From Blushes 54
George Mayburn glanced up at the clock on the mantlepiece for the umpteenth time. Was it stopped or something? The minute hand didn’t seem to be moving at all. Sylvia Mayburn looking up from her magazine at the same time happened to catch her husband’s eye. She shook her head, with a look which said he was behaving like a little boy: one who couldn’t wait to get his hands on a new toy perhaps.
George looked slightly embarrassed, aware that he was eyeing the clock every few seconds but not able to stop himself. ‘Well, I don’t want to miss her. I mean if no one’s at the station she might… well, wander off, get picked up by someone.’
Sylvia shook her head again. ‘She has got the address. George. And hopefully is not entirely stupid.’
George Mayburn wasn’t a little boy of course, he was 56, a genial looking fellow, though perhaps a little overweight, in his sweater and slacks. He had taken early retirement six months ago and consequently had lots of time on his hands. Sylvia, used to having the house to herself, had found George and all his spare time a bit of a nuisance. So she was very glad he was getting the girl — she would be a diversion, just what George needed. As to what George did with her, well, Sylvia wasn’t too bothered. He liked to speak of it as a citizen’s duty of course, training a girl. but Sylvia knew that basically what George intended was to enjoy himself. Not that there was anything very new or extraordinary about that: no doubt 99 per cent of men who had live-in maids had them to amuse themselves.
George could finally stand the waiting no longer and got to his feet. The minute hand had actually moved a little now. ‘I think I’ll go and see,’ he told Sylvia. ‘I have known trains to arrive early.’
Sylvia could have asked when the last time was but didn’t.
The train wasn’t early of course but it was only five minutes late. George had a moment’s nasty fear that she might not be on it for some reason or other, but no, there she was coming through the barrier: a quite tall girl in a grey raincoat tightly belted round a slim waist, her pretty oval face framed in longish, almost-black wavy hair. She was carrying a medium-sized suitcase. George knew what to look for of course; he had been sent photographs by the Agency. Photos of her clothed and smiling and also two of her nude and looking somewhat more apprehensively at the camera. She looked even more delicious now in the flesh than in the photos. Not that George could as yet pass judgement on the whole of her, how the live flesh compared with the nude photos. That would have to wait until he got her home.
‘Charlotte!’ he greeted her warmly. ‘I’m Mr Mayburn.’ Because Charlotte had not correspondingly had any photo of this gentleman with whom she would be staying. To be in theory trained as a maid, in fact to be the gentleman’s plaything.
Charlotte smiled a shy greeting. With perhaps a slight feeling of relief because Mr Mayburn looked pleasant enough and when you had no idea what to expect you could be fearing the worst. Mr Mayburn was taking her case, his other hand taking her by the arm. Asking if she’d had a pleasant trip. Charlotte said ‘yes thank you.’ She was feeling a bit tired and stiff after the long journey, into London and then out here to this small town in Somerset. Mr Mayburn conducted her out and into the car park. It was a bright sunny late afternoon and Charlotte didn’t really need her coat on.
George Mayburn put the case in the boot of his car, then grinned at Charlotte. Are you… ah… dressed as I suggested. My dear?’
Charlotte coloured. She had for the moment forgotten about it — although it had been in her mind for most of the journey. A man sitting opposite in the carriage had been eyeing her and she had had the awful thought that he had seen, although Charlotte was very careful to keep her skirt well down. ‘Yes Mr Mayburn,’ she replied nervously.
Mr Mayburn was still grinning. ‘That was a good girl, Charlotte. Did you enjoy it? Did it give you a nice feeling? On the train and across London and all that and not wearing any. Was it exciting?’
Charlotte shook her head. She had hated it but Mr Mayburn had told her not to wear any and so she hadn’t.
‘Well anyway, let me see. Just to check, Charlotte dear. Lift your coat and skirt up.’ George Mayburn was perhaps slightly red in the face himself now.
Charlotte’s colour rapidly deepened. They were in the public car park. Where everyone could see them. It was true there weren’t a lot of people about and none in the immediate vicinity but… She squirmed.
‘Come on, Charlotte. I want to see. Turn and face the car and lift everything up. Right up round your waist.’
He clearly meant it. And Charlotte had to do it. Heart now racing she turned and lifted her things up. The light rain-coat and the blue skirt underneath. The skirt was full so there was no trouble getting it up. Charlotte had no knickers on and no petticoat either. George Mayburn’s instructions for the trip. She had on dark nylons with her white high heels, fastened with a black suspender belt. These items were also as detailed in George’s letter. Sweating, Charlotte nonetheless had her coat and skirt up round her waist. To expose a ripely rounded bare bottom and bare upper thighs above the stocking tops.
George’s hand came up. He had been dreaming of this moment. His hand on the soft and silky intimate flesh of a nubile 18-year-old. Sensuously caressing the quivering bare bottom-cheeks. It had been a dream and now… it was almost unbelievable reality. He was taking her home: this dream girl in the flesh. George had had to wait of course because there was a waiting list for girls. Naturally they were in high demand although only retired citizens could apply for them. But this one, this delicious Charlotte, was worth waiting for all right. When he had received the photos from the Agency and the note asking: is this one suitable…? Her background details, all the vital statistics, but most of all the photographs. Well, it had been almost too much. Almost as if he had been dreaming. George hadn’t shown Sylvia the nude photos of course.
‘Lovely,’ he breathed. ‘Exquisite…’ The nude shots the Agency had sent had been of her standing facing towards and away from the camera, so George had known she had a lovely figure from all angles. But actually having his hand on it, on this silkily succulent bottom…
‘Turn round now,’ he told her eventually. ‘Let me have just a teeny look at the front.’
Charlotte didn’t want to turn round.
George, his voice sharper, said if she didn’t turn round at once he would have her parading up and down in front of all the people in the car park (and there was still a good scattering around) with her skirts up round her waist. At this Charlotte did turn, to expose what she had been wishing to hide against the side of George’s car: the luxuriant brown-black tuft of her pussy.
George moved in close. ‘Not shy are we, Charlotte? Not shy of showing it? If you are… let me cover it for you…’ His cupping hand enclosed the springy bush. Charlotte made a gurgling sound.
George said, ‘I should have had you wear a short mini-skirt on the journey — perhaps with a slit right up to the waist. No coat either. That way everyone on the train would have seen it. Wouldn’t they?’ George squeezed what he was holding. And did other things to it with his fingers. Charlotte was making frantic little whimpering sounds.
Twenty minutes later they were at Number 26 Armitage Avenue and Charlotte was being introduced to the lady of the house. Mrs Mayburn seemed a pleasant enough lady — but Mayburn had seemed pleasant too and then in the car park he had done those awful things. ‘You’ll be Mr Mayburn’s maid of course,’ Sylvia told Charlotte. ‘So he’ll be the one telling you what to do. I hope we can get some general housework out of you, though. Apart from any special duties my husband will require.’
Charlotte said a submissive ‘Yes Mrs Mayburn’. She wondered if that lady knew she had been made to come without any knickers on — or indeed if Mr Mayburn was going to continue that now she was here. At this point the master of the house came back into the lounge.
Got acquainted then, have we?’ he asked in a jovial voice. ‘Good. Well I think I’ll take Charlotte upstairs now, Sylvia. She’d probably like a nice bath after that journey. Eh Charlotte?’
Charlotte said meekly ‘Yes Mr Mayburn.’
Halfway up the stairs George, close behind Charlotte, put his hand up her skirt. ‘Stop a mo,’ he told her. Somehow he just had to. The ripe sway of his new maid’s hips under her skirt was too much to resist. All that warm silky flesh… His hand slid up the backs of her thighs above the taut stocking tops and then onto the swelling bottom-cheeks. And then… in between her legs. ‘Got a boyfriend?’ George’s voice was gruff with excitement.
Charlotte managed a ‘Yes Mr Mayburn.’ Her legs were apart, her left foot raised on the higher stair, and Mr Mayburn’s hand from behind could get at her even more completely and intimately than it had in the car park. With her knees suddenly like jelly she grabbed at the bannister for support.
‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’ Mr Mayburn was saying. ‘About visits I mean. I don’t want you all frustrated, do I, but we can’t have very frequent visits. That would be too disturbing for you. If you do get frustrated… well, I suppose I could do something about it myself. Mmm…?’
Charlotte was desperately grabbing onto the bannister. Otherwise from what Mr Mayburn was doing to her she would just collapse in a heap on the stairs.
He eventually let go and told her to continue on up. Charlotte almost thought she wouldn’t be able to but somehow did. She was shaking like a jelly. They went into a little bedroom that Mr Mayburn said would be hers. ‘Are you going to be frustrated, Charlotte dear?’ he asked.
She frantically shook her head. Charlotte wanted to see her boyfriend Stephen of course but she knew that whether she could and at what frequency would be completely up to Mr Mayburn. Girls did not have any rights while they were doing maid training and Mr Mayburn could keep her for as long as he wanted within the 18 to 24 age bracket that girls in Charlotte’s position were required to spend as a maid. Middle-class girls could avoid maid duty by their parents getting them onto further education courses etc. That option hadn’t been open to Charlotte: the State didn’t want girls of her background — respectable but working class — getting higher education. Six years in middle-class gentlemen’s houses as a maid was thought to be much more useful.
‘Well we’ll have to see,’ George Mayburn said. ‘Certainly we can’t have any visitors for a while, not until you’re well settled in. And equally I can’t have you going home on a visit. Like to do it a lot, do you, Charlotte? With that boyfriend.’
There wasn’t much doubt what Mr Mayburn was talking about. Charlotte shook her head. It was a nasty question in more ways than one, because a girl wasn’t supposed to do it before she was married and theoretically at least she could be sent away to a Correction Centre if it was known she had. Charlotte and Stephen had done it, a few times.
George Mayburn told Charlotte to take everything off, for her bath. As she began unhappily removing her clothes in front of him — this was clearly what she had to do — he continued to probe her on that question. She had done it, hadn’t she? Charlotte didn’t want to tell Mr Mayburn but also she was not a very good liar — plus at the same time there was this awful business of having to take everything off in front of him. Inevitably she found herself forced to admit the truth. Charlotte was down to her underthings now — such as they were: lacy black bra and the suspender belt and stockings. Mr Mayburn told her to take the bra off but keep the other items on for the moment.
‘So you have committed a punishable offence, Charlotte. You could be sent away for that I suppose you know.’
Charlotte was close to tears. Virtually nude now in front of Mr Mayburn and with her guilty secret forced out of her. Mr Mayburn was in close, his hands at the firmly thrusting boobs, at her pussy. It was like being in a bad dream… and there was nothing she could do. Mr Mayburn could do what he wanted with her. Charlotte was his maid, his plaything in effect, here to respond to his every wish. Of course Mr Mayburn wasn’t likely to report her misdemeanour, not when it could mean Charlotte being sent away to a Correction Centre and thus depriving him of her services — but it was undoubtedly an extra hold he would have over her. His two hands were pawing everywhere.
I could report you, Charlotte. Or perhaps give you a little corrective treatment myself. Mmm? A little touching up with the cane I’ve bought especially for you. You must have something, after being such a naughty girl and doing that. And I’m sure you’d rather have the cane than be reported to the authorities.’
The cane. Mr Mayburn’s words came shockingly out of the blue but at the same time it was a possibility that had entered Charlotte’s mind. Maids could be caned, there was no secret about that. Whether or not Mr Mayburn chose to do it… was simply up to him. He abruptly turned Charlotte, so that her bottom was towards him. His two hands took hold of it.
‘Yes this pretty bum, Charlotte. We must give it a taste of the cane. First of all, though, let’s have you in the bath. I’m sure you’d like a nice bath after your journey.’
The bathroom was on the other side of the landing. George Mayburn went in with Charlotte, she wasn’t to be allowed the luxury of being alone for her bath because clearly getting a girl in the bath and soaping her etc was a pleasure that a gentleman with a new maid wished to enjoy. George Mayburn ran the bath while Charlotte removed her remaining suspender belt and stockings. He was again all hands as, quite nude now, Charlotte stumbled into the bath.
Downstairs Sylvia Mayburn. still with her magazine in her favourite armchair, glanced up at the ceiling. What was George up to with the girl right now? Giving her her bath… or did he perhaps have Charlotte in the bedroom for other little pleasures? Sylvia didn’t much mind what he did, the girl was going to be a big diversion, that was the main thing, and clearly was going to keep George out of her (Sylvia’s) hair. As long of course as George didn’t do anything silly like getting her pregnant: that would very soon spoil his fun. Presumably this Charlotte knew how to look after herself in that respect although nowadays girls could be scatterbrained…
Back in the little bedroom now Charlotte, freshly bathed and powdered and scented, was in an ivory silk nightdress reaching halfway down her calves but at the same time quite open at the sides from neck to hem, front and back being loosely held together with tied ribbons. This seductive garment has not come from Charlotte’s suitcase but is a special purchase by Mr Mayburn. For his own delectation of course and Charlotte does look delectable. George Mayburn’s hand slides in the wide side opening to caress those firm and vibrant boobs which minutes earlier he has soaped, then dried and lightly powdered. His hand slides down, to gently take hold of Charlotte’s springy bush. Every part of the delectable girl is immediately accessible to his questing hands in this splendidly-designed garment.
‘A lovely girl, Charlotte,’ his soft voice says. ‘Don’t you think you look lovely in this pretty nightdress?’
Charlotte glances in the mirror and mumbles something. In her head is mostly the thought of the cane. Mr Mayburn said he was going to cane her after her bath and there is no reason to suppose he has changed his mind even though he is talking softly and is caressingly sliding his hand over her nude body. Unless of course he is now thinking of something else. That thought slides into Charlotte’s head to jostle with the thoughts of the cane. Something else. That thing that Mr Mayburn is proposing to cane her for, in fact. It is equally culpable in the eyes of the State for a girl to do it with her master whilst performing maid duty; as culpable as doing it with her boyfriend. But girls on maid duty do have to do it, that is common knowledge. Depending on the gentleman of course and whether he is interested in that direction. And if it does take place, that prescribed activity, it would be the girl, the maid, who would be seen as the guilty party, not her gentleman. Naturally. Girls of the social background liable for maid service are like that, aren’t they? Saucy and forward. Sexy. Hot for it. Eager to seduce their masters. Of course.
He’s not going to want that. Is he? Instead of the cane? Or of course as well as the cane… Mr Mayburn is making murmuring sounds as, holding Charlotte close, his hands caress and fondle. She is shaking. The thought of either possibility is quite enough to make Charlotte shake.
George Mayburn whispers softly in Charlotte’s ear.Downstairs Sylvia Mayburn puts down her magazine and takes up her knitting. A little smile to herself. Yes George is going to be out of her hair now. Happy as a sandboy. She stops and listens for a moment. What can George be doing exactly? Certainly there is no sound of that cane he’s bought — or of consequential yelps. Sounds that pretty certainly would carry downstairs. In that case…