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  The space was large, but incredibly it was still warm from the previous night’s fire. In the dim morning light it was impossible to see much detail, but the sense of absolute splendor was ever present as she kneeled before the embers of the massive fireplace. Amazingly the scent of roses permeated each breath Amelia took. There was something else in the air as well, a wild untamed scent, rich like the summer grasses after the first rainfall, but also a heady scent, like a glass of spilled wine. She poked at the embers with a stick and blew gently.

  “Whose there?” a light female voice called out of the darkness from the direction of the massive four-posted bed. It had been there the entire time, the bed. Looming in the place Amelia had been trained to not look.

  “Just me mum. Tending your fire.” Amelia didn’t even turn around, and she felt her voice quiver and her heart begin to race.

  “Tending my fire? Are you sure?” At this, Amelia got the embers to grow and an orange light began to cast itself about the room. She turned to see a young woman with wildly messy brown hair crawl out of the bed, her thin cotton nightgown hanging loosely about her form. She looked sweaty and flushed and yawned loudly swaying to and fro before she started to pull her nightgown up above her head. Amelia turned to the fire again immediately as she realized she was once again in the presence of someone’s nudity. The woman called to her almost drunkenly.

  “Come. Come, get into bed with me.”

  “Mum?” She asked, scarcely able to comprehend what had been requested.

  “Girl, come here.” Amelia obeyed terrified, her breath caught in her chest. She approached the bed to find the messy dark-haired girl, laying nakedly upon her stomach, legs half parted, her perfectly round buttocks flickering in the firelight. The sheets were a deep crimson, and her nude form appeared like ivory against them, even in the gloaming. The girl was also gulping a steel goblet of wine, spilling driblets onto the sheets. She tossed the empty goblet off the far side of the bed and yelled without even turning her head.

  “Girl! Where are you!”

  “Right here mum.” Amelia stammered.

  “There’s a jar of oil right there beside the bed. Rub my body. Rub my skin with it.” The girl commanded with authority. She then pulled one leg up to the side carelessly exposing the shadows that lay between her smooth thighs. Amelia was terrified, but she did as she was told. She quickly poured a small amount of the oil into her palm and leaning over to place a knee upon the bed, she began to rub it onto this girl’s back. The skin was smooth, the back slightly muscular and warm beneath her inexperienced hands. The girl was in her early twenties perhaps, and was incredibly beautiful. Amelia brought both of her hands to bear, rubbing oil firmly up and down the back, smoothing it and kneading it. This girl groaned throatily from these caresses, and stretched herself, arching her back just like the cats Amelia used to see on the streets of London. Each time Amelia’s hands approached the soft buttocks, the girl responded vocally, emitted an encouraging sound of pleasure. Emboldened slightly by this, Amelia tentatively rubbed her hands over the rounded flesh, even venturing onto the backs of the thighs, feeling excitement over this small exertion of power. The girl moaned louder and slid one knee high up to the side. Amelia ran her hands quickly over the girl’s buttocks, in circular motions, venturing two fingers to push warm oil deeply into the crevice between each cheek. She realized she was breathing hard and was incredibly aroused, as the girl moved beneath her hands. She could smell now the lavender, as well as the girl’s body itself. The sheets smelled of it, the room was bathed in it. Sandalwood and something wild she couldn’t identify. She found herself nervously glancing toward the door in anticipation of some sort of rebuke for this immodesty and the flickering fire cast her shadow wildly upon the girl in front of her. Amelia had never experienced anything like this before and as she continued she felt almost trancelike in her ministrations, intent on rubbing in a pleasurable way. She found herself attracted to the buttocks and thighs, feeling their delicate curves slowly with her palms, rubbing hard, and dipping them momentarily between the parted legs. The flesh was soft yet resistant to her fingers. Amelia hadn’t known a body could feel like this, tender and slick.

  She felt instinctively she could place her hands between the woman’s inner thighs, and her eyes began to focus on this particular shadow as she moved them in ever-smaller concentric circles. It was deeply exciting to think of touching another woman there, in this private place she was most curious and fearful of, even on her own body. She did so now, all at once sliding her hand down between the girl’s buttocks, using her fingers to explore the moist little folds of the sex bathed as it was in the warm oil and its own juices. The girl emitted a deep sigh of approval, and grasped the bed sheets roughly in her hands. The sensation was thrilling to Amelia, and a whole host of images flashed through her mind, dirty things she should never think; women and men, contorting in various states of pleasure, their faces flushed and moaning, tearing at each other’s clothing, biting and sucking. She saw Enza too, and they were kissing again, only now Amelia was the one in control, her hands pulling Enza’s skirts open, plunging down between the foreign girl’s thighs to feel the soft patch of black hair there, wet with sweat and oil, and still further to feel the feathery flesh bedew her probing fingers. Enza’s wetness. How terrible a girl I am. The thought echoed through her mind, yet the feeling was deliciously wicked, like stealing a loaf of bread. She felt powerful and aroused, and these feelings were overwhelming in their intensity. She found that she couldn’t stop her caresses, using one hand to rub this girl’s back, almost pushing her down onto the bed, while stroking and pulling the wet little bird between her thighs with the other. She felt her fingers parting the silken lips, and sliding tightly within. The messy-haired girl was enjoying it, moving her hips, fluttering and gasping upon the mattress. Her arousal was contagious, and a force was overtaking Amelia deep inside, a hunger that could never be sated! She felt her own body shivering…and then quite suddenly, the girl rolled over to face Amelia, breaking the trance.

  They stared at one another momentarily both of them breathing hard. The girl’s nudity, her perfect breasts, small torso, and conjunction of shadow where her thighs came together, all fully exposed to Amelia’s gaze. The fire crackled in the silence between them.

  Without warning the girl grasped Amelia’s face firmly in her hand, and pushed her backward onto the floor, stunning her.

  “You have taken far too much liberty girl!” she shouted.

  “I’m…I’m sorry mum!”

  “You’ll pay for being so insolent! Do you hear me?” The voice was youthful, haughty, and poised. Amelia was so shocked she couldn’t respond.

  “You will be punished for giving me pleasure without permission! Thoroughly punished.” The girl strode nakedly and confidently over to her dresser, and poured herself another goblet of wine. Amelia sat still on the floor, holding her cheek.

  “I am the Duchessa de Montaigne, and I know you couldn’t help yourself. All of the serving girls are like this. You must be trained before you can give me pleasure.” She gazed at herself in the mirror, ignoring Amelia. Then tipping her head back she gulped her wine greedily. Her stance, her ivory skin, even the small undulations of her throat as she drank, all was sensual and enticing. She envisioned the Duchessa pursued by every man, every woman, a glowing, untouchable creature, tantalizing. Yet Amelia had touched her.

  “So I will send you to the stables, where you will be trained well.” She strode over to Amelia and helped her to her feet. Her violent mood seemed to calm suddenly. “So pretty, my little darlings, my girls, yet so naughty and undisciplined.” She shook her head as if disappointed.

  The Duchessa put two fingers under Amelia’s chin, lifting it in order to look into her eyes for the first time. Shyly, Amelia met her gaze and noticed the phenomenal beauty therein. They were dark brown and limitless, and she could see reflections from the fire, the fire that she herself had lit, dancing in those eyes, sensually.
This is my mistress, this girl, Amelia thought excitedly. She knew she must serve her completely. She felt her will simply melt away under this gaze.

  Amelia stood obediently as the Duchessa took a large sip of wine and pressed her pouting lips directly onto hers, parting them slightly. Then there was the first pleasurable sensation of the tongue as it slipped confidently into her waiting mouth, followed by the warm liquid pouring forth as her mistress fed her. She found herself gulping it down thirstily, drinking from her mistress, eager for more. It was both bitter and sweet, much like the Duchessa Amelia thought

  “They will clip your wings there little bird. Then, once you are trained, you will pleasure me when and where I choose. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mistress” she whispered.

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  Amelia lay in the dim light, her mind creating dreams and stories based upon the lines of cracked paint that spread across the ceiling. They formed little patterns and shapes, and it was easy for her to drift away in fantasy at times like these, times of great stress. She felt that she had grown accustomed to many different ceilings in her life, her imagination always providing a welcome escape from the drudgery of London, and all of its filth. It was a deplorable city and she thought of it now even though she didn’t want to.

  She saw the drooping, stone chimneys, and low hanging fog as it hung about the slate rooftops. She could hear the loud voices of men as they milled aimlessly in the square, drunken and calling to one another in the evening air. A carriage driver sung the queen, atrociously, yet confidently, oblivious to the many mothers who screamed from their windows for him to do violence to himself. As a girl she slept to this musical cacophony each night, humming to her sisters as they huddled together in their small apartments, buried beneath the sheets and telling each other stories on their straw mattresses.

  At 14 she had worked part time for an old seamstress on the corner, running up and down the steps to retrieve heavy bolts of cloth from an attic on the third floor. She could still hear the thumps of her leather shoes as she ascended the twisting stairwell imagining that her feet were wearing grooves into the soft wood. She grew stronger and her legs were long for her age, lean and toned, yet she was a clumsy girl, her stockings always halfway fallen. It was there in this attic, with shafts of light streaming in from the single French window, that Amelia achieved solitude and silence for the first time in her young life. She would often sit amongst the large bolts of cloth, daydreaming, wrapping herself in lace and scarlet, feeling the different textures against her skin, pretending to be a noblewoman; a woman who resisted every suitor. These suitors of course, were tall bolts of cloth that she would dance with and sometimes pretend to kiss. She could remember falling amongst the trimmings and hugging these imaginary men to her, wrapping her slender legs around particularly smooth bolts of silk, feeling the pleasurable sensations as she let the fabric slip back and forth against her inner thighs and groin. She sometimes would remove her knickers completely to get the full sensation as she ground against them wildly. These actions would leave her panting and flushed, and guiltily she would quickly straighten her skirt and run downstairs, sure that someone had overheard her playing. Of course there were other experiences.

  Playing in the streets was a dirty endeavor for any child. In order to remove the day’s accumulated filth, her mother had often bathed them in a steel tub, one after the other, everyone using the same water. Amelia, being the eldest always went first. She remembered one cold winter’s day, a year or so ago, when something happened that forever changed her ideas about her body. She had just finished bathing, having used the rough brush all over her skin, scrubbing the various parts, paying special attention to her breasts, and tender parts between her legs. She stood up naked and pink from the scrub-brush as her sisters all ran about, yelling and fighting as to who would bathe next. It was then that she momentarily glanced toward the window, and saw little Will Thompson and a few of the other neighborhood boys all watching her from outside, eyes wide and lascivious. She screamed, grabbing for her clothes and quickly shooing them away, but that night was her first realization that she could be desired for reasons other than her utility in service.

  For many nights thereafter she couldn’t get the image of those boys watching her out of her head. It was exciting to think of how they must have felt, holding their firm little penis’s in their hands. She found herself reliving the moment they spied her in her nakedness, running her hands over her body in the darkness, masking her motions carefully so as not to alert her sisters. As she had matured, Amelia had understood that there were many reasons that men desired her. She was considered frightfully beautiful, so much so her mother had struggled to keep her plain, and it wasn’t safe for her to travel alone through the square. She was kept hidden away essentially, a source of labor and conversation, a commodity, a beautiful flower kept close, unable to bloom.

  After two days at Hinterlands, she certainly felt that she was a commodity, to be used for what purpose she knew not. What she could surmise after a very short time however, was that the serving girls could be used for pleasure here, at any time, and that there were great rewards in being compliant to those in power. The truth was she was still confused about this, and many of the other girls seemed much more knowledgeable in this regard. Even if they were knowledgeable, such as her friend Kitt, they weren’t telling Amelia anything. She replayed the events in the Duchessa’s bed chamber over and over in her head, feeling herself become aroused again each time as if it were happening now. How wonderful she had felt, giving pleasure to a young woman her own age-a lady of fine upbringing, and true mistress of the house!

  The Duchessa’s body haunted her psyche, and she could think of little else. It was smooth, toned, and healthy. It was obvious that she had been raised on fine wines, meats, and pastries, and her body was so different than the street urchins Amelia had been raised with. Her lips were pouty, and full. She looked as though she would bite something at any moment. Amelia desired her, to be close to her. She wished deeply that she hadn’t angered her this morning, that instead she had been welcomed into her bed, to nuzzle close and to kiss her lips, as they had done momentarily. One thing was for certain, she wouldn’t tell Kitt of these events. There seemed to be an unspoken code here that Amelia was starting to figure out, and it was that you didn’t speak of these sorts of things, and that was that. Besides, she didn’t want Kitt to think she was getting undue favor from the Duchessa.

  Amelia had just started thinking of the Duchessa again, and had begun running her hands up and down her slender thighs, when Mr. Stephen burst into the room with two strapping young men.

  “Alll right Ms. Kerrick! Up with you Lassie! On Orders of the Duchessa, it’s off to the stables with you!” He gestured for the men to grab Amelia.

  “Mr. Stephen get the hell out!” Kitt yelled jumping out of her bed in order to intercept their efforts. One of the boys reached out to restrain her and she flung him against the wall. Then they both set upon Kitt holding her arms as she struggled and yelled. Enza, miraculously still in her bed for once, merely sat up tucking her legs beneath her and watching.

  Amelia rose calmly, standing there in her nightgown. “Kitt it’s okay. Don’t fight them. I’ll go with them. I got into a spot of trouble earlier…” she spoke slowly and earnestly “…and the Duchessa requests that I go to work in the stables for a while.” She forced a smile.

  “Amelia you have no idea what you’re doing…you can’t, they’ll…you just can’t!” Kitt protested.

  “I must please the Duchessa Kitt; I can’t lose my situation here. I just can’t.”

  She began to gather her things together as the men released her friend. No sooner were Kitt’s hands free than she slapped wildly at them both. One of the men acted as though he would return the favor and strike her, but after a moment he simply waved his hand in exasperation. She was far too wild to contend with.

  “Am
elia, be careful. It’s not what you think. I’ve heard stories, and the girl’s come back, different.” They both glanced at Enza who simply glared back, as defiant as always, but now there was something else in her comportment as well. If it wasn’t fear, was it possibly concern? Turning to Amelia, Kitt suddenly threw her arms around her, embracing her and kissing her cheeks. Amelia thought she might burst into tears.

  “I’ll be backing soon Kitt.” She reassured her, not really knowing if it was even true or not. She glanced around the room, realizing there was nothing there she would really need. There was no point tarrying.

  Picking up the small muslin bag she arrived with and wearing only her thin nightgown, Amelia Kerrick dutifully followed Mr. Stephen out the door and into the darkened hall beyond.

  -------------------------End Part One--------------------------

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  Hinterlands Book II below:

  Hinterlands Book II:

  The Stables

  An Erotic tale By Isha Dehaven

  The stars burst overhead, shattered and brilliant, firing their silver light across the black canvas sky. Amelia glanced up at them, and then back at the dark shadow of the massive house as it fell away behind them. They had exited through the same service-door she had entered on that first day at Hinterlands, and she found it quite odd now that her arrival now seemed like the distant past. Shocked momentarily by the cool autumn night, Amelia had been ushered into the back of an open air wagon where to her surprise there were a number of other house-servants waiting there in the darkness, most of them in their bedclothes shivering. She was surprised to see the small oriental girl from the dining room there, and beside her the skinny red-haired one from yesterday’s breakfast sitting mutely, and somberly, their arms crossed and their small breasts and dark nipples visible beneath the thin fabric of their nightgowns. She took her place on the firm wooden bench and noticed that there were also many young men she had never seen before, even while walking about the house. Perhaps footmen or stable boys in training?