According to Mary's birth certificate she was born in the Year of Our Lord 1863 in the parish of Rothsmere: her mother, a dairymaid, died shortly after birth and she never knew her father-there were rumours that it was someone up at the big manor house but this wasn't known for sure. She was sent to the workhouse, and her early years were hazy. At the age of five she started attending the local school where she learned to read and write after a fashion. At eleven, her schooling finished and she was given a job in the manor house as the junior maid, getting up at 5am and fetching coal by the bucketful to allow the housemaids to get the fires lit before the family got up in the morning. For the rest of the day she fetched and carried and worked in the scullery. Mary knew no other life, and it contented her for several years, sleeping in a little attic beneath the eaves, doing her duties as best she could. She hardly ever saw her Master and his family, spending most of their time as they did up in London, and she scurried past if she should meet them on the stairs, too afraid to look up, too scared that they might find her wanting and send her away. Eventually, at the age of 18, she got promotion of a sort to housemaid, and among her new duties, she was in charge of cleaning the masters study and laying his fire in the winter mornings.
One morning, so cold that her breath froze into a white plume in her little attic, she was laying the fire in her Masters study, working quickly despite her numb fingers, hoping to get the room warmed before he arrived to deal with his papers. She was kneeling at the hearth, her long skirts tucked tightly around her, when she heard the door open and the floorboards creak. She looked around, and her master stood there, tall and broad, a manly figure dressed in tight breeches, wearing only an open necked shirt despite the cold. She knew he must be in his forties, his children were grown, but he looked younger, his skin unlined and his figure tall and muscular.
'Mary, isn't it?' he asked, and she nodded silently, not knowing how to respond to this man who controlled all their lives and wondering how he knew her name.
'Mr Barlow has spoken of you' he continued, referring to the butler, a man almost as grand as the Master. 'A good worker says Mr Barlow'.
Mary nodded again, and then thinking she should say something, mumbled a quiet word of thanks. 'See that you keep working hard Mary, or we will punish you. You don't want to go back to the work house do you?' and with that quiet threat hanging over her he strode over to his desk and started scratching away with the quill, signing his documents and rustling papers.
Mary stood up indignantly, so annoyed was she at this threat; she worked long and hard, and this was unfair. He seemed to sense the change in her and looked over, smiling lazily. 'Yes?' he asked, and his eyes dropped, his gaze raking over Mary's quivering body, eying her slowly up and down until she stammered an excuse and left, gathering her cleaning tools quickly.
Closing the door, she leant against the wall outside, her breath coming in frightened little gasps. What had just happened? His eyes had lingered on her, and, remembering his look, she felt a strange ache begin deep inside.
That night in her room, tired though she was, she stood in front of her dresser, trying to see what had triggered such a longing look from her master. She had a mass of long blonde hair that she wore tightly coiled under her maids cap, and at night, when she let it loose, it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back in a shimmering waterfall. She was tall for a woman, and her hard work had made her slim and firm.
She knew it was sinful, but as she undressed, removing her tight bodice, she looked down at her breasts, full and rounded. Thinking about him, she cupped them in her hands feeling their weight. The memory of his smile and the touch of her fingers sent a tingling sensation through her and hesitantly she gently rubbed at her nipples, teasing them until they stood proud. The strange ache in her belly grew once more and without thinking, she smoothed her hands down her slim waist and stroked her hips, her fingertips beginning to delve into the soft pale curls at the base of her belly. She looked around, knowing that she was alone but scared that somehow someone would find out. Her fingers probed between her legs, deep into the warmth and wetness that lay there. She had never touched herself there before, but instinct guided her hand and she found a small hard nub deep within the folds of flesh that responded to her touch, seeming to grow under her eager fingers. Rubbing harder now, and faster, her legs began to tremble, and she lay quickly on her narrow bed, spreading her thighs, never stopping her manipulations until suddenly, her back arched and she felt an overwhelming sensation of pleasure rise from her. Biting her lip to stop herself crying out, she lay back, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Her last conscious thought, before drifting off in sleepy satisfaction, was how much she wanted her masters hands touching her in the same way.
The next morning, Mary found herself lingering over her duties and arrived at the study later than usual. She had only just begun to lay the fire when she heard footsteps behind her. An aching sensation once again moved through her belly as she waited for him to speak. 'You're late, Mary. I wanted to work here today' he commented, his voice low.
'I'm sorry sir, cook wanted the floor cleaned' she tried to explain, but he interrupted harshly 'Who's more important, your Master or cook? I think you need to be punished'.
'Oh, please Sir, it won't happen again' she begged, knowing it was useless, and tried to rise from her knees. He moved beside her, and pushed her back down. 'Bend forward' he demanded, and mindlessly she obeyed. She felt his hand stroke the outline of her rounded bottom, firm beneath her gathered skirts. 'Now, I don't normally believe in corporal punishment, Mary, but you're only a child. I think you need a good smack to help you understand that I am your Master, and you obey me in everything. Is that clear?'
