  The Fledgling Spreads Her Wings

  A Small Request

  Anticipation Is Paramount

  The Day Everything Changed

  The Baron

  The Master Who Haunts Me

  I dreamt a dream one night that seemed so real, yet impossible. I shan't consider this woman to be me, even though, she is…

  The sun blazed high in the sky as she lay on the ground; her body cushioned by the long, green grass. With her legs crossed and an arm flopped over her eyes, her other arm sprawled lazily at her side, wafting through the cool stems of life sprouting from the earth. She felt totally at peace. Her sandals had been tossed to the side, while her white summer dress felt wonderful on her body ‒ light and airy, and sensual. She wore no undergarments.

  “Hello,” she heard him say, as he hovered above.

  Though her eyes were shaded, his form eclipsed the sun when its hot, orange streaks stopped reaching those parts of her which were uncovered.

  He knelt by her side and she smiled. He held his large palm at her cheek and absorbed some of the warmth that had sunk deep into her skin.

  “You look lovely,” he said. “It was hard to find you. You must be in the most hidden part of this park.”

  “I know.”

  He reached down to whisper, “Naughty girl.”

  Her smile turned into a giggle and he silenced her with a kiss. His mouth touched her top lip, which shivered in response and turned instantly submissive. His scent was recognisable and arousing. Her smile softened but her arm remained, blocking the sunlight trying to blind her eyes, since he had moved down by her side and no longer protected her from its glare.

  He lay next to her on his side and her arm instinctively wrapped around his shoulder. He moved close and kissed the skin surrounding her ear.

  “Umm,” he whispered.

  She bit her lip in response and encouraged him closer. He moved so that his groin pressed tight against her hip and his arms threaded beneath hers. She moved her hands into his thick, blonde hair and moaned. He pressed his mouth to hers and they fell together into the beginnings of desire. Her stomach bolted at the sensation of his satin-soft lips on hers, and then, a gush of fluid flooded her pussy with the first caress of his tongue.

  She turned her head and opened her mouth for him, taking everything he had to offer. They kissed long and hard, mouths open and tussling. She pulled him on top and her feet touched his bare calves as she took him within her grasp; her summer dress riding up her legs as she wrapped herself around him.

  “What if someone sees?” she said.

  “You would like that wouldn't you?”

  “Yes.”

  He took the straps of her dress down and kissed her sun-kissed shoulders, freckled with the heat of a day's bathing under the sky. Her eyes remained shut. She had not yet opened them since he arrived.

  His hands were at her sides as he searched for some way in. He found a zip and pulled on it gently. They both shuddered as they listened to it crack open a little. He kissed the swell of one semi-exposed breast, while fondling the shape of the other over her dress.

  “I love you,” she said.

  He moaned in response and gave away his own ardency. He tugged the material until it gave way and released one, fully naked breast. He took a nipple between his lips and she cried out. He moved back on top of her, pressing her into the ground with his weight purposely trapping her. He held her cheeks and kissed her deeply. She reached beneath and yanked open the top button of his shorts. She forcefully ripped the zip down.

  His kisses turned frantic and he laid bare her other breast, rampantly suckling her bullet-hard nipples. She started tugging at the layers of her dress to draw it up and when she felt her thigh touch his shorts, she grew desperate and forced his clothing down with a foot, pushing the shorts along with his boxers. She quickly grabbed his heavy, solid shaft and stuffed it between her legs, aching for his entry.

  He waited there and demanded, “Charlotte, look at me.”

  She looked and saw his green eyes sparkling. His skin was flush and shining. He seemed oddly relaxed and dreamy. She held his cheeks and sucked his top lip. He moved deep inside her and she gasped. He smiled triumphantly, while she locked her arms and legs around him.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you,” he told her, in her ear, as he took his cock where it belonged.

  It felt so wonderful. She wanted more, however.

  “There is nobody around,” she said.

  “What do you suggest?”

  She motioned for her to be on top and he waited to see what she had in mind. She sat up straight and pushed her dress down to her waist so that her entire upper body was naked.

  “Please take your t-shirt off, baby,” she said. He did.

  She touched his chest with hers and kissed him. He sat up and held her in his arms while she moved, worshipping his goddess. Her breasts bobbed in the sunlight and he gasped as they hit his cheeks and mouth. She grew wild and sought to shake his foundations.

  He rolled and pinned her down again, and he ripped the dress away above her head. They were naked together. Her back felt the cold grass beneath, and with his hot body above, she cried out with every thrust. Her hands pressed
his solid buttocks into her centre and she screamed. He lifted himself up and on his knees, and bucked viciously. They could be caught at any moment but they both secretly wanted the world to see how he shafted her insides; how her body juddered with his rapid thrusts. He shot his load inside her and she milked his cock dry, drinking his life force and swooning as his arms encircled her afterward.

  It was that it felt so comfortable being together. It was that they loved one another.

  They kissed tenderly, and he aided her in redressing before laying back down beside her, once he had also re-clothed himself.

  “That felt so natural,” he said.

  “I know, it was marvellous.”

  They lay beneath the sun together and rested their exertions away.

  Then I woke up. I cried bitterly until I had no breath left.

  Introduction to the Service

  (a.k.a. Playing the Part, taken from A Fine Profession)

  I realised one day, as I was taking a long, hot bath, that there were divides to be adhered to when it came to sexual preferences. This is what I wrote down in my notebook immediately and memorised (knowing it was a failsafe guide to achieving what I wanted in any given situation):

  Categories of Men:-

  Those who need to be dominated.

  Those who need to be dominant.

  Those with romantic notions (most of whom are clueless of their preference).

  Subcategories of those categories:-

  Submissive men tend to require:

  - Being tied up and teased by their favourite parts of a woman's anatomy.

  - Being tied up and being whipped or slapped.

  - Being told what to do every step of the way, with a few cusses thrown in for good measure.

  - Sometimes, outrageous lingerie.

  Dominators tend to require:

  - Tying a woman up/and or blindfolding, before licking and kissing her all over to assert their authority.

  - A woman pretending to be the virginal darling who has never been so full of cock before.

  - A woman on her front as they take her seemingly unwillingly.

  - That their pleasure is in preventing or prolonging their partner's. Punishments may be handed out for too much enjoyment.

  Those with the romantic notion of making every time special:

  - A soft approach; feminine underwear, pleading whispers, their hands caressing and stroking.

  - Cunnilingus or female on top (so she can cum first) before they get the go-ahead to fuck her senseless.

  - A friendly chat to settle their nerves.

  I discovered I could pretend to be the submissive very well. I knew how to fake my pleasure if required, or indeed, even find pleasure in the basest predicament. One such situation involved a threesome with Mark and Florence where they both enjoyed my body together. I was tied up and Mark sprayed his seed all over my stomach. Florence was then instructed to lick it off. As she did, I imagined I was being cleaned by Cody's tongue (he still crept into my thoughts sometimes) and the very thought of that made me beg for her to make me cum. It ended up that she and Mark both worked on me; she licking my pussy while he probed both holes with his fingers. Oh yes, I could play the submissive little girl very well, taking whatever these men and women had to throw at me.

  My natural inclination was, however, toward dealing out punishment. My own penchant for order from chaos, for control and physical exertion, was thus satisfied. For a lot of men who have erectile dysfunction or who simply cannot reach full tilt anymore, something they learn to enjoy is being engaged in a separate type of copulation. Something outside of soft foreplay, more communicative pleasure/pain. It seemed to me that this was definitely a more mature man's sport but I very much enjoyed it. Conjuring dormant desire is something of an art, after all.

  The parlour maid version of me – an early incarnation of the Chambermaid – quickly learnt everything she needed to know.

  Whenever we arrived at the Lodge, I nearly always left Flo and Mark to their own devices in the gallery rooms or communal chambers. I headed to the punishment chambers. I would wait in a suitably darkened dungeon in one of my many outfits, which mostly featured aprons or pinnys of various varieties. Sometimes I carried some cleaning equipment in my front pocket.

  A gentleman and his wife entered and I looked up from where I sat on a wooden chair. The other woman stayed in the shadows but her husband stepped forward and admitted, “My wife requires me to be punished for my failures in the sack.”

  In essence, they wanted something to get off on together. Perhaps that evening and maybe even when they got back home.

  “On the table then,” I said, and he was strapped to one of the infamous Hambleton beds that were present in most rooms. Shackled down, I saw his penis was a little enlarged already. It pointed east in his leather pouch as if refusing to bend to the will of anyone but him. He wore nothing else except a leather mask across his eyes and the slippers most of the men wore.

  “What is his crime?” I asked the woman, who was dressed in a leather dress. I was in a red and black corset mixed with lace, satin and velvet bows. I could see his eyes darting to my clothing every now and again. He wanted punishment, it seemed. Those breasts which I had hidden for so many years out of shame and embarrassment were on show almost every night (whether at the Lodge or for Mark or other lovers) and were pushed up nearly right under my chin. But, only to taunt these men who I knew did not deserve my bosoms. They only deserved to look upon what they couldn't have and use the sight of them for their own gains or losses later.

  “He played with himself,” the woman said, playing her part. “Alone. Without me.”

  “Why was this? Such a disrespect!” I exclaimed.

  “I am sorry,” he shuddered, aching for me to whip him.

  “He wastes what few chances he has on himself!” she said.

  “Vile pig. Ugh. That's very bad behaviour,” I said.

  “I know,” he moaned.

  I retracted a little feather tickler and started my work.

  “Let's clean the muck off you, dirty little boy. Very bad boy.”

  I teased his feet to begin with, before venturing to between his legs, across his stomach, under his armpits and up and down his throat. The insinuations were driving him to distraction. His cock welled in his tiny little pouch and his wife was drawn to the sight. She knew the ruse would need to continue, however.

  “Let's rub down our clean little participant, now, shall we?” I said to her, and she got up to take some massage oil from me that I'd doused my own hands with.

  We rubbed his body all over, as though preparing him for some sacrificial rite. His wife even teased her fingers underneath the leather pouch to punish him, before taking away her touch as soon as it got too much.

  “How would you prefer to be punished?” I asked.

  “Against my back,” he said. “With you naked.”

  “As you wish. And the lady?”

  “She is in too much of a bad mood to join. She will watch.”

  “Sure.”

  I raised the table to a helpful height and then loosed the fixtures at his feet so I could flip him right over. He lay on his front, wrists crossed in front of him, legs free but his rear and back totally bare. From this new angle, I could see his scrotum and anus.

  I took a clean crop out of one of the drawers in the room and asked, “Should I lock the door? The only thing is, we will be televised instead.” A screen outside the door would show our work.

  “Oh… okay…” he said, the exhibitionist in him so eager that his cock was probably unbearably strained beneath him.

  I went over to lock the door and then slipped out of my corset, which had built-in panties, making it easy to become naked. I was shaven bald still and was wearing a purple velvet mask with little jewels around the eyeholes. My hair was spiked and I felt deliriously sexual in that dark room, which was now closed off to us three strangers engaged in seeking mutual, consensual pleasure that did not
necessarily need to involve direct touch.

  He caught sight of me naked and groaned loudly; the menacing, guttural cry of a hunter seeking prey. I cracked the whip against the wood and warned, “I have no qualms over issuing pain, and, I deal it most brutally if pushed.”

  “Oooh, uhh, yes,” he whined. He was panting and delirious. His wife's chest heaved at the sight of her life partner becoming so sexually aroused. A rare moment, I decided. They were a fifty-something couple and very much in love, but simply in need of an extra added little bonus to help them through.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “Umm,” he said.

  I tapped his backside with the flat side of the crop, the knotted, plaited edge, and he moaned delightfully. I struck one cheek at a time, rather tamely, and continued my momentum. I moved around the table and he watched my body as I did, continually groaning in consent. I began striking his back, a little harder, and he groaned louder. The red slashes across his back were reminders of my imprint. When he tired, I ceased, and he breathed his anguish away. The marks were superficial and would be gone by morning perhaps, but the temporary despair was overwhelming him. It was mixing too well with desire. I rolled him back over and his pouch was full.

  What happened next? I was blindfolded as a mark of respect. Then I determined from their noises that the woman rode her husband backward cowgirl. He was excruciatingly aroused. He howled in the room and his wife was most pleased by my work. He was quite large when at full mast. I thrashed his chest as she drilled him and the dopamine and endorphins swilling around his veins caused him to have an intense, drawn-out, long-lasting orgasm of several minutes. The mature orgasms of life are exactly that: few and rarer but lengthier. Her own was intense as she used a bullet on her clitoris.