Short Short Story

by Gary Switch, Writer & Contributing Editor to Prometheus Magazine
garyswitch@aol.com

Read the SCENEprofiles Interview with Gary Switch

~~~

December the 3rd, Year of Our Lord 1897

At breakfast in the servants’ quarters, we speculated over the new Duchess Sophia’s cold and calculating captivation of our most dearly respected master.  There were rumors that she was half-French.  But there was little we could do.  She had woven her spell and Rupert had fallen and now she was the lady of the house and in sole charge of our destinies.

The absence of Roderick, the chauffeur, and Mary, the underhouseparlormaid with whom he had been conducting his latest dalliance, was noted with regret and anxiety on the part of the remaining staff.  I did my best to comfort them, as was my duty, though uncertainty blew through the scullery like the autumn wind and we all wondered at the next leaf to fall.      

The remains of the day passed uneventfully.

December the 4th, Year of Our Lord 1897

The new Duchess had me into her chamber very late last evening (or early this morning), a most irregular occurrence in my experience of domestic service in well-bred households.  The Duke, sore afflicted by age and gout, had long since retired, as had I, being required to rise early and supervise the serving of breakfast.

It was all I could do to maintain my propriety.  The new Duchess reclined upon her chaise longue, a near-transparent negligee trimmed with fur barely concealing her charms, a snifter of that green monster absinthe at her elbow.  Held out before her was a long pipe reeking of the dragon, whose fumes infused the room.  The drink and smoke had not slowed her senses.  Before I could even offer to be of service, she inquired of me: “Pray. Hudson , how call you this chamber?’

“It is your bedchamber, Milady.”

“It is my boudoir.  And what is the hour?”

Consulting my pocket watch, I replied, “Two hours and a quarter past midnight , Milady.”

“And you are so properly attired.  In the future, when you are called to my boudoir at such an hour, your nightgown shall be quite sufficient.  Quite sufficient for the hallways, that is.  Once in my presence, you shall present yourself as nature made you.  Quickly now.”

So that was how it was to be.  My previous position as tutor had been terminated after my young charge’s taste for discipline had far exceeded her taste for Latin.  The old Duke had taken me in as butler even though I doubted he could even see me clearly at the time.  And now, once again, my true function was about to be revealed.  I decorously removed my uniform, garters, drawers, and all, all the while observing Milady observe me.  The perfectly circular birthmark on her cheek was obviously counterfeit.  Her lush titties and plush flanks were not.

Undraped, I stood erect.  Milady rose, her negligee swirling unfastened.  “And here is how you shall present yourself to me.  Right hand clasping your John Thomas.  Yes. yes, do so at this moment.  Left hand, hmm, this is a bit unusual, but I’m sure, from what I’ve heard, that you are a quick study in complying with a Lady’s requirements.  With your thumb and index finger, circle your sack below your balls so that they are offered up.  When your member is hard, this may be a little difficult...  yes, that’s it.  So shall you present yourself to me when I have beckoned you at such an hour.  And so shall I acknowledge your offering.”

Milady delicately lifted her right hand and slapped forcefully downward.  I struggled with all my being to absorb the pain without jeopardising my position, and barely succeeded.  Milady’s blue eyes glowed.  “Very good, Hudson .  That rampant member of yours looks in sore need of a milking.”  She seated herself upon the low stool before her vanity, but facing away from the mirrors.  Oddly, on the floor before her lay a china plate, painted with the image of a Guernsey cow.  “On your hands and knees before me, now.”

I complied with her bidding.  Her clever fingers palpated my sorely smitten orbs until the soreness was gone and my prick stood out straight as a sword, hard as a log.  Then they went to work on my member, not gripping tightly, but flying up and down in feathery passage.  In no time, I felt my dignity in dire danger.  “Milady...” I sought to warn her, but it came out as a sigh of desire.

“Spend, sir!  Let me see your cum spurt.  Your cum is mine and only mine to spend.  Yes, that’s right.  You belong to me now.”

My spunk seemed to flow endlessly.  I pumped again and again.

“Excellent, Hudson .  I believe that your position in this household is now quite secure.  Just one more thing, before you go.  Clean that plate.  Your tongue will do.”

Read Gary's other story: The Ballad of Bronwyn
~~~  

Copyright 2003
This article is reprinted here with the explicit permission of the author. If you would like to share it with others, please link directly to this page or contact the author for permission. It is a violation of copyright law to distribute or reprint this piece without that permission, however you may include a short quote from it, not more than 20% of the total text. Please respect the integrity of this work.