Dark Hearts and Dirty Secrets - Volume III - Anna Austin - ebook
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Victorian BDSM CollectionBehind the facade of piety and respectability, the true face of Victorian England was rather more...dirty. Story 1: Tupping the MilkmaidStory 2: Debasing the Farm GirlStory 3: Exploiting the Maid~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~Lightning flashed across the sky and a peal of thunder shook the barn, causing the already anxious cows to shift. Daisy patted the cow in front of her to keep it calm. Outside, large raindrops fell down upon the dirt of the corral, prompting the two young men to run for shelter into the barn. They stopped as they entered, looking around at the livestock until their eye settled on Daisy. Don't act foolish, girl. Daisy could not believe that she was here now, alone in the barn with Simon and his servant. The two of them walked over to her and she wondered what would be the right and proper thing to say. She hated that she had never been around them. She should be calm and casual, used to his presence. "I hope we're not bothering your work," Simon said. Daisy looked down at the bucket of milk, nearly full. It was full enough anyway and this was the last cow she had to tend to today. "Not at all, Master Simon." Daisy stood and gave a curtsey. She picked up the bucket and carried it over to one of the large milk jugs, pouring it carefully inside. Wilfred said something that Daisy could not quite discern and she wondered if she should be embarrassed, flattered, or simply uninterested. She did not like feeling awkward. "You don't have to be so formal," Simon said. Daisy could hear a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Master will do fine."

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Dark Hearts and Dirty Secrets

Volume III

Victorian BDSM Erotica CollectionAnna Austin

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 Anna Austin

Written by Anna Austin

Tupping the Milkmaid

Daisy sat in the loft of the barn and looked out over the corral below. The cows milled about, waiting for one of the farm hands to let them out into the fields. They were milked, thanks to Daisy, and ready to fill their stomachs with the rich grass that grew on Lord Neville’s lands. Many said God blessed him. He had rich land, hearty livestock, and four strapping, healthy, and handsome sons.

The sons were what really had Daisy’s attention this afternoon. The four of them were in the yard next to the corral, sparring with practice foils. Each was just as handsome as the next, except for Simon. He outshined his brothers in almost every way. The youngest at a tender eighteen years, he stood an inch taller than his oldest brother, Kyle. He had eyes as bright and blue as the sky, far brighter and more beautiful than any of his brothers. Where the others had sandy blonde hair, Simon’s was a vibrant blond that sat in wavy locks, framing a face that was chiseled and perfect.

Simon moved gracefully with the foil, avoiding each strike from his oldest brother. When it was apparent that Kyle would not be able to land a strike, he called upon the other two brothers to assist him. Together, the three made strikes at Simon, only to be dodged, parried, and riposted at every turn. Daisy laughed gently, careful that the sound would not carry to the yard, lest she be chided for her afternoon slacking, as she listened to the three older brothers grow more frustrated.

As Simon and his brothers wrapped up their sparring, Daisy lay back against the hay and looked up at the ceiling of the barn. Her thoughts turned to the women who must throw themselves at the brothers every day. Oh to be one of them and enjoy their company and tender affections.

Daisy raised her skirt and brought her hand between the flaps of her drawers to touch her sex. She thought of the beautiful young women who would visit the manor for dinners and parties. Surely, Simon would take any one who caught his eye to some back room. The ladies would have no fear in letting him have his way with them. A lady’s purity was whatever her father said it was, unlike the poor who had to guard their purity, lest it be tested.

That was what Daisy’s father told her anyway. He never let her near Simon or his brothers. They would spoil her with no thought to her future. Daisy was a beautiful young woman, even if she came from servant stock. Her brown hair was thick, with golden highlights and her blue eyes were rich and deep. She had fair skin that even hard work with the barn animals could not seem to harden. She had ample breasts and shapely hips that would be able to bear many healthy children. Pure, she could be married off to a tradesman, someone who would give her a better life than that of servitude. Ruined by Simon or his brothers, she would be lucky to marry in her station.

Her fingers moved deftly along the soft folds of skin until Daisy found her gentle nub, already hard from her thought of Simon and what must be his escapades. She flicked her fingers over it quickly, imagining his hands moving to part a lady’s legs and his manhood thrusting into her, hard and deep. She envied her imaginary lady that as her pleasure swelled and pushed through her body. As her orgasm overtook her in waves, her sex clenching, she imagined that his manhood was moving there, gliding in her, and daring to stretch her.

When it passed, she lowered her skirt and continued to stare at the ceiling. Her thoughts moved through her imaginings of Simon and his lovers until sleep brought her into a gentle nap.

***

“You were daydreaming in the barn again, weren’t you?” Daisy’s mother sat a warm bowl of soup in front of Daisy and fixed her with knowing eyes.

Her mother was no fool to what daydreaming actually meant. Daisy’s father would have shouted and dragged her off to the chapel for prayer and absolution if he knew that she touched herself. Her mother was wiser, knowing that a good release helped to keep a woman calm. It was, her mother had told her when they discussed it and other such things, no different from the wealthy women who would see a doctor to treat hysteria. Poor servants could scarcely afford such treatments, so it was best they treat themselves.

“Only for a little while.” Daisy stole a look to her father, who pretended to pay attention to the paper in his hands and to not be scowling at her laziness. She looked back to her mother. “All of my chores were done, though. I made sure of that first.”

Her mother gave her a gentle smile. “I don’t suppose that a small nap in the barn hurts, but show caution. I know that you work hard.” She paused to lay her eyes evenly on Daisy’s father, who continued to pretend to read his paper. “So does your father. But if his Lordship or his steward were to spy you there, they may not think so.”

“I understand, Mother,” Daisy said. “I’ll be sure to be careful where I lay and to make sure the sun can wake me.”

That seemed to satisfy Daisy’s mother. She joined them at the table and together Daisy and her parents ate their dinner. It was a simple meal, day old bread, and soup made from the discarded portions of meat from Lord Neville’s kitchen. It was not much but combined with the vegetables that her mother grew – Lord Neville allowed them a small garden outside of the servants’ quarters – it was more than enough to keep them strong and healthy. They could have easily fed two or three more children, and Daisy often wondered why her parents did not have more. She did not dare ask, though. Daisy knew from listening to other servants talk that it was shameful for a woman to turn up barren, and she did not want to remind her mother of such if she in fact turn up barren after Daisy was born.

Daisy’ father turned the conversation to Daisy’s education. He had hopes to marry her off to someone not a servant, to someone who would do well for her. Daisy thought that would be soon. She was eighteen. She would be nineteen in a few months. If she was going to marry a tradesman or someone else above a servant in station, her father had determined that she would read and write well and have some knowledge of literature and the world. Her father had been Lord Neville’s attendant when he served in the Queen’s Army, which had given him the opportunity to learn more than a mere servant would. Daisy knew that she was fortunate that he was passing it onto her, and that knowledge alone kept her attention focused so that she could answer his quizzes and read the newspaper passages and give her opinion of them.

If a woman can be queen, a woman can have an opinion; her father had told her when she questioned whether a potential husband would care about her ideas on current events in the Empire. She supposed that even if her husband did not ask her thoughts, knowing that she could form an opinion if asked would be a matter of pride for him. It would make her better than wives who were simpler, with only the knowledge of reading and writing, but no attention paid to reasoning. Even if she never used it, it would still make him look good. It might make him look better. She could state an opinion, but her husband commanded such respect of her that she did not offer it openly.

Together, Daisy and her father went through her lessons over dinner. After their bowls were empty, he brought a small, wrapped package onto the table.

“I bought this from a friend on your mother’s advice.” He set the package in front of Daisy.

She knew it was a book. Her father never gave her any other gifts, save for at Christmas. Daisy looked to her mother, who seemed by her expression to be confused as to what book she had suggested for Daisy. That did not surprise Daisy at all. Her mother, like most servants in a noble household, knew how to read. She did not do it very often. What books she did read were bawdy tales that she kept secreted away? Daisy only knew about them because her mother had shared their existence with her, on promise of secrecy of course.

“Thank you.” Daisy unwrapped the package and looked at the simple beige cover. No pictures adorned it, only a small symbol that reminded her of a fleur de lis, though it was probably meant to represent some nameless flower. Daisy knew the title, though. Lady Neville also had a secret stash of bawdy books, though neither the Lady nor her mother knew Daisy knew this, and Daisy had seen it there.

Volume I: Nunnery Tales, by T.N.R.

Daisy did her best to hide a smirk, and then laughter when she saw her mother’s eyes widen. Her mother often chided her father, when Daisy was not supposed to be able to hear, about how strict he was in keeping her from speaking to boys. Daisy could only imagine the conversation if this book had been brought up. Surely, he could not know what it was actually about.

“You read a lot of books of fiction. I thought a book of morality tales would be good for you,” he said.

No, he has no idea at all. Daisy swallowed her laugh and looked at her father, keeping her breathing steady so that she could better control her expression. “Indeed. Thank you father.”