Slave Of Fortune
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by Jay Lawrence
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: Lily, a Victorian housemaid, has a dark secret. She has escaped from a brothel where she was kept as a "special" girl, one who would do almost anything to pleasure a client, even submit to a savage thrashing. A terrifying session with a mysterious sadist forces Lily to exchange the pleasures of the flesh for the strict confines of Akenhead Hall. However, domestic servitude holds its own horrors. Seduced by a house guest, caned by the cruel butler and wrongly accused of theft, Lily runs away again. Soon, the lusty bisexual vixen begins a new life full of strange erotic adventures, including bare bottom spanking, tight-lacing and a lesbian affair with Sophie, a beautiful buxom blonde. But who is watching Lily? Is her life in danger? A thrilling chase through the squalid streets of Victorian London.No one can write steamy BDSM erotica like Jay Lawrence and in this book, Jay proves how good it can be! "5 Stars - First rate, of a literary standard not often encountered within the erotica genre!"
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler,
eBookwise Release Date: November 2012
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [154 KB]
Reading time: 91-128 min.
A CHANGE OF EMPLOYMENT
"You little ninny, Warnock. I told you to polish the fish knives, not give them an idle dusting! Look at those traces of tarnish in the handles! I want them burnished until you can see your silly face in them, miss. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mrs. Beacon. I'm sorry, Mrs. Beacon."
The young woman flinched involuntarily as the housekeeper clattered a large tray of silver cutlery down upon the scullery table. She wondered what the master and mistress would say if they knew their valuable tableware was being so brutally mistreated.
"Sorry didn't build the Empire. On with it, girl. I shall return in one hour to inspect your work."
The large woman in grey stalked out of the small, dark room, closing the door behind her with a slight bang. Staccato footsteps retreated down the corridor, then silence. McGeever, the young Irish scullery maid, looked up from her task, preparing beetroot. The palms of her hands were stained bright pink. She smiled, consolingly.
"We calls her Bacon on accounts of her being such a pig."
Warnock simply nodded, her dark eyes fixed upon the scullery door. Eventually, she shrugged slightly and, picking up a fish knife, began to rub with as much vigor as she could muster from her cold and aching form. It had been a long night, tossing and turning in the creaking old bed with the sagging mattress, with McGeever's icy feet occasionally pressing against the backs of her calves like a pair of flaccid semi-frosted fish. Maybe she would knit the girl a pair of bed socks. Christ, it was freezing. McGeever appeared to be in a chatty mood. Her strong, broad fingers worked on, cutting off the tops and trailing roots of the beets, scrubbing the purple globes free of dirt. She had spread an old cloth across her knees to prevent her pinny from getting stained.
"It must seem very quiet for you here in the country, after London. I have cousins in London but I've never seen the place. Been to Dublin, though."
Warnock shivered and lifted the knife she was polishing up to the yellow light from the hissing gas mantle. The sun wasn't even up yet. Darkness pressed against the four small panes of the tiny window set high on the scullery wall.
"I'll get used to it. The air is fresh here. The city can be hard on your chest, especially when there's a fog comes up from the river."
The young woman paused to examine her diminutive reflection in the silvered surface of the knife's blade. McGeever snorted and wiped her hands on the rag with an impatient gesture.
"You'll have no time for primping here! What work did they set you to do in London, then? Doesn't look as if you've spent much time with the cutlery. You'll be at that all day and old Ma Bacon will be apoplectic by tea time."
"Will she now?"
Warnock breathed on the knife, a fine coating of mist briefly clouding the reflection of her deep brown eyes. Idly, she wondered how long it would be before McGeever or the housekeeper or anyone else discovered her guilty secret. She was unmarried but not a maid in any sense of the word. Well, she had better learn and learn fast. She looked up just in time to catch a sharp look from the Irish girl, who put down her basin and stood up, the beet-stained cloth slowly falling to the cold, flagged floor.
"I'm going to show you something and it's for your own good."