Going Downton Abbey
written by:
Naughty Miranda

The advertisement was straightforward enough, if a little old-fashioned. "Lady, 34, seeks female companion for conversation, travel and general titillation. References required." It was the Lady herself who was not at all straightforward, and as for references... I wondered what possible employment any girl could have had which would allow her to tender written evidence of that skill?

I'm not a prude. It's 1923 and I know it. Things have changed a lot over the last few years... this is the Jazz Age, after all, and when my first lover told me that it's also the Jizz Age, before his cock spurted creamy white all over my fist and wrist, I just giggled and licked myself clean.

But Lady D***** shocked me. Because she doesn't want a companion. She wants a lover. A lover who will... well, let me tell you about my interview.

I was ushered into a drawing room the size of the house I'd grown up in, all ancient paneled walls, towering bookcases stuffed with leather, a fireplace bigger than my bed and more paintings and ornaments than most museums have on show. Just a typical country house in a secluded corner of country, and I knew all about Lady D***** already, from the stories in the newspapers.

How she had married young and been widowed young too, losing her husband in the Great War, and then shutting herself away in the ancestral home, a recluse in the eyes of the world, who broke her silence once a year, on the anniversary of her husband's death, to throw a party so lavish that people would still be talking about it a year later. At which point she'd throw another, that made the last one look like a Sunday School picnic.

That's what I thought this might all be about, to be honest; she needed someone to co-host her next party with. But the servant who ushered me into her presence had already explained that the last event had taken place a week earlier, and that if I took this position, it would be the last I'd see of the outside world for more or less another twelve months.

But the pay, detailed in the letter that answered my original application, was good, and the reading matter that I was recommended to read.... That was good as well, but it's nothing I'd tell my friends about. Nothing I would even tell you about, to be truthful. Suffice to say, there are things that go on between a man and a woman that only they should be in a position to shed light upon. And things that take place between two women that should be illuminated even more cautiously.

Lady D*****, from what I could deduce, required that kind of cautious illumination. I said before, I am not a prude. Neither am I naive. The books that I read (well, two of them; I was never able to acquire the third) made it clear that, in matters of the flesh, Lady D***** was interested only in the fairer sex. Therefore, I was to be employed, at least in part, as a lesbian lover.

The concept of which thrilled me to the core.

I grew up an only child, on farmland to the south of Canterbury, and my earliest years were crowded with broad, sweaty farmhands of whom, I would dream in my bed at night, I could have my pick once I was old enough. But the war came and the farmhands disappeared, and I grew to adulthood working fields without a single man to even smile at, let alone anything else.

Which did not stop the other girls who worked alongside me from gossiping about the things they would do once the men returned... and I'll be shockingly immodest here and admit, over the last few years I did them all. And then some.

But it was the nights before then that still haunt my minds, the nights when we'd sleep out in the barn, my best friend and I, and our indelicate chat would become giggled exploration, and though I cannot say that anything especially untoward ever happened, still the back of my mind absorbed the experiences. I know, though I barely experienced, the touch of a woman, the feel of a woman, the scent of a woman and once, on the tips of nervously questing fingers, the taste of a woman. And though I would never follow my instincts and let my knowledge grow further, my dreams... oh, my dreams.

Lady D***** sat severely at a long wooden table, and motioned me to a chair positioned beside her. She was, I had read, once a great beauty, dark eyes smoldering in alabaster skin, shrouded by a luxurious mane of raven bobs and curls. Her smile illuminated rooms on the other side of town, and her voice was the sound of perfect diamonds tumbling into a velvet pouch.

All of that was still true. And it still did not capture her accurately. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I say that even after a season in New York, where we socialized with the Ziegfeld girls, in all of their headline splendor and magnificence.

The smile was turned upon me. "Magdalene?"

I nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Too much of a mouthful. I will call you Maggie."

I resisted the temptation to tell her that my friends had done that since I was tiny - that only my mother used my full name, and then only when I had misbehaved. "Thank you ma'am."

We chatted about my journey. She had sent me coin enough to pay for the train, and to purchase a wardrobe of traveling clothes - which were finer than any I owned myself. A man had collected me from the station, another had shown me to the room where I would stay overnight. Both had been polite to the point of obsequiousness, as though I were already established in the position I was applying for, and the glass of wine I was given while I awaited my interview... fine wine, expensive wine, the kind that even my London friends could never have afforded... had performed its magic as well. I felt as though the job were already mine, and I still didn't know what it really entailed.

Two girls, it transpired, had been interviewed before me; I was the last that Lady D**** would be seeing. Many more had applied, the servant who drove me to the house had explained, but had not been heard from again. Scared off, I guessed, by the reading material that they were asked to peruse. And of the two who did visit the house, the scuttlebutt downstairs was that neither had proved particularly suitable.

But suitable for what? That was the question I wanted to ask, and that was the answer I could not be given. "Her Ladyship will explain the requirements," he said, and the subject changed to my life in London.

A life, if I am to be honest, with which I was growing progressively more tired. I left the farm in 1919, when my father sold up to one of his neighbors, and he and mother retired to the seaside. I was nineteen and restless, and a friend in the village was moving to the city to stay with her uncle and aunt. I joined her, and soon was working at a small office in Highgate, typing 120 words a minute and flirting with the messengers who stopped by to pick up the letters and invoices as I finished with them.

One of them, Tommy, became my first lover, a man twice my age and experienced enough to teach me my own way around the male body. Then his wife discovered our occasional trysts and Tommy gave way to Matthew, a younger man who had survived the war (one of the few, my friends remarked enviously), and now it was my turn to play the tutor, showing off all the little tricks I'd learned, and teaching him all that I knew.

Other lovers followed, some whose names I scarcely remember, some whose faces I have forgotten as well. And so three years passed in a dizzy blur of fumbling, fucking and fun, and at the back of my mind the whole of this time, a dim sense of dissatisfaction. The knowledge that what I was really searching for was never going to be offered by a man.

All of this I explained to Lady D*****, pausing only when she interrupted to ask a question of her own, and I silently offered thanks that the first glass of wine I had been given was swiftly followed by a second and a third. I could never have spoken so freely without the alcohol's encouragement - or maybe I could have. Something about Lady D**** invited indiscretion; encouraged elaboration, and the sparkle in her eyes as I detailed, in answer to one of her questions, the first time I ... well, the first time I did lots of different things... made it seem the most important thing in the world that I continue to intrigue and, dare I say, excite her with my words.

She asked about Tommy, the things that he taught me, and then asked how I used that knowledge; how I used my imagination and lust to improve upon his demonstrations. So I told her that he taught me to suck on his cock, but it was my own idea to let him release his pleasure into my mouth, and mine to swallow it, too.

She asked if I had ever "performed" in public, and I told her about the night I have never told anyone else of, when a lover and I were in the midst of making live in what we thought was a quiet, secluded spot, only to realize that half a dozen of his friends had followed us and were watching. So we put on a show for them and when my partner was finished, I grabbed a second and fucked him as well. She asked so many questions, and I answered each as honestly as I could. And when she then rose and stood before me, raising her long dress to drape over my head, I not only knew what she required. I probably needed it even more than she did.

My Lady wore no undergarments that day. In fact, I can now say that she rarely wore them any day. I slipped off the chair, to kneel before her, leaning back a little as she rearranged her dress and it fell behind me, shrouding me beneath its dark fabric. She raised one leg, her foot on the chair that I had so recently been sat upon, and a hand fell onto my head.

I could smell her sex. Her cunt. It intoxicated me, chasing away the sensations of the wine I'd drunk before, and filling my entire body with a whole new range of sensations, a dizziness that I knew could be assuaged in just one way.

I raised my hands, my palms on her thighs, my thumbs gently parting labia that were already sodden. Above me, I heard a gasp, and I pulled her wider apart, spreading her before me. I wished there was more light, so I could see the beauty that was arrayed between her legs, and I brushed at the dress that covered me, hitching one side onto my shoulder.

Her cunt was beautiful, thick lips and damp flesh glistening in the forest of hairs that surrounded it. I opened her wider still, mindless of anything but my own curiousity, and gently blew on the wet flesh. She gasped again, louder this time, and the tip of my tongue seemed to move of its own accord, gently tracing the meaty thickness of one lip. My mouth, slightly parted, closed around it, sucking on the merest suggestion of her flesh, while a finger gently probed at her depths.

The hand around the back of my head tightened, bunching my hair beneath the fabric of her dress and twisting slowly. But I would not be hurried. I lapped at the heat that blazed from within her, then concentrated my mind on the opposite lip. Lap and suckle, lap and suckle. And then back to the center, my tongue rolling now, whirling short circles across her inner flesh, and sensing, more than feeling, her clitoris unfold, unwrapping itself from its hooded domain, demanding my attention for itself.

I ignored it. Still teasing, still lapping, and thrilling now to the gentle gyration of my Lady's hips, rocking against me with just enough urgency that I could picture her face in my mind, her eyes closed in ecstasy, her face brighter than ever before, her mouth creased in a gentle smile.

The hand on my head tightened; she was using me for balance now, and that was what I was waiting for, that moment when her entire body began to rebel against whatever last element of control she may have exerted over it. I leaned back for a moment, a delicious moment of suspense, felt her entire frame tense is anticipation of my next move, and then slowly, so slowly, I licked her clit.

She cried out and I licked it again. Faster this time, harder, felt it solid beneath my tongue. It felt larger than mine, and I took it between my lips, feeling it tensing as my tongue teased it too. And then I engulfed her, opening my mouth to suck her cunt inside me, while a finger fucked furiously beneath my chin.

She was streaming now, flooding juices onto my face, as her hips ground harder and it felt as though my whole being was being drenched in her sweet perfumed waters. And when she came, with a cry that was surely heard across the other side of the mansion, tearing at my hair until the pain came close to making me cum alongside her, it was as though every fawcet in the house had been turned on, and now I was drenched, in a liquid that cascaded from her cunt.

I tried to catch it in my mouth, giggling with joy as she squirted her glory, and when she collapsed back onto the chair behind her, both of her hands now clenched me to her cunt, as she milked the final drops of pleasure out of her body, then purred softly for me to keep licking her gently.

How long we remained like that, I cannot tell. She orgasmed at least once more, and I suspect a third and fourth as well, judging not from her body but from the tone of her whispers. And when she did finally ease me away from her body, fighting against my own reluctance to ever leave such glorious place, the expression on her face was all it took. My own orgasm finally exploded through my body, and her laughter as she watched me writhe on the floor still echoes gloriously in my memory.

Then suddenly, all was business again. She sat making notes on a piece of paper, the picture of propriety and aristocratic grandeur; I sat, my hands folded gently in my lap, my eyes politely averted as my skin still tingled with her drying juices.

She slipped a piece of paper across the table.

"This would be your salary. If it is acceptable, please pass the paper back to me."

I looked and almost orgasmed again. I nodded, and returned the paper... then reached out and pulled it back to me.

Lady D***** looked at me in surprise. "Is there a problem, Maggie?"

"You still haven't explained to me what my duties are?," I said quietly, and she laughed aloud.

"Oh you have already carried them out. Most satisfactorily, too, I might add."

"You're hiring me to...." I began, and she stroked my face slowly.

"I'm hiring you to lick my cunt. Whenever I want, wherever I want. And sometimes, I might lick yours'. Any questions?"

I shook my head, and she took my hand, pulled me to my knees before her. "In that case, you may start immediately."

And, still seated, she spread her legs wide before me.

I think I'm going to like this job.