Chapter 1

Diary entry 1

The writing of this story became interlinked with my real life and while reality didn't exactly mirror the fiction, events in one sparked off events in the other. I've always kept a sort of computer diary and decided that, because the story is written as though it were my personal account of the events at the Manor, I would use a diary entry as a prologue to each chapter and as my personal account of events connected with the writing. The story had a bigger and totally unexpected impact on my real life, than I could have foreseen. Like any diary, some entries are long and momentous, others, when little of note happened, are much shorter. As I am taking a creative writing course, I'll try to write the diary entries in essay form. I hope you, like me, feel the diary contributes to the whole scenario.

Emily.

"Anything in the Sleaze Rag, Penny?" I asked my roommate who for the last ten minutes had idly flipped through the pages of the latest edition of the university underground newspaper, 'The UniMole'.

"Not a lot. Picture of our star rugby player with his arms around a titless waif, "She's just a friend of my sister," he told our reporter. Believe that if you will. He never goes out with a girl unless he can get his prick inside her within an hour... Picture of Doctor Judith Mears supposedly pregnant by a student... Another porno story by Zen about a girl who is forced to sleep with her tutor to get decent grades. That must be his fourth or fifth on that theme. Perhaps Zen is a tutor hoping that will happen." Penny continued to turn the pages and comment on the items. "Here's something for you Em. 'Entries are invited for an Erotic Story Competition. We are looking for well written stories of at least 2,000 words to titillate our readers. Novel length stories acceptable but may be serialised. No subject taboo (except for legal reasons, paedophilia). Closing date for entries: last day of term.' You're doing the Creative Writing course so it shouldn't be a problem for you to dash off an entry!"

"They won't want a literary piece; just bang-bang, fuck-fuck porn, same as most of the other stories they print. You could write that. What's the prize?"

"A night out or a night in with Sharon Simmonds, she's that big boobed blonde bimbo that I bet really does sleep with the tutors. I guess they expect a man to win it. Daresay you wouldn't mind getting your hands on her tits though." She ducked when I threw a cushion at her.

"I'd have difficulty in getting to them before you!" I laughed.

"Don't you fancy yourself as a porn writer then Em? I thought it would give you a chance to write down your real thoughts and fantasies instead of conforming to the restrictions imposed by your tutor."

"I don't have your experience to draw on."

"Well you're certainly no Miss Innocence and you read enough stuff on the net. Just write some of the perversions you think of when playing with yourself in bed."

"Or when I'm in bed with you?"

So the good-humoured banter between us went on with Penny's pushy arguments gradually wearing away my resistance. "What we need to do," Penny declared as though it was agreed, "Is to decide on a theme and perhaps make it sort of interactive with both of us suggesting pathways the story could go."

"You seem awfully keen for me to do this. Seems like I do the work while you read the result and wank yourself silly."

"You're the budding author, I'm only a bookkeeper. So let's decide on a theme."

"What sort of theme? Certainly not one set at the Uni with students being forced to do all manner of sexual things to keep up their grades. That's been done too many times. Unless it's about how old Dr. Forester uses a long thin cane and a large thick prick to chivvy a certain Penelope Marchant into working harder!"

"Yukk. I'd fail before I'd submit to that old goat. What about a period drama setting like that series on TV? You do English Lit as well as Creative Writing so the two could go well together. Jane Eyre, Mansfield Park, Bleak House type thing."

"What like, young innocent girl gets sent to live in rich man's house and he's a randy old sod who soon takes away her innocence?"

"And who whips her bottom a few times in the process. You could be the young girl and write in the first person and I could give your arse a good spanking so you wrote with more authenticity."

"And you'd be Lady Penelope Marchant and order the butler to strap me I suppose." I tried to sound indignant but the germ of an idea was coming into my head.

"And you'd be plain Emily Jenkins. How about we keep our real names at least for the draft. That would make it really personal. You could do a global find and change before you send it in."

"Or I could change my name and leave yours so everyone would know what a bossy bitch you are!"

The banter ended with a mock fight with the cushion being tossed back and forth from an ever closer range until the fight became a wrestling match culminating in both of us girls nakedly making love to each other.

Lying awake in my bed later that night, I mulled over her ideas for the story competition. "Even if it doesn't win, my entry has to have a decent story line which probably means that it will be fairly long in order to bring out the characterisation. The characters must be real and believable so that eliminates magic and mind control stuff. I will have to put plenty of sex in it though and include many fantasises I wouldn't do in my own life and being a historical story, I can include punishments that are illegal today. Forced sex, which I suppose is actually rape, can play a major part at least in the beginning. I wonder what servant girls thought about when they were ordered to 'warm a master's bed'? I guess some liked it but what of the others? Perhaps they'd feel like I would if Dr. Symonds ordered me to his bed in order to redeem a bad essay? Hell Penny, why did you have to bring the topic up? I can't sleep now the idea has entered my head and I know that I have to write the story. Wonder if Doc Symonds will accept it as a piece of my coursework? He'd probably wank himself silly reading it. He-he!"

Chapter one. At the Manor

I knew my life was about to change when Lord Charles Marchant galloped across the field to where we gathered wood at the edge of the copse. Dad and I stopped what we were doing and waited for him to approach. I stood slightly behind my father as though he would protect me but both of us knew we couldn't prevent the inevitable. At the time I wasn't too sure that I wanted to. Life at home was one hardship after another and there was rarely enough food for us to have a proper meal. Daddy doffed his cap and I bobbed an apology for a curtsey when his lordship reined in his thoroughbred and looked down at us.

"Ah Jenkins, I understand from my man Parkes that you are unable to pay the tithe due to me this quarter." His lordship spoke sharply.

"I'm sorry M'lord but the floods this spring washed out all the crops we'd planted and..."

"I understand you wish to make payment by placing your daughter in my service for a period of three months until the debt is paid off."

"I would rather place myself in your service sire. I am a good worker and wouldn't need any training."

"We've plenty of labourers as good as you and you need to work this plot to pay the next tithe. Release the girl into our service for three months or pay your dues."

"Aye sire, the wife and me, we agreed she could go."

"Step forward wench and let me look at you." Shyly I moved in front of my father and momentarily glanced at the arrogant man staring down at me before casting my eyes to the ground again. "Turn around." Again I looked and slowly moved in a circle. I guessed that his eyes were undressing me and wondered if I would be acceptable to him and whether he would be able to visualise what was under the dull brown dress of coarse material that I was wearing. From remarks I'd overheard from other farmers, I knew I was reasonably attractive to them but would I be to a man used to well bred, aristocratic ladies, decked out in all their finery? Perhaps I would compare when all our clothes were removed. I'd inherited my looks from mother. Like her I had long black hair, now wound into a bun on top of my head, large brown eyes and, especially for my age, I was well endowed in the tit department but I knew my ribs showed clearly and my face was a little hollow from the lack of good food. Apart from that, I was well built, strong and healthy from the labouring work I did. Would he want me now that he'd seen me in my grubby working shift? What would we do if he didn't?

"Is she obedient Jenkins?"

"Most of the time sire. Sometimes she has to be put across my knee but not so often."

"She'll need to be obedient all the time in our household. We don't deal lightly with maids that fail to do as they're told. Turn around again girl." I again did a clumsy circle.

"I guess that with some food inside you and a decent dress you might be acceptable for a while. Any boy tupped you yet?"

"No M'lord." I blushed as I assumed tupped was the aristocrat's word for fucked which was the peasant's language I knew. From the stories I'd heard I didn't expect it would be long before my first 'tupping'.

When Frederick Parkes, the reeve, suggested my employment Mother and I talked about what might happen when I was taken into service at Lord Marchant's house.

"I guess ya's knows what the men in tha big hoos will wanna do with ya." I nodded. "Well then ya must try and keep yersel from getting preggy girl. Sara Meyhews' mother tol me tha thay put sponges things up in her daughter's cunnie when she work'd there and the one time she forgot, she gotta herself knocked up and they gives her the push. Now she hes a babbie to see to and no man to provide for 'er." Mother didn't have the schooling I'd had and that was little enough but I could read and write and they'd made me speak properly so that might stand me in good stead in the big house.

Living as we did in a two-room hovel with one bedroom and a kitchen living room, I knew exactly what went on in the bedroom. Two threadbare blankets draped from the ceiling beams, separated my part of the room from theirs and when it was daylight, I could secretly watch them through the moth holes. I saw them fucking on many occasions. Probably they knew I watched but ignored me. Certainly I often saw father's prick when he got up in the morning and used the pot they kept under the bed and when we all used the tin bath in front of the fire. It was the first time I'd heard about the sponges though and wondered exactly what they did with them.

During the walk to Witchellden Manor, I nervously mused on what the future held for me. What would it be like to have a man fuck me? Mother seemed to like it when dad fucked her. How bad would the discipline be? His lordship had indicated that I would be punished for all my failures. What would I be expected to do? I'd no real experience of housework or life in a grand house. Indeed I had never been inside one. My life so far was all concerned with tilling the land and looking after the few crops we were able to grow and selling them in the market. Life now would be very different and I was both nervous and a little excited at the prospect.