Copyright (c) 2014,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Wednesday, June 25, 2014

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: domestic.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com




story_codes: M/g(11), first, cons

story_intro: At the turn of the twentieth century, Sam Fowler is comfortable in life. But that existence is set askew when he temporarily takes in an orphaned girl to help with the housekeeping, an arrangement that leads down a path that neither he nor the girl was expecting.

story_language: English





Domestic Help

Written by madvlad


	Sam frowned as he regarded the bluish green growth on the crust of his bread. Cutting the offending piece from the loaf, he made a mental note to place an advertisement for a domestic in the Times. A reasonably successful businessman, he lived in a small townhouse in uptown Manhattan.

	Eschewing the larger contingent of servants befitting an up-and-coming man at the turn into the twentieth century, Sam had only retained the services of a single maid who lived outside of the house. It had been a comfortable arrangement as there were already arrangements in place for regular deliveries from the grocer, butcher, ice man, laundry, etc. Eleanor, his maid, would see to it that the pantry and ice box was filled, made other arrangements for deliveries, and kept the place clean. Occasionally, she had brought her young daughter along to help with the housework.

	She rarely needed to cook as Sam had the most peculiar preference of doing his own work on the stove when he dined at home. While no fancy chef from Paris, he did reasonably well in preparing the fairly simple foods he enjoyed. 

	The driving force behind keeping his domestic arrangements so simple was that Sam, who enjoyed socializing outside of home, preferred a solitary life once he was in his domicile. He had once been engaged, but the woman broke it off after he left for a wartime adventure in Cuba. Since his return, he had felt no compunction to pursue another romantic involvement and had come to enjoy the comfort of his isolation. Even having a live-in servant would have been an intrusion.

	Two weeks earlier, Eleanor had taken ill and sent word that she could not come to work. Sam replied via the same messenger boy that he could manage and that she should contact him if she needed assistance. A week later, he found a note slipped under the door informing him that the woman had died.

	Aside from the predicament of having no household help, this left Sam in a condition of greater concern to him. He had owed Eleanor a partial week's wages from before she had become sick and he had no way of finding her. There was a young daughter that he knew of, a girl he had glimpsed every so often when Eleanor brought to her assist with the cleaning. 

	Sam eyed his bread for more possible mold and sighed. Without Eleanor, the food deliveries had gone awry and he really needed to get on with hiring someone. A knock came at the door and he was waiting for Eleanor to answer it when he realized his error. He arose from the chair, feeling the familiar twinge in his leg, a souvenir from a Spanish bullet that had struck his leg while he charged with Colonel Roosevelt up San Juan Hill. That had been a damnedably odd thing since they - a cavalry unit - had done this on foot, not on horseback as so many engravings showed

	Of course the colonel was now Vice President Roosevelt. That was quite marvelous - or bully, as Teddy would say - for Sam to have served with a man whom he now counted as a friend and was merely a step away from the White House. Perhaps he would run for president after McKinley's second term was up. Speaking of the president, Sam had read yesterday that McKinley was planning a trip upstate to Buffalo in the fall to visit the Pan-American Exposition after his original visit was postponed due to the First Lady falling ill during the summer.

	When he answered the door, he looked down. A young girl with her chestnut hair carefully braided and pinned in place stood nervously. She seemed vaguely familiar to Sam.

	"Mr. Fowler?" she asked.

	"Yes."

	The girl curtseyed before continuing.

	"My name is Sally Fanning. My mother was in your employ until..."

	The child paused to choke back a sob.

	"I understand," Sam cut in. "Wait just one moment, please."

	He quickly strode to his study and removed an envelope he already had prepared. Returning to the door, he handed it to Sally.

	"There's a full week's wages there, plus another week. And may I offer you my condolences."

	Sally accepted the envelope and stared at it before looking up at him again, this time her eyes becoming misty.

	"Do you have a replacement for my mother yet?" she inquired.

	"No, in fact I was planning to place an advert this very day. You needn't fret over any unfinished work."

	"Please sir," Sally burst in a rush of words. "I'm already eleven years old and can do a maid's work. I helped my mother here often enough and I sometimes worked as a scullery maid for several families during the ball seasons. And I can be on hand whenever you want if I live here."

	Sam was taken aback. Eleven years old was far too young to manage a house. Oh, he had heard of servants that young - sometimes as young as eight, if he recalled correctly - to perform the menial work. And the idea of anyone else residing here was out of the question. He was about to refuse the girl when he saw her expression. He wasn't a cold-hearted man, even if he preferred his privacy.

	"Surely you have someplace to go, young lady."

	"Only the orphanage," Sally sighed.

	"Ah, there you go. I'm sure they..."

	Sam stopped as the girl began sniffling. It was then that he noticed the valise on the step next to her. She had brought all her worldly possessions with her today. It was all together too pitiful for Sam to simply turn her away.

	"Look," he sighed. "Here's what I can do. You can stay here for the time being and earn your keep with the household chores, plus I'll pay you a partial wage. I haven't a proper bed for you, but there is a drawing room with a couch upstairs I never use. It should suffice until we can secure another position and living quarters elsewhere.

	"Bless you, sir! Should I set to cleaning right away or do you need me to go to market to request deliveries? I have the list of merchants that mother kept."

	Sam thought about the state of his larder.

	"By all means, please go to market immediately."

	Sally turned the handles clockwise, stopping the flow of water into the bathtub. She had been a week at Mr. Fowler's and marveled at the luxury of his home. He had indoor plumbing and every room had those marvelous electric lights. Her employer was always polite but preferred to keep his distance from her for some reason. Perhaps he wasn't good with children as Sally had heard of some men.

	But she was certainly doing a grown-up's job. Her mother had insisted that Sally learn how to read and write and do arithmetic, which made managing the merchant deliveries and payments from the cash tin doable. In the household ledger, Sally could see her mother's handwriting - smaller and more elegant than her own in the pages and it often made her heartsick.

	As she undressed for her bath, Sally noticed that the bathroom door had opened a few inches. There was something wrong in how the house had settled on its foundation, making the door nearly impossible to latch. It was something that Mr. Fowler said he'd have taken care of. In the meantime, Sally wasn't concerned as she knew he was too much the gentleman to barge in on her anyway.

	When she was done washing, Sally stood up in the tub to reach for the towel hanging on a hook. But she stopped and looked down at her chest. Shortly after her birthday, she had been graced with the tiniest amount of swelling there, marking her slow ascent toward adolescence. The rest of her body had not made any progress as her hips remained slim and her nether region was still void of the strange hair she knew would one day grow there. She wasn't sure what she thought of that or of the monthly flows she would someday experience. It all sounded messy, but she looked forward to womanhood nonetheless.

	Thus far, her only gauge was her chest which after the promise of the early, minute budding, had seemed to stop any further maturation. It was maddening as she needed to appear more like an adult now more than ever so she could be regarded as worthy of working instead of being sentenced to an orphanage. But she had found that her breasts, although barely noticeable, had become quite sensitive. For some reason, that had led her to explore another area of her body, bringing forth the most peculiar responses. 

	While she tried to get enough flesh around a nipple so she could cup it, she turned at an angle so she could see her body's profile in the mirror. Yes, there was just a hint of a pout in her breast. 
She manipulated the flesh in her hand, breathing heavily as the point stiffened and produced delicious sensations. 

	Her other hand slid down her belly, her fingertips reaching the smoothness of her pubis before she fought the temptation to go further and explore the area she had been taught was the font of many a sin.

	Sam was about to retire to his bedroom as he noticed a movement in the bathroom mirror, just visible as he was about to pass by. He really needed to get that door fixed and...

	He froze, transfixed as he watched the nude preteen form reflected in the silvered glass. Sam chided himself as showing any prurient interest in a child was unwholesome and downright preposterous. But he could not look away, watching as Sally explored the bare beginnings of her breast. Her nipple was light pink, appearing much newer and more delicate than the redder tips of the women Sam had known.

	Then he noticed where her other hand was, inching toward her crotch in halting motions. His eyes tracked further down, seeing the hairless cleft between her legs that confirmed she was just a child. But he wanted her finger to reach there, practically willed the girl to explore her femininity. Sally moved her hand sideways, moving down her inner thigh instead. She stopped, a finger trembling as it appeared like she would make the one, tantalizing touch. Then she drew away.

	Sam was surprised to find he had been holding his breath. He let it out carefully and became aware of the urgent reaction in his groin. He took a step, making it deliberately loud. In the mirror, he saw Sally scrabble for the towel as she heard him and he walked in a normal pace past the bathroom door without pause as if to tell the girl she had not been discovered. After he passed, Sam felt a cool wave of relief in that he had avoided anything sordid and could put this away in the back of his memory as one of life's little embarrassments.

	Sam was completely wrong. Sally behaved with perfect comportment, performing her chores and errands with the utmost diligence. Yet she tormented him at all hours. In meetings or alone in his office by day, he thought of her youthful figure, as yet unripened and what should have been unworthy of his notice. 

	At night he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to flush the images from his head of the girl in the bath. But in those images, her fingers found that delicate place and caressed it, explored it. Her skin would still be wet from the bathwater; the swell of her mons gleaming like a pale jewel in the electric light as she reached within her cleft.

	When slumber did take him, she did not release him. She was there, squeezing her tiny breasts to shape them into something for his mouth to fall upon. And her fingers were busier in her crotch, spreading the smooth lips of her vulva and offering herself to him. And she was beneath him, calling his name as he moved inside her; her prepubescent channel moist and clinging...

	And Sam awoke in the morning, finding his sheets in a sticky condition he hadn't found since his own early adolescence.

	Sally liked it best when she touched herself in the bath. The water made her skin slippery and enhanced the experience as she manipulated the swelling flesh around her nipples. She had made sure the door was latched after the near miss a fortnight ago when she heard Mr. Fowler walking in the hall past the bathroom.

	Feeling more adventurous, she moved her hand between her legs, allowing just a single finger to touch herself there. She traced over the roundness of her labia before settling in the slit between them and moving her fingertip up and down along its length. The girl closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

	As Sally and her mother had lived in a shabby part of the city the girl had seen on more than one occasion a man engaged in sex with one of the doxies who plied their trade along the streets. The couples had always remained clothed during their brief coupling in the alley, only shifting their clothing enough to allow the transaction. So Sally hadn't seen much, but knew enough from what she saw and from conversations to know where the man entered the woman.

	She couldn't imagine how that must feel. Easing her finger further in, she learned more of her body as she felt the narrow inner entrance and then something beyond that blocked her. If she couldn't get her finger past there, how could a man...?

	So much of this was puzzling. Sally remembered two "working girls" discussing their first times and how something had to happen to make them bleed. Sally knew this had something to do with being a virgin and perhaps with this barrier her finger had discovered. 

	Still, her finger felt good as she moved it around inside the limited depths. She was mildly irritated when she heard the poorly latched door click open and swing in a few inches again. But she didn't want to stop her hesitant masturbation just yet and decided she would act if she heard him in the hall. 

	Curious as to what her vagina looked like with her finger partially inserted, she opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. It was a moment more before she saw Sam's reflection as he stood looking in from the hall.

	From the moment their eyes locked in the mirror, Sam acted on as he had learned while fighting in Cuba. When two adversaries encountered each other by surprise, the one who acted first and decisively was the one to survive.

	It wasn't a mortal struggle in the here and now, but Sam reacted immediately by striding forth into the bathroom. Sally reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself.

	"Please, Mr. Fowler!" she cried. "I didn't mean to be wicked! I promise I shall never do it again. I don't want to leave your house."

	Sam knelt in front of the girl, softly shushing her. Taking her head in his hands, he kissed her forehead, telling her she had nothing to fear. His kissed her forehead again and then her nose. And then firmly on the mouth, remaining there. 

	Sally's heart was thudding from fright and relief and then wonder as she received her first real kiss from a man. Did he find her attractive like a lady? She was overwhelmed, smelling the hint of tobacco and cologne on him and tasting the remnants of brandy from his lips.

	Sam kept his mouth on Sally's as he slowly pulled down on the towel. It slipped from around her armpits and she was able to catch it at her waist, but her torso was now bared. While their lips remained in contact, he brought his hands to her chest, massaging her tiny nubbins. Then he kissed her chin, followed by a series of light kisses down her throat and into the middle of her chest until he was between her nipples. 

	He moved to one side, capturing the pink circle in his lips and pulling on it. Sally took in a sharp breath as his tongue flickered against the center, teasing it to erection. As he repeated this on her other side, he touched her lower belly, keeping four fingertips on her skin while he tapped the towel with his thumb. Sally released her hold on the cloth, letting it fall and showing herself completely to him. 

	Sam's head moved lower, finally reaching her small, childish font and brushing it with his lips. Having learned some actions from ladies of particular skills in places he had frequented in younger days, he used his tongue on her bald sex, tasting her freshness and eventually the presence of something oozing from her that carried the flavor of her arousal.

	Wordlessly, he scooped Sally up in his arms, carrying her to his bedroom while she gazed at him with wide eyes. After laying her on the bed, he began to undress. Sally sat up and silently assisted him with the buttons of his shirt and then with his shoes and socks. The girl lost her nerve as Sam removed his pants, blushing fiercely and turning away. When he was naked, Sam gently took her chin and turned her head to look at him. He guided her hand to his erection, letting her discover more.

	As she eased her back down on the bed, Sally swallowed hard and made a confession.

	"Mr. Fowler, I've never done this and I don't know what a lady is to do."

	"You'll learn," he assured her as he slipped a hand between her legs.

	When he made contact with her sex, the girl squeezed her legs closed. After waiting a moment, he gently but firmly pulled one leg to the side. Sally shifted her other leg as well in the opposite direction, staring as his hand moved to her hairless mound again. As he once more sucked and licked at her nearly nonexistent breasts, he kneaded and rubbed her there, using his fingers as he had learned in those golden nights from years ago. Sally's girlish body responded and moved like a woman's as her arousal increased. Then it intensified, centering in her loins until a climax took her.

	Sam moved on top of her, using one hand to guide his penis until his glans found the warm, moistened cleft. He pushed in, finding the barrier of her entrance and hymen. With a buck of his hips, he broke her seal, hearing Sally cry out. After waiting a moment, he penetrated her slowly, feeling the virgin passage as it opened and wetly welcomed him into her.

	He worked slowly, relishing the tightness of her as he slid in and out. Sally breathed deeply as she felt his hardness moving in her loins, making her hotter and wetter there. And then something else happened as Sam shuddered briefly as she had seen men do in the alleys. More wetness bloomed inside her body as he ejaculated. Sally wondered at that, not quite sure what it was but instinctively knowing that in one way she was now a woman.

	They lay together quietly, conjoined, until Sam's penis hardened while still inside. This time, he lasted longer, moving his member with more authority inside the preteen's sex. In his passion, he gripped one of Sally's legs and pulled it upward. Sally hooked her lower leg around him and then raised her other leg, gaining instinct as she dug her heals into her lover, spreading her thighs and allowing him to pound into her harder and deeper. 

	Her heated passage was becoming increasingly slick and her hips now rolled in cadence with his thrusts. Sally felt possessed by some carnal demon and did not care as her still childish genitals responded to the man plunging into them. Sam came again, his seed boiling inside the eleven year-old who collapsed, spent and sated.

	Sam drew the sheets over them and turned off the table lamp. Sally laid against him, feeling content although part of her mind was still spinning with glorious dizziness over what had just transpired. In the dark, she finally spoke.

	"Mr. Fowler, should I return to my room now?"

	"Is that what you wish?"

	"No, I would much rather - if it is acceptable to you - stay here."

	Sam's hand slid over her belly and he pulled her against him.

	"I would find that more than acceptable."

	Sally drifted off to sleep with the man's seed still sticky in her prepubescent body. For Sam, sleep did not come quite as quickly as he thought of their new situation. 

	Having his maid in his bed - especially one so young, just wasn't right as he didn't want this to ever become another one of her chores. He could make her his ward, which was a perfectly admirable thing to do in society. Then he grinned in the darkness, making a mental note to place that advert in the Times for domestic help - someone who lived outside of the house this time so that he and Sally could have their privacy.



madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm






















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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