The Maid

Betsy had been devastated when old Lady Longsworth had dies. She had been working for her for the past three years and, although kept busy, she had been happy and made a number of friends in the area. Now with the old lady gone she was out of work.

After the funeral, Betsy was in her room packing and wondering what she would do now. Being summoned to the library by Lady Longsworth's lawyer was unexpected, and she was feeling very nervous when she went down to see him.

"Ah, Betsy, the upstairs maid, yes?" asked Mr. Gainsmith. "You've probably been wondering what you're going to do now that you're out of a job. Lady Longsworth anticipated that and has instructed me to arrange new positions for any servant who requires assistance in finding a new job. She has left excellent references which I will submit to potential employers. Do you want my assistance in this matter or have you already obtained a new position?"

Feeling vastly relieved, Betsy indicated that the lawyer's assistance would be greatly appreciated. Accordingly, things were put in motion and very soon Betsy was interviewed for the position of upstairs maid at the country residence of Lord Jenson.

Her initial interview was conducted be Mrs. Woolsley, the housekeeper. Betsy found herself being grilled over all the duties expected of an upstairs maid and was pleasantly surprised at just how much she'd learnt over the past few years.

"Alright, dearie, you'll do for me," said Mrs. Woolsley at the end of the interview. "I think you'll do well. I'll put you on our shortlist. You'll get a call for another interview shortly with Greaves, the butler. He has to make the final decision."

At the end of the week Betsy was back for the interview with Greaves, the butler.

"My names is Greaves," Betsy was informed. "Not Mister Greaves or Master Greaves. Just Greaves. Remember that."

Betsy decided very quickly that she and Greaves would never be soul mates. He was a little man, full of his own importance, and assuming that you would be aware of it as well. It was obvious from his manner that he considered himself the supreme arbiter of all that went on in the household.

Greaves, Betsy reluctantly acknowledged, was as fully aware of all the ins and outs of an upstairs maid's duties as Mrs. Woolsley had been. He gave her a grilling that was even tougher than the one the housekeeper had subjected her to, and Betsy was quite pleased that she appeared to be meeting with his approval.

Then the interview took on a slightly uncomfortable note.

"How old are you, Betsy?" he asked.

"Eighteen, sir."

"Greaves, not sir," she was reminded with a cold look.

"Yessir, I mean, yes, Greaves," said Betsy.

"You've been with Lady Longsworth for the last few years," Greaves continued. "Now it's obvious that you're rather a pretty young woman, and this household had high standards. Are you in the habit of flirting with the male staff or visitors?"

"Wh-what. No. Lady Longsworth didn't have any men in her household except the butler, and she never had gentlemen call on her."

"Did you go stepping out with the butler or with any of the staff from neighbouring establishments? I'm sorry if these questions embarrass you but we run a tight and moral establishment here and I need to ensure that you're the type of person who will fit in."

He didn't look sorry, thought Betsy. He looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed disconcerting her.

"No, Greaves. The butler was even older than Lady Longsworth and I never went for a walk with any male staff from the other establishments. I..I'm rather shy, I'm afraid and I don't really like talking to men."

Greaves looked at the faintly blushing young maid squirming on her seat and smiled, inwardly. A tasty dish, he decided. She could be fun.

"So you maintain that you're still a virgin?" he asked, pushing it a little to see her reaction.

The faint blush became a deep rosy hue as Betsy struggled to cope with the question.

"Of course I am," she said, and a touch of anger crept into her voice. "I just said I don't step out with any men. I'm just not that sort of person."

"Hmm. I'll have to take your word for it, I suppose," grunted Greaves. "Mind, if we catch you stepping out with the lads here you'll be out instantly."

"Do you mean I've got the job?" asked Betsy, surprised.

Greaves nodded. "You seem the best of a bad lot," he grumbled. "I'll have the formal offer sent to that lawyer fellow to keep him happy, but you can start here next Monday. Go and see Mrs. Woolsley and set it up with her."

"And I give myself two weeks to get you into bed," he muttered quietly, watching her skip out.

Betsy settled into the new establishment quickly and easily. The work was the same as she was used to and she was quick and efficient. Despite a certain amount of shyness she also managed to make friends with other girls on the staff.

"Actually," she confided to June, the other upstairs maid, "I don't know if I'm relieved or insulted. When I was interviewed Greaves was really firm about not flirting with the male staff, but I don't know what he was worried about. The footmen barely acknowledge my existence and the only time a groom tried to get familiar one of the footmen came up and chased him off. I haven't been bothered since."

"Well, I wouldn't be feeling too relieved just yet," June told her. "The only reason the footmen haven't been trying to drag you to the nearest bed is because Greaves had warned them off."

"Oh. That was nice of him. I didn't think he'd do anything like that."

"You are such an innocent, Betsy. He didn't warn them off because of you. He just didn't want them catching you before he's bonked you."

"What do you mean?" wailed Betsy.

"Haven't you noticed how he always seems to be around? He sees you coming and he comes oozing up to you, all oily charm. It's all calculated to get you into bed. After that he'll switch to his normal obnoxious self and you'll be declared in season for the footmen."

"Not going to happen," snapped Betsy. "No way am I going to bed with him, no matter how often he asks."

"Oh, naivety, thy name is Betsy. What makes you thinks he's going to ask? The little monster will trap you into having a meal with him to discuss how you're settling in. And after the meal he'll lift your skirts and help himself. He won't mind if you wriggle and squeal while he takes you. It'll make him feel a big man."

"Do you mean that he'd actually rape me?" asked Betsy, horrified.

"Like a shot. Why do you think the last upstairs maid left? He's the butler. Who are you going to complain to? And even if you managed to fight him off, you'd just get yourself fired. I'm sorry, my friend, but you're screwed. Or will be very shortly."

After that enlightening little talk Betsy did her best to avoid Greaves. When trapped, she didn't look at him and kept her answers as brief as possible. And all the time Greaves smiled, watching her. He guessed that someone had probably warned her of what he had in mind, but as far as he was concerned, so what? She was trapped.

It was towards the end of Betsy's second week that Greaves made his move.

"Betsy," he said, coming up from behind, depriving her of the chance to duck away, "I think it's time we reviewed your performance and see how you're settling in. I'll tell the cook that you'll be dining with me tomorrow and we can discuss your performance over dinner."

With that he departed, leaving Betsy looking white and strained, nervously biting her lip. Her work suffered somewhat that day. When Mrs. Woolsley pointed it out to her Betsy simply told her the Greaves had ordered her to have dinner with him the next day.

Mrs. Woolsley had said nothing more, but sympathy had been in her eyes.

Betsy was surprised when Alan, one of the footmen, stopped to have a chat with her.

"I hear that gruesome Greaves is putting the hard word on you tomorrow," he said. "You do realise that if you weren't a virgin he wouldn't bother?"

"What do you mean?" Betsy asked.

"He can only get it up if the girl's a virgin," sniggered Alan. "It means that once he's had you he won't bother you again."

"Maybe not, but everyone will know and they'll all be trying to get me into bed. And if Greaves is prepared to use force, how do I know the rest won't?"

"Nah. We've got rules about that. You have to be willing. But we sort of figure that after suffering Greaves you'll just naturally turn to us to make up for his performance."

"Or I'll be forever turned off men," retorted Betsy.

"That's a possibility," admitted Alan. "That's why your predecessor left. What you really need is to lose your virginity before Greaves gets to you."

"And that would get me fired for a start and I'd still be a non-virgin and fair game for the rest of you," pointed out Betsy, almost in tears.

"I'd offer to help you myself, but then Greaves would fire me, too," said Alan. "I'll tell you what. I'll consider your predicament and see what I can come up with."

Betsy watched him leave. She had an uneasy feeling that he'd come up with a scheme that he thought hilarious. She strongly suspected that she wouldn't find it so funny. Although if it got her out from under gruesome Greaves, she'd probably go for it. Who, she wondered, nicknamed him gruesome and does he know?

That evening, shortly before she was due to retire for the night, Betsy heard a rap on her door. Answering it she found herself facing an elegantly dressed man of around forty.

"Betsy?" came the inquiry. At her nod, he continued. "You're wanted in the library."

"Wait," called Betsy, as the stranger turned to leave. "Who wants me and who are you?"

"Oh, yes, you're new, aren't you," said the stranger. "I'm Felton, Lord Jenson's valet. Guess who wants to talk to you."

"Lord Jenson?" asked Betsy, horrified. Lord Jenson hadn't even put in an appearance all the time she'd been here. And the first thing he does when he arrives is to ask to speak to her?

Felton said nothing, just walking off. He'd delivered his message and the rest was her problem.

Betsy hastily checked her appearance for neatness and then hurried down to the library. Knocking, she heard a voice call come, and she walked in. The man sitting at the desk on the far wall glanced at her, pointed at a chair and said "Sit. Wait." and continued with what he was doing.

Betsy sat and waited, wondering what the hell? She took the time to look over the man at the desk, presumably Lord Jenson. He was a large man in his early thirties. Solid, but Betsy suspected that it was muscle, not fat. He had the look of a man who exercised regularly, not the dissipated look of a man who spent his entire time at balls and parties.

Finally Lord Jenson finished what he was doing and turned his attention to Betsy.

"You know, I came here for some rest and relaxation, and the first thing that happens is that Felton dumps the problem of you in my lap. And how he found out all the details walking from the coach to my rooms is beyond me."

"Ah, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure what you mean?" muttered Betsy. "How am I a problem?"

"Well to be fair I suppose you aren't the problem as such. You have the problem and I'm supposed to resolve it."

Betsy blushed. He couldn't be talking about Greaves intentions, surely.

"Um, what have you been told about any problem I might have?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"Just that Gruesome wants to fuck you and you're reluctant and scared he'll use force," came the reply. "Does that sum it up?"

"He's invited me to have dinner with him tomorrow night," muttered Betsy.

"Uh-huh. With you being the dessert, I suppose."

Lord Jenson gave Betsy a considering look and nodded.

"I can understand where Gruesome is coming from," he said. "You're a fetching little thing. Knowing Gruesome he probably wouldn't bother to ask; he'd just assume that you'd be willing because he's the butler.

Not that he'd care either way, I suppose. I take it you're a virgin?"

Betsy's blush was getting a thorough workout. It came to life again as she nodded.

"Figures. He can't get it up otherwise. Are you sure you can't just lie there and let him have his fun? I'm told he doesn't take long."

"I'd rather die?" muttered Betsy. "Actually, if I can't come up with a solution I'll quit. I'm not letting that sleazy little man touch me."

"OK. You're showing good taste, anyway. Can't you just lose your virginity to someone else?"

Betsy sighed. "I actually considered that, but it's not on. None of the men here will touch me or Greaves will sack them. And even if one of them was prepared to take the risk I'd finish up a non-virgin who they could all chase if they wanted to.

Um, can't you just order Greaves to leave me alone?"

"Of course I can," came the reply. "And as soon as I left he'd have you bent over the nearest bed with his cock in you. Forgive the plain speaking but you need to know the facts.

How often do you bathe?"

Betsy looked at him blankly. "Bathe?"

"Yes, bathe," came the irritated reply. "It's a simple question. Bathe, as in take off your clothes and wash all over in a tub of water?"

"Every week, sir," said a red-faced Betsy. "Mrs. Woolsley insists. I had mine last night."

"And I missed it. What a pity," came a murmured comment.

Betsy blinked. He hadn't said that, surely? She decided it would be wisest to ignore it.

"So what it all boils down to is that you're a virgin who is going to lose her virginity either today or tomorrow and there's nothing you can do about it. Even quitting may not help because there's nothing to stop Gruesome following you and dragging you behind some bushes."

Lord Jenson watched Betsy as she considered this. To his surprise she seemed to accept it immediately.

She sighed. "That's the conclusion I'd reached," she muttered. "As June said to me the other day, I'm screwed."

"Then really, all you've got to do is decide how to lose it," said the lord. "Stand up."

Startled, Betsy stood.

"Now lift your skirts up so that I can see your legs."

Shocked, Betsy stared at Lord Jenson. He stared back, waiting. To her surprise she found herself obeying, hitching her skirts up to her knees.

"All the way," came the growled order, and Betsy gulped and obeyed.

"What am I doing?" she screamed to herself as she held her skirts bunched around her waist. "I'm showing him everything."

"Let you skirts down now," she was told, and with a gasp of relief she dropped them.

"Now tell me why you lifted your skirts like that."

"You told me to," protested Betsy.

"True. Lift them again."

Blushing, Betsy again lifted her skirts, holding her breath as she saw Lord Jenson run his eyes over her.

"Have you ever lifted your skirts like this for anyone else?" she was asked, and she quickly shook her head.

"Then why are you doing it now?" came the probing question, "and why haven't you let them down again yet?"

"You told me to," Betsy said quietly, "and you haven't said I can let them down."

"Do you know what a sexual submissive is?" she was asked.

"I do," came the observation when she shook her head, "and a pleasant surprise it is to find one so pretty. Go and lock the library door."

Betsy turned to walk over to the door, dropping her skirts as she did so.

"I didn't say drop your skirts," came the reminder, and Betsy hastily lifted them again, even as she walked to the door. She knew, she just knew, that Lord Jenson was looking at her bottom as she walked. Locking the door she turned and walked back to stand in front of him.

"The easiest way to solve your problem will be for me to take your virginity. I can then drop a word to Gruesome that you're mine and anyone who touches you will be out on their ear without a reference. Take off your clothes."

Betsy blinked. "You're kidding me," she said. "You expect me to get undressed and let you take me just because you say so?"

"No. Because I'm TELLING you to. Now get those clothes off."

Betsy jumped at the tone of command and hastily started unbuttoning her dress. She had it half off, her breasts spilling loose when she paused to ask herself what she was doing.

Seeing her hesitation, Lord Jenson spoke.

"You know you're going to be taken by someone over the next couple of days, and I would appear to be the best choice. The reason you're doing as I tell you to is quite simple. You're submissive and will do whatever your sexual partner tells you to do. You've already realised that it's going to be me so you're doing what I say. Now hurry it up."

Feeling oddly reassured, Betsy continued to undress.

Lord Jenson smiled when Betsy was finally undressed. She looked so totally innocent standing there. She had started to cover herself with her hands but a firm look had been all that was required to stop her. Now she stood there nervously, hand behind her back, watching Lord Jenson while trying to look as though she wasn't.

"Tell me, Betsy, just what you know about men and women and how they interact."

Betsy blushed.

"Nothing, sir," she admitted. "I'm an orphan. I was raised in a convent and then sent to Lady Longsworth when I reached fifteen, and the only man there was the butler and he was an old man. I've had no chance to learn anything."

Lord Jenson blinked at that. There was innocence and there was ridiculous. No wonder she'd been panicking about Gruesome's intentions. She didn't have the faintest idea what they were.

"When we're together like this you'd better just call me Jenson. It's what my friends call me. The nuns in the convent didn't say anything?"

"They had a picture of a naked man that they showed me when I was leaving. They pointed to the man's parts and told me if I touched them my hands would turn black and I'd go to hell. I've never actually seen them."

This wasn't going to be a case of seducing a virgin who knew what was coming. This was going to be a baby's instruction lesson followed by an adult exam. Giving a mental sigh, Lord Jenson settled down to give some basic education on the differences between man and woman.

Betsy wasn't stupid, he quickly realised. Ignorant, maybe, but she was willing and able to learn. She came to an understanding very quickly.

"So you're going to take off your clothes as well?" she came straight to the point. "Then when you're undressed you're going to rub your parts against mine?"

"Something like that," murmured Lord Jenson. "You'll understand better once we actually start doing it. It's only fair to tell you that you may find it a little painful to start with."

"Why?"

"Because you're virgin and need to be broken in. It's just the way it is."

Betsy bit her lip. "Will it hurt much?" she asked.

"I have no idea," she was told. "I understand it varies. Some women say yes, some say no. Until you try, you don't know. Now I want you to come and lie down on the rug in front of the fire."

Now that she had something to do, Betsy felt relieved. Being shown was always better than just being told. She watched as Lord Jenson settled onto the rug next to her. She started when his hand closed over her breast.

"Relax," she was told. "Get used to the feel of me stroking you. Consider how it feels. Do you like it or not? Think about it."

Betsy slowly relaxed, watching the large hand caress her breasts, gently squeezing and rubbing her nipple. Her breathing deepened as she watched and considered the feeling.

Seeing a raised eyebrow, Betsy nodded slowly.

"I like it," she said. "Is it all like this?"

Lord Jenson shook his head. "It gets better," he told her, "but it's best to start slowly."

Moving slowly Jenson caressed her breasts and teased her nipples. He heard Betsy give a little squeak when his mouth closed over her nipple for the first time, biting softly.

She gave an even larger squeak when his hand finally slid through her lower curls, tugging at them and squeezing her mons. Protectively, she closed her legs, pressing them firmly together.