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Good morning! :-D
It is not quite 9am where I am, and I have a new little story for you (I love it when they just turn up like that!) :-D
It is most assuredly smutty in nature, although hopefully it will also make you laugh. :-)
Contains, er... somewhat-explicit oral sex (quite a bit less explicit than, say, the stuff in "Eating In", for example), but tread carefully if you get nervous about that stuff. :-)
Summary: Mal and Polly have, occasionally, had the misfortune of being walked-in-upon. This is one of those times. :-D
***
Reasons Not To Work Overtime
Stephan sits in the corner of the dark kitchen, his hands resolutely on his knees, and his breaches feeling far too tight.
He shouldn’t have stayed late.
That's the long and the short of it.
He should have seen them into their hired coach and then been off home, like he was supposed to.
But, no. He’d wanted to think about stuff – about Ilsa, and whether or not fifteen was really too early for a lad to be thinking about marriage – and the kitchen was such a good place for thinking, what with his mother not being around to interrupt his thoughts.
He’d heard the door open upstairs, though, and – fool that he was – had done his job, as though he was still on the clock, putting the kettle on for coffee and wandering up the servants' steps to see if his boss needed anything else.
In the dark of the kitchen, Stephan shifts, uncomfortably, screwing his eyes shut against the memory. It doesn’t help, he can still see all of it, as if they're right in front of him.
He’d come up the stairs – that was one thing about this place, the house was barely older than he was, so the floors didn’t creek at all. Maybe that was why they hadn't heard him coming – and he’d seen The Lieutenant in her wine-red dress, with her eyes shut tight and her curly hair spilling all over her shoulders. Her bodice was half unlaced and her skirts had been all bunched up over her knees – her knees! – and she'd been making these little breathless hiccupping sounds and, oh god, Mister Maladict had his actual head under her dress, all the way up by her, um... y’know... Stephan could tell, he could see the bump where Mister Maladict’s head was! He must have been kissing her right on her, um, y’know...
In the kitchen, Stephan covers his eyes with his hands, not that it helps.
It’s not as if Stephan is stupid. It’s not as if he’s naïve. He’s always known that The Lieutenant is Carrying On with his boss – he’s seen the way Mister Maladict looks at her, and he’s even heard them, on occasion (a sigh, a whimper, the creak of a bedspring) while putting away the clean sheets (in the middle of the afternoon!) in the linen cupboard across from Mister Maladict’s bedroom. But this!
Stephan has never even thought of kissing Ilsa on her, um, y’know...
Ilsa’s a Good Girl – one of the reasons, Stephan suspects, why his mother approves of their walking out together – and, even though they’ve been stealing a lot of kisses together behind the coach-house at the end of their block, Ilsa definitely draws the line at kissing. She nocks his hand away if he so much as tries to slide it past her knee.
But there they’d been, standing on the stairs – or at least The Lieutenant had been standing, one leg thrown over Mister Maladict’s shoulder. Mister Maladict had been on his knees – and Stephan had just stood in the servant’s stairway and stared, his mouth hanging open like a fish. As he’d watched, The Lieutenant had arched her back and brought her hand down to where Mister Maladict’s head was and pushed him closer.
Stephan had tried to tear his eyes away, he really had, but he couldn’t even blink.
Mister Maladict had lifted one hand, and Stephan had been terrified that he’d put in on her um, er… her, her, her bodice, that’s was it. But he hadn’t. Instead, while Stephan watched, he’d sort of snapped his fingers in a way that didn’t make any sound, and then pointed his thumb at Stephan, jerking it in one decisive motion towards the servants' stairs.
He’d known that Stephan was there!
That had done it.
As Mister Maladict’s hand had come to rest on The Lieutenant’s hip, Stephan had forced his feet to move, creeping as silently as possible back down the servant stairs to the kitchen. He was sure he’d heard The Lieutenant whimper as he’d gone.
In the kitchen, Stephan shifts, anxiously, in his chair, wondering if it’s safe to go upstairs again, if Mister Maladict and his lady friend have finally found their way up to the bedroom so that Stephan can go home.
He’s terribly worried that he’s going to end up dreaming about the whole situation and, worse, waking up with hard-to-explain-away damp sheets because of it.
He’s terribly worried, too, that he might loose his job over this.
He shouldn’t have stayed late.
That's the long and the short of it.
Of that, at least, Stephan is sure.
***
Please Beta! I’m switching between past and present tenses in this fic, and I’m not sure if I did it in a coherent fashion. Any help with this (or random other stuff) would be appreciated. :-)
I hope you all enjoyed it. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)
It is not quite 9am where I am, and I have a new little story for you (I love it when they just turn up like that!) :-D
It is most assuredly smutty in nature, although hopefully it will also make you laugh. :-)
Contains, er... somewhat-explicit oral sex (quite a bit less explicit than, say, the stuff in "Eating In", for example), but tread carefully if you get nervous about that stuff. :-)
Summary: Mal and Polly have, occasionally, had the misfortune of being walked-in-upon. This is one of those times. :-D
***
Reasons Not To Work Overtime
Stephan sits in the corner of the dark kitchen, his hands resolutely on his knees, and his breaches feeling far too tight.
He shouldn’t have stayed late.
That's the long and the short of it.
He should have seen them into their hired coach and then been off home, like he was supposed to.
But, no. He’d wanted to think about stuff – about Ilsa, and whether or not fifteen was really too early for a lad to be thinking about marriage – and the kitchen was such a good place for thinking, what with his mother not being around to interrupt his thoughts.
He’d heard the door open upstairs, though, and – fool that he was – had done his job, as though he was still on the clock, putting the kettle on for coffee and wandering up the servants' steps to see if his boss needed anything else.
In the dark of the kitchen, Stephan shifts, uncomfortably, screwing his eyes shut against the memory. It doesn’t help, he can still see all of it, as if they're right in front of him.
He’d come up the stairs – that was one thing about this place, the house was barely older than he was, so the floors didn’t creek at all. Maybe that was why they hadn't heard him coming – and he’d seen The Lieutenant in her wine-red dress, with her eyes shut tight and her curly hair spilling all over her shoulders. Her bodice was half unlaced and her skirts had been all bunched up over her knees – her knees! – and she'd been making these little breathless hiccupping sounds and, oh god, Mister Maladict had his actual head under her dress, all the way up by her, um... y’know... Stephan could tell, he could see the bump where Mister Maladict’s head was! He must have been kissing her right on her, um, y’know...
In the kitchen, Stephan covers his eyes with his hands, not that it helps.
It’s not as if Stephan is stupid. It’s not as if he’s naïve. He’s always known that The Lieutenant is Carrying On with his boss – he’s seen the way Mister Maladict looks at her, and he’s even heard them, on occasion (a sigh, a whimper, the creak of a bedspring) while putting away the clean sheets (in the middle of the afternoon!) in the linen cupboard across from Mister Maladict’s bedroom. But this!
Stephan has never even thought of kissing Ilsa on her, um, y’know...
Ilsa’s a Good Girl – one of the reasons, Stephan suspects, why his mother approves of their walking out together – and, even though they’ve been stealing a lot of kisses together behind the coach-house at the end of their block, Ilsa definitely draws the line at kissing. She nocks his hand away if he so much as tries to slide it past her knee.
But there they’d been, standing on the stairs – or at least The Lieutenant had been standing, one leg thrown over Mister Maladict’s shoulder. Mister Maladict had been on his knees – and Stephan had just stood in the servant’s stairway and stared, his mouth hanging open like a fish. As he’d watched, The Lieutenant had arched her back and brought her hand down to where Mister Maladict’s head was and pushed him closer.
Stephan had tried to tear his eyes away, he really had, but he couldn’t even blink.
Mister Maladict had lifted one hand, and Stephan had been terrified that he’d put in on her um, er… her, her, her bodice, that’s was it. But he hadn’t. Instead, while Stephan watched, he’d sort of snapped his fingers in a way that didn’t make any sound, and then pointed his thumb at Stephan, jerking it in one decisive motion towards the servants' stairs.
He’d known that Stephan was there!
That had done it.
As Mister Maladict’s hand had come to rest on The Lieutenant’s hip, Stephan had forced his feet to move, creeping as silently as possible back down the servant stairs to the kitchen. He was sure he’d heard The Lieutenant whimper as he’d gone.
In the kitchen, Stephan shifts, anxiously, in his chair, wondering if it’s safe to go upstairs again, if Mister Maladict and his lady friend have finally found their way up to the bedroom so that Stephan can go home.
He’s terribly worried that he’s going to end up dreaming about the whole situation and, worse, waking up with hard-to-explain-away damp sheets because of it.
He’s terribly worried, too, that he might loose his job over this.
He shouldn’t have stayed late.
That's the long and the short of it.
Of that, at least, Stephan is sure.
***
Please Beta! I’m switching between past and present tenses in this fic, and I’m not sure if I did it in a coherent fashion. Any help with this (or random other stuff) would be appreciated. :-)
I hope you all enjoyed it. :-)
- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)
