Chapter Text
The floor at Bloomsbury House is clean—of course it is, Penelope cleans it meticulously every day. And for the last five minutes her feet have not hit the floor, because she has been riding her master's hand, writhing and squirming and moaning uncontrollably.
Completely as his mercy.
He has not kissed her yet. Not on her lips. He buried his face in her neck for most of her pinnacle and what led up to it, buried his long, thick fingers into her cunt so she felt stuffed full and mad with pleasure. She cannot blame him. She is but a maid.
Yet now as her feet return to the floor, as she breathes heavily and her master deposits her back down, watches her steadily, her decision is made. Penelope falls to her knees, already wobbly from the pinnacle her master has so generously bestowed upon her—more than she deserves, to be sure.
“Are you well, Penelope?"
She cannot help but smile. Just like her master to ask this of her, even after showing her pleasure she could only dream of.
“Yes, sir, I am well."
“Then whatever are you doing down there?"
Penelope takes a deep, shaky breath. “Sir, I have thought of you night and day. I have dreamed of you, almost preferring sleep for that is where I might find you—only your real presence is infinitely more preferable even if my fantasies remained unfulfilled. And I know I am only a maid. I know you are married even if it is in name only. But I wish to be more for you. I wish to do more for you. I wish to serve you intimately. Sir, I wish to be your mistress, if you so permit it."
She has thought so many times of saying those words aloud. And on her knees on the staircase landing, gazing up at him, tremulous and shaking with the pleasure still unfurling between her thighs—it is something else entirely. But she does not regret it. She cannot, not when she loves him.
"Please, sir?” Penelope begs. He is silent, his face impassive at first, but then he reaches down. The lightest of touches. He pushes an errant curl behind her ear. Caresses her cheek with a featherlight brush of his fingertips. Penelope closes her eyes at his touch and sighs contentedly.
Only then he becomes more deliberate. Possessive. His finger goes under her chin and tilts her face up.
"Open your mouth, Penelope,” he orders, and her jaw falls slack as she obeys. He presses his thumb on her tongue and she instinctively sucks with a loud popping sound. "Good. Good girl." She delights in this, how can she not? She has longed to be good for her master, to be praised by her master. To serve him in this way. "You understand what this means? What you are offering?”
She nods, daring not to release his thumb from her mouth. She wants more than anything to show him that she is his. She has always been his.
"You would be relieved of all your other duties. Your only purpose in this household would be to serve me. To satisfy my needs. Carnally, you understand?"
This time he tugs his thumb out of her mouth. His eyes are dark and his pupils blown wide, and he regards her hungrily. Like he knows what she wants in her mouth—on her tongue, down her throat—next.
“Yes, sir," she says breathlessly. “I understand fully."
“Why do you wish to do this for me?"
“Because I see you," Penelope says desperately. “Sir, I see you every day. Going about your business with a cloud over your head because of actions beyond your control and knowledge. I know, sir, that you have never sought pleasure elsewhere. I see you wishing to get away, to find a release, something you have been denied by..." She trails off, not wanting to name her master's former wife. "I will never deny you, sir. I wish to serve those needs for you. I long for it, sir. I long for you.”
His blue eyes are gleaming now in the darkness. "And you know what to do? You have done this before?”
"No, sir, I have not,” she tells him honestly. "I likely do not have a maidenhead, but...”
His expression changes. "Someone has forced his attentions on you?"
“No, sir, no one has," she is quick to reassure. “It is only… I have ridden horses, and the like. Many times. Not sidesaddle, as ladies do. I have done so from a young age, enough that my maidenhead is likely no longer there."
"But you are a maiden," he says softly.
"But I know enough," she insists stubbornly. " And I am a quick study. I will learn. I will learn how to please you. I will do anything to please you, sir."
“And you want this, Penelope? You truly want this?”
"I want you more than I have ever wanted anything or anyone in my life, sir. I am yours. Yours to command. Yours to use. Yours to do whatever you see fit.”
Her master appraises her, notices probably that she has not shifted from her position on her knees. Anticipation and trepidation fill her in equal measure when he begins to undo his breeches, revealing a thick, long member that makes her mouth water the longer she stares at it. She has read books, seen pictures, seen sculptures, but nothing could ever prepare her for the real thing. None of the art or books she has seen ever depict the throbbing vein she longs to run her tongue down, nor the curious liquid leaking from its tip that she aches to taste, nor the full, proud girth of her master standing tall and hard.
Without being asked or ordered, she opens her mouth willingly, even if internally she is wondering if it will fit—realising with a start that she has agreed to this appendage not only in her mouth as she has fantasised but also in her quim. He seems to read her mind. “Do not worry, sweetheart," he murmurs as he beckons for her to shift forward, “you need not fear."
“You are just so large, sir," she whispers as she shuffles forward. “May I… use my hands first?"
“Yes, Penelope, you should. That's it. Both hands, good girl."
She wraps both hands around his member which is lovely and thick, and because she is curious her tongue darts out and she licks at the pearl of wetness collecting at the tip. It tastes salty, intoxicating, and she wants more, so she goes back for more, all the while gazing up at her master.
“That is good. Very good. You may touch me anywhere you like, yes, squeeze those, wonderful. And if you are ready, you may—no, it is easier if I just show you—"
He shoves his cock further into the heat of her mouth and at first she panics, wondering how she is supposed to breathe. It is overwhelming and pleasurable all at once, and she whimpers and whimpers around his member and tries not to gag.
“Yes, Penelope, oh, yes. Breathe through your nose for me, sweetheart, yes, you're doing so well. No, keep both hands on me. You will gag a little, but that will pass. Move your head back now, then forward—there you go. Well done, keep doing that for me. And as you do so you will find that I will eventually release in your mouth, you understand, Penelope? No, take your lips off me a moment, tell me you understand."
Her mouth and jaw is covered in saliva already, and a string of drool stretches out as she takes her mouth off his cock. “Yes, sir," she says in a hoarse voice. “I understand. I wish to swallow your spend, sir. I have dreamt of it."
She cannot continue when he parts her lips more forcefully this time, feeding her his cock, not relenting when she gags, and she does not want him to. She continues to caress the base of his member that does not yet fit in her mouth, the two sacs she can feel are tightening at her ministrations. Penelope continues to suck and lick and swallow messily at her master's orders, with her master stroking her hair, groaning and groaning in a way that is better than any of her dreams of him.
He will spill in her mouth soon, she is certain, and she is hungry for a taste of his spend, knows that her mouth will overflow with it if she doesn't swallow straightaway. Her master continues to thrust in and out of her mouth, until her eyes are streaming and her lips are swollen and reddened from his cock. Penelope does not relent, matching his thrusts and attempting to take him further down her throat, and it is only when her knees begin to feel truly sore that at last he spills in her mouth and on her tongue. His release is bitter and musky and perfect, and she does not want to let him go, even as she feels his member spurt out the last of his spend so it collects on her tongue. Even as his cock softens and slips from her lips, she does not want to swallow, not yet, wants to relish the taste of her master's spend.
She throws her head back in ecstasy, gulping down his seed, realising too late that his spend is dribbling from the corners of her mouth. But her master is already tucking himself back into his breeches, helping her to her feet, wiping away the drool from her face so he can kiss her for the very first time.
And despite all that has occurred between them, this is the moment that feels the most magical, even though her knees are bruised and her maid's uniform is creased in so many places, stained at the collar with her master's spend. He kisses her breathless and gasping, his hands on her hips, on her buttocks over her uniform. It is her first kiss, and it is a lovely one at that.
“Was this good enough for you, sir?" she asks shyly when she gets her breath back. “I apologise for the mess."
“You were wonderful," her master tells her. “And you will not apologise for anything. If you are a mess, you are my mess. You are hereby relieved of all duties except one. What is that duty, Penelope?"
“To satisfy your every need, Mr Bridgerton," she says obediently.
“You are whose, as of now?"
“Yours, sir. I have always been yours."
“You are to move your things to my bedchambers in the morning."
“N-not now, sir?" Penelope squeaks.
Her master shakes his head. “No, Penelope. I have many needs to be satisfied before then. Come."
And as he holds out his hand, Penelope only hesitates for a moment before taking it. But her master does not move at first.
“One more thing, Penelope."
“Yes, sir?"
“The servants are all out, yes?"
She blushes. “Yes, sir."
“You sent them all to the tavern for the night so you could seduce me?"
“Sir, I—"
But her master laughs and pulls her towards him for another kiss. She reciprocates properly this time, kissing him back, feeling bold enough to caress his hair this time.
“Clever, clever girl," he says softly. “You really are very good, do you know, Penelope?"
“I do not deserve such flattery, sir."
“Nonsense. But if the servants are not home… your duties begin now."
“Of course, sir."
“And you are not a maid any longer. So you will need new clothes."
“That will not be necessary, sir,” she begins to object, but her master shakes his head.
"You will be measured at the modiste posthaste. Tomorrow, preferably. For now… you must shed your maid clothes."
“Now?"
“Yes, Penelope. Unless you wish to remain a maid?"
“No, sir, I do not want that, sir," she pleads.
"Then your uniform comes off. Now.”
She is slow doing this. She cannot help it. Penelope is self-conscious of her body, knows that she is just as fast and just as efficient as any other maid but that her breasts are much bigger, that her hips and thighs are wider. She is conscious of how her chest jiggles going up and down the stairs, how it is easy for her body to brush against others' in the narrow corridors of the servants' quarters. It is not even as if she eats so much that she became this size. She has always been like this. Growing up in the Featherington household in Surrey with her stepsisters, Penelope was teased relentlessly for her small stature and abundant curves which Prudence and Philippa always said would not squeeze into a corset. There is nothing telling her that her master will not be just as cruel—though the fact that he brought her to completion first, surely felt her thighs in the dark, should have made it clear she is not like the ladies of the ton?
At least she has a shift on underneath her uniform, so she can retain some form of modesty. Her stockings, too. She bends to pick up her maid's dress but her master stops her, taking it from her and letting it fall to the floor.
“If you wish to be my mistress, that starts by letting me see you, Penelope. Leave the uniform. You have stained it already with my seed, messy girl."
“Yes, sir," she says in a high voice, and this time when he takes her hand they go up the stairs. Penelope is silent, her master purposeful in his footsteps as he leads his mistress to his bedchambers.
She has been in here before, of course she has, to clean and to dust and to tidy. But now… this four-poster bed is where she will wake up. It is where she will perform her new duties.
Before she can take in her surroundings, however, her master's lips are on hers, hungry, ravenous, really, and it takes her by surprise but only for a moment. He pulls her onto the bed and onto his lap, and she can feel the hardness of his member again through the thin material of her shift. She is so wet, aching, needing once again for her master's fingers to enter her, to play her like the strings of a violin as he plucks moans from her at a higher pitch each time. He tugs off her shoes, throws them across the room, pulls her closer. Penelope tries to create some friction, attempts to rub his cock against her quim, but it is not enough.
“Sir," she gasps, “sir, I need—"
“What do you need, Penelope?"
“You, sir, I need you, please—"
“You are to serve my needs," he tells her roughly as he pushes back on her shoulders so she's lying back on the bed. “That is what you agreed, Penelope."
“Yes, sir."
“That means I will fuck you now, yes?" her master growls.
“Yes, sir, I wish for this, please, please."
“Take off your shift, then, Penelope. And your stockings. I wish to see you completely bare before I sink into your cunny."
She is desperate, that is why she hurriedly pulls off her last remaining items of clothing, bearing her breasts for him, so her master can see her completely nude, down to the reddish hair nestled between her legs. Her nipples harden instantly from the cold. He is hovering above her, fully clothed, though she can see his erection straining against his breeches, and there is no mistaking her master's sharp intake of breath. She cannot help but think she has made a mistake, not in propositioning her master but in stripping herself like this. For perhaps her master does not like what he sees...
“I apologise, sir, if I—that is to say, if this is not—"
“Turn over, Penelope," her master cuts across.
Somehow she obeys without thinking. As soon as she turns onto her front she yelps, for her master has just smacked her bottom. It does something else to her, however: the feeling of arousal, of deep, primal need, increases with the pain. He smacks her other buttock for good measure, sending another jolt of pleasure and pain running through her. Although she cannot see him she can hear his voice in her ear from behind, just like she can feel the press of his cock through his breeches on the small of her back.
"Every time you apologise without necessity, or misbehave otherwise, I shall punish you as such. You will not complain about this. You will thank me each time. Turn over onto your back now."
"Thank you, sir," she says automatically, even though she feels on the verge of tears. She cannot tell if it is good or bad, just that her arousal is so heightened that her chest is rising and falling heavily from her breaths. When her master touches her breasts for the first time, not gently, not carefully, but greedily, massaging them both as they spill into his palms, she moans and whines with pleasure. It is only when his palms move to her stomach and thighs that she speaks. “Sir… I only wish to please you. Does my body please you?”
"Your body has always pleased me, Penelope,” her master replies. "For as long as you have been under my roof. All the times I have seen you and wanted to know what you look like beneath your clothing. You will continue to please me for as long as you are my mistress. You need not be concerned about that."
"You are too kind, sir," she breathes. She is relieved, though part of her does not quite believe her master.
"Are you ready, Penelope?”
She gulps, as her master opens his breeches once more. His member springs free, red and swollen and thick, once again leaking what predicates his spend. She wishes to learn how to admire him properly with her lips and tongue, to see if she can take more of him past the gagging point down her throat. But her core is hot and aching, especially where her master touched her before.
Penelope nods.
"Will you—sir, will you kiss me first, please, sir?"
Her master smiles a rare smile, eyes burning blue, before obliging her, capturing her lips with his own. He does not stop, does not come up for air, kisses her as she feels his cock at her entrance. Thankfully her master goes slow, heeding her earlier revelation that she is to all intents and purposes a maiden, but even then she tenses up at first. He only manages to get the tip in for now, teasing her quim with the blunt head of his cock.
“Tell me something, Penelope," her master murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers, “have you ever reached a pinnacle before tonight?"
She flushes furiously but cannot lie to him, can never lie to her master when he is entering her, little by little.
“Yes, sir. All the time, as it happens."
“What did you think of when you touched yourself?"
Penelope is shameless, and it makes her relax a little as he thrusts a little more inside her. “You, sir. Only you. I would... lie in bed and think of you. I would stroke my pearl and wish... wish you were inside me, taking me as your own, like you are now."
"Show me,” he orders, and she has no choice but to begin tracing circles around her sensitive bundle of nerves, already on fire from her master's earlier ministrations.
"Like this, sir,” Penelope whispers, her eyes rolling back as he continues to fuck her, and she moans loudly as at last he breaches her all the way inside. The walls of her cunt clamp down on him and her master groans as he wrenches himself out and slams his hips back in. Her voice becomes progressively more high-pitched and frantic, her moans becoming wails. "I would think of you and wish for this over and over again, I would dream of you fucking me every week—"
“Every week?" her master repeats, grunting as he fucks her harder now. “Penelope, you will serve me every day, for that is—your—duty—”
"Yes!” she cries. Her hand falls to her side and she tries to rock her hips against him but her master slaps her backside again, only adding to her pleasure. She is openly weeping now, unintelligible noises of gratification spilling from her mouth.
"Do not stop touching yourself, sweetheart, you were made to be fucked and fucked and fucked by me and you are doing so well, taking me so well—"
“Thank you, sir," she sobs as she resumes rubbing her pearl, “thank you, thank you, oh!"
And it's now as she reaches her pinnacle again that her master hurtles into his; Penelope is helpless, spent, taking her first real fucking filled to the brim with her master's pleasure. It is like a dam has burst inside her and he spills and spills and spills into her. Part of her knows she is being reckless, but a deeper part of her cannot bring herself to care because the thought of being bred by her master, having his seed quicken her womb and fill her with his child makes her moan again. Even as he moves off her somewhat she cannot stop herself from dipping her fingers downwards to her quim, dripping with his spend, and bringing this mixture to her mouth.
He watches her, amused, even more so when she scoops up more of his seed directly from her cunt to eat off her fingers again.
"It seems a shame to waste it, sir," she explains through a mouthful of his bitter spend. "Should it please you, I should like some more."
"It pleases me greatly, Penelope," he says in a gravelly voice. "You have pleased me immensely tonight. And you will continue to do so."
"Does it displease you to waste your spend like this, sir? I do believe I may have stained your sheets."
"Worry not, Penelope,” her master says as without warning he plunges two fingers inside her and she gasps, "there will be plenty more to come.”
And as she submits to being fingered once more by her master, as he forces his spend back inside her and orders her to lick his fingers clean, as he brings her to screaming point and uses her to his heart's content the rest of the night—she knows she is where she is supposed to be.
For now, in five minutes, or perhaps ten, she will return to her knees on the side of the bed, where she belongs, before her master, so she can taste his lovely, large member again, so she can swallow down his pleasure once more. It matters not that her knees will no doubt be bruised, that her cunt will be sore from this new, regular intrusion, that her backside is definitely reddened from each time her master punished her.
Because she may be upstairs now, but she serves only Colin Bridgerton. She belongs to Colin Bridgerton.
She loves Colin Bridgerton.