Penelope, Mistress of the Manor
Chapter 12

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Fa/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 12 - The aged Earl of Haversham was in need of a wife, and an heir. So, he bartered a marriage to young Penelope, and brought her to Farnsworth Manor as the new mistress there. The only problem was that Penelope liked her former life just fine. She didn't want to wander around a dusty old mansion, while her belly swelled up until she waddled like a duck. At least not alone. But there were a number of young, nubile servant girls about the place. So she hatched a plan. She wouldn't BE alone.

Sex is its own reward. By that, I mean simply that once the ecstasy of a good romp is experienced, no one needs bully one into engaging in the sport again. Jane was not a complete idiot. She knew that there was something a bit off about it all. The songs are all full of courtship, and anyone could see that whole process had been skipped over without a nod. But here were two girls she desperately wanted to be like, two girls who had the ear of the Lady of Farnsworth Manor herself, and they had not only welcomed her friendship, she had played naked in the stream with them, shrieking and splashing, laughing and teasing.

And they, too, had surrendered to Stephan's spike. Their "picnic" had lasted for hours, during which she got to see in them the thing she had just learned for herself. It was all too beautiful, because she knew men could be brutes, and yet Stephan, while he dominated them, most assuredly, was still gentle, and sweet, and his mouth, besides bringing her to almost explode, said the most wonderful things.

Never had she felt pretty. But Stephan made her feel pretty.

Imagine a man who is starving, and who stumbles upon a feast. There is no one around, but the food waits to be eaten. He knows not where it came from, and it makes no sense to him that it is there. Further, he may even realize that no one has given him permission to eat. He might even fear that the food is the product of sorcery.

But does he not eat? Of course he does.

And Jane stuffed her belly like that starving man, though with a different kind of victual, and eaten with two different mouths. By the time they stumbled up the path, dry again, and dressed again, their giddy laughter was shared easily, and they were truly friends. Stephan, by then, had left off his maddening grabbing and squeezing, and simply walked along with them, a tall, lanky boy she had known for years, but who seemed wholly new to her now.

As she watched him grab a handful of grass and tear it loose, only to throw it at Sally, her mind went to Nigel, poor, quiet Nigel, who worked harder than anyone else in the manor, at least in her opinion. Nigel was always up at the crack of dawn, and appeared dressed in his magnificent livery, that made him so handsome her heart nearly burst. He woke Wadsworth every morning by bringing him a cup of tea. Then he hauled wood for Cook, ensuring she had enough for the day. Mrs. Hennesey would always have chores for him then, until it was time to serve breakfast and clear away the used dishes for Marie to wash. Then he was off to rouse His Lordship, waking him and getting him up, if possible. He bathed, shaved and dressed the lord and by then it was time to make the rounds of the manor, collecting soiled bed linens and clothing for Suzette to deal with in the laundry. Then he disappeared, she knew not where.

I knew where he went, of course. Had the house been full, Nigel would have been charged with the care of the heir as well as Lord Malcom. But there was no heir, as yet, and the other children he would have had part in the care of were missing as well. Nor did Lord Malcom require much attention. More often than not, he cursed Nigel and sent him away, rather than rising and actually acting the lord. But when he did rise, his intent was usually to look at his horses first, and then have Nigel drive him in the coach to the estate of this or that noble, where business was conducted, usually while wine was drunk, while cards were played. A keg of brandy or rum sometimes accompanied them, lashed securely to the luggage rack. On other days, Nigel delivered horses to the estates they had done business with. He did not ride them, of course. No common backside ever sat on one of His Lordship's horses. Jack was the exception to that, and only because he was the one who gentled all of the Farnsworth horses to accept riding at all. But when Nigel delivered them, he ran beside them, leading them on a halter.

It was all this running and wood chopping and hauling and carrying that resulted in Nigel requiring ever larger livery, to fit around all those muscles that Her Ladyship had noticed straightaway when she first met him.

He was sure he'd be drawn and quartered for having ridden his new lady on the way to her new home, but she had insisted, and it was his duty to obey. But he'd kept out of sight as much as possible after that. She saw him only at the meals he served, and he only served meals when not on his lordship's business.

I wondered, at first, why she had not made Nigel her frequent and constant lover, but as I came to know her, I realized that she could not pass up a challenge. And Jack was a challenge. His rude, hostile and bullying ways brought out in her the unquenchable desire to tame and gentle him. In that, she was remarkably like Jack, when he was working with a rowdy horse. He treated humans awfully, but when it came to horses, he would do whatever was required to get that animal to seek him out in the paddock, and nuzzle his hand or shoulder.

I think that's what Penny wanted from Jack, and most certainly what she ended up getting. He was never the same after she disciplined and broke him, and was a much better man for it.

But my mind wanders. Let me return to Jane, who had often gazed upon Nigel with a pure, innocent interest. He, on the other hand, paid no attention to her at all, or none she could detect. He did his work, and eventually went to bed, so that he could get up and do his work again the next day. What Jane noticed, every day, was that he was beautiful as he did it.

And so it was quite natural that, the next time she saw Nigel, she looked at him with new eyes. Those eyes glanced at the swell in the front of the smooth, white pants of his livery. It was suddenly impossible not to notice, though she was quite sure it had been there all along. Now, as he moved, doing the same things he'd done every day for as long as she cared to remember, she felt all those new places around her body begin to tingle, and itch, and swell.

Nigel was not in Jane's echelon of direction. She took her cue from Housekeeper. He took his from His Lordship, and occasionally from me. In truth, he was supposed to do whatever Lord Farnsworth told him to do, and ignore all others, if their suggestions conflicted. But I had taught him his normal duties when he first came to us, and some residual of that authority clung to me in his mind.

Of course there was the other little thing about Nigel that only I knew. Nigel could read. I found this out completely by accident. One of his afternoon duties, if he and His Lordship were in the manor, was to care for the library. No one ever used it, but books were valuable, and it would not do to let insects chew on them, or mice decide to live among them. So Nigel had been assigned the task of taking each book down and cleaning it with a rag, going through them all, and then starting all over again. What no one knew was that, as he did this, he read some of them too.

I remember not why I went to get him one day, but I found him sitting in a straight-backed reading chair, upholstered in red leather, canted back on the two rear legs, while the front were lifted by his crossed feet, which lay on the table. He had removed his shoes, of course, so they would not scar the polished wood. His back was to the window, which is why, when I entered, I was somewhat blinded initially. I saw the image of a man at his ease, with a book open, but it was only as he lost his balance from alarm, and went over backwards, that I realized it was Nigel himself.

It turned out there was another lord's wife, who had noticed his attributes. She was more controlled than our own mistress, and availed herself of his sturdy prick only a few times while her husband was off at the stables with Lord Malcom. But in the process she learned that he pined to be able to read, and then, on successive visits, while her husband and Nigel's master sat and drank themselves into a stupor, she taught him to do so, in exchange for being bedded magnificently.

So, while Jane wondered where he disappeared off to, I knew. He was either attending to the lord, or in the library reading.

I happened to be present when Jane did what she did, which alerted me that Penny had gotten her claws into the girl. It was lunchtime, and the table was set, waiting for The Mistress and her maids to appear. It was rare that His Lordship would do so, but his place was always set, just in case. Nigel was there, that day, posed like a statue in his white and maroon livery, standing against the wall, waiting to serve his Lord and Lady. Jane brought in fresh table linens, which were all the table lacked. She should have gone into the kitchen then, to eat her own lunch, but she lingered. I was there to check the table, because Mrs. Hennesey was ill that day. I had not yet entered the room, though, and neither knew I was there.

"Nigel?" said Jane. Her voice was light and pure. She so rarely spoke that I had to look to ensure it was her who had done so. Nigel, for reasons of his own, continued looking straight ahead, and did not respond.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked.

My jaw dropped, and instantly I knew. Something had changed, and changed radically. And that almost always meant Mistress Penelope was involved.

It shocked Nigel too. It shook loose his stolid control, and he actually looked at her.

"It's all right if you don't," she said, looking down at the floor. There was a pinkish tint to her cheeks that was usually lacking. "I know I'm quite plain."

I recognized the ploy, even if poor Nigel did not. As is often the case, a man fell into a woman's trap.

"You're not plain," he said, quietly.

"Thank you," she said, shyly. "Sometimes I fear no man will ever take notice of me."

He looked a bit like he had taken a mouthful of something unfamiliar, and was trying to determine whether to swallow it, or spit it out.

"I've noticed you for years," he said.

"You have?" Her voice rose.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking away again. "It's not proper for me to trouble you."

"You don't trouble me," she said. "Your words make me feel good."

It would have been interesting to see what next developed, but Her Ladyship and her girls made their imminent arrival known by the giggling and laughing they were doing. Jane scurried into the kitchen, to tell Cook they were arrived, and eat her lunch.

Nigel stayed to serve.

But something new had happened, and I was sure both Jane and Nigel would be affected by it.


There was a different atmosphere in the manor. I'm sure it had developed slowly, over time, and such slow progress is often easy to miss.

Marie now smiled as she brought out the food and gave it to Nigel to serve, or served it herself. She was still shy, and she did not speak until spoken to, but she had relaxed somewhat. I was proud to note that, despite that one little "party" the mistress had shown her and cook, actually sharing her wine with them, that Marie still knew how to act properly as she served. The familiarity the mistress had allowed then, was held in abeyance now. Still, I could see the changes that had been wrought in the girl by just that one, simple show of kindness.

Now, in addition to "Yes, Mum," and "Yes, Sir" (I'll never be able to break her of calling me Sir!) there was a sprinkling of "Thank you, Mum" and "As you wish, Mum" and even once I heard her say "It would be my pleasure, Mum."

It was clear that Jane had honored her promise not to tell about what had transpired at the stream. Had she done so, whoever she shared with would have announced it by their actions. I'm sure I could have detected that. I was even looking for new signs, something that would tell me what had happened. I would find out later, and look back, but I still remember seeing nothing on Jane's part that would have been helpful to me then.

Cook hummed as she moved about the kitchen, something else new. Only Mrs. Hennesey's behavior remained the same, always dour and humorless, (save when she came back from her day off, and I suspect, a tryst with Ralph, ) always proper, always on top of things. Or so she thought. I had always thought I was on top of things too. But I couldn't control The Mistress of Farnsworth Manor.

Still, I had to admit the changes she had wrought, both huge (less visible) and small (quite visible), had made the manor a more interesting place. True, should her orgiastic ways be discovered by the public, it would bring ruin on us all. But it was an interesting place these days, no doubt about that. It is amazing what a few smiles can do to lighten the atmosphere of an otherwise dull place.

They waited barely a week to pull Jane further into their den of iniquity. One day Sally approached the poor girl with a crestfallen look on her face. I happened to be about, and noticed the skulking behavior Sally had adopted. So of course I positioned myself to be able to overhear the conversation.

"What is amiss?" asked Jane.

Sally fidgeted a bit, made herself blush (a talent taught to her by her mistress) and finally "confessed."

"We told you our lady is friendly with us," she said, softly. Jane nodded. "And we told you we have few secrets from her." Jane had a premonition of what was to come, and paled. "I know we promised not to tell her, but we let slip," she said in a rush.

I wondered what misadventure Jane had gotten herself into. Later, this conversation would make more sense, but I listened, despite being befuddled.

"Oh no," gasped the girl. "What did she say?"

"She sent me to tell you to come to her chambers tonight, after bedtime." Sally looked down.

"Is she to punish me, then?" moaned Jane.

"I think she just wants to talk to you," said Sally. "She is very open-minded," she said, making her voice sound hopeful.

"What should I wear?" said Jane, to herself.

"Your nightgown, of course," said Sally, who misunderstood.

"I can't appear before Her Ladyship in a nightgown!" said Jane.

"We do it all the time," said Sally, who had already been dragged so far down the road of dissolution and despair that she already thought a nightgown was proper dress in a less than private situation.

"You're her lady's maid!" replied Jane, who still knew the difference between proper and not.

"Well don't put on your uniform," said Sally, who knew what the plan was. "Just wear your nightgown."

"Why?"

Sally had thought the girl would accede to her suggestions without comment, and was unprepared.

"Just have trust in me," she barked, entirely too loudly. Both she and Jane flinched.

Had Jane taken the time to think about trust, and the role it had not played in their relationship, thus far, she might have donned her proper uniform to face her judgment.

But at the appointed hour, she crept to Mistress Penelope's door, dressed in her nightgown, and tapped.


I made sure I was in place in the passageway. During the day I had gone to Her Ladyship's chambers and re-hung the portrait. Thankfully, she had left it in place this time. I could see the edges of the hole in the canvas when I put my eye against the interior wall.

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