Decadence

Lady Agatha, Countess of Wildenshire, emerged from her bath to be towelled lovingly dry by her ladies' maids. The maids were all clad in ankle-length black dresses of a nineteenth century style, and crisply starched aprons and mob caps, all home-made by each maid and maintained by her in her spare time.

Natalie and Samantha cleaned Lady Agatha's boots as Jemima and Claire perfumed her and laced her carefully into her full-length steel-boned velvet corset.

"Breathe in, My Lady" ordered Claire as she bent her forward and Natalie put an ankle-booted foot in the small of her mistress's back to draw the laces as tightly as they would go. The aristocratic redhead moaned in pain and pleasure as she was confined, laced in as tightly as her considerable endurance would tolerate.

The maids had all been carefully selected. Some were from a long line of serving girls, conditioned by tradition to obey their betters. Some were identified by that unmistakeable instinct for submission and subtly recruited. Others still sought out their positions eagerly, excited by the lifestyle they had chosen. A few had resisted the blandishments, the advances, the ravishment, and the domination by their mistress. It gave Agatha the greatest thrill to break these wilful girls. Natalie had been one such. She mistakenly thought her youthful eroticism, the desire she could provoke in Agatha, made her an equal. Long hours of punishment and discipline, tortures bringing exquisite agony and strict bondage had taught the girl unequivocally that this was not the case.

Now Natalie was the most submissive and obedient of maidservants, She and Samantha were licking Lady Agatha's stiletto-heeled boots from toe and heel to top, tonguing them lasciviously, then polishing the leather till it gleamed, enjoying the debasement involved in their task. Agatha watched superciliously as they worked.

Louisa entered, with Agatha's hose, Joanna with her gown, and Rachel with her jewellery.

The corset was a Victorian antique and had adorned the bodies of Countesses for over 150 years. The boots were Edwardian. The stockings though were brand new, to be worn only once. Leila removed them from the cellophane and card packaging, knelt before her mistress, and drew them one by one up her long, strong legs. The Oroblu hold-ups had a wide lace welt subtly elasticated, but the girl still dutifully clipped black velvet suspenders to them, then slipped black lace garters up and around each powerful thigh.

The maids on boot duty approached and slid Agatha's feet into the toes then buttoned their way slavishly up from heel to knee.

The jewellery attendant slipped gold rings on the Countess' fingers, a fine pearl necklace about her swan-like neck.

The maidservants guided her to the mirrored wall of the dressing room.

Lady Agatha looked upon her reflection and smiled. A stunning beauty even in her forties, she could have passed for half that age. Tall, even taller in the wicked stiletto boots which gave her an air of imperious, threatening command. Flawless white skin. Arresting green eyes. Full red lips and perfect teeth. A body that no man, and few women, could resist – a perfect hourglass in that cinching corset, her full firm and heavy breasts squeezed into an inviting cleavage. She was completely shaven – a duty granted to whichever maid was her current favourite. Jemima looked questioningly at her. She nodded. The girl brought a pair of flimsy velvet panties, barely more than a thong, and laced the ribbons at her hips, tying bows that would tempt her young lover at each side.

She took one more look at herself dressed for fetishistic sex, then had the maids dress her in the elaborate shoulderless velvet ballgown. Then looked again. Just as imperious, just as alluring, yet now respectable enough by any standards. Only when she chose, in private, would her lover see her reveal her decadent side. As it should be for any aristocratic sex goddess.

She considered who would attend her.

"Natalie! Jemima! Number Five uniforms, and be ready in four minutes!"

They scurried quickly away. The other maids withdrew.

Alberts, the family butler, discretely appeared.

"Your Grace! Young Master Edward awaits" he prompted.

"Thank you, Alberts. Have a light champagne supper prepared for us later".

The chosen handmaids returned. They had dressed as commanded. Clinging transparent chiffon catsuits covering their bodies from neck to ankle while concealing nothing, their willowy athletic bodies displayed proudly. Leather buckled cuffs at wrists and ankles, and broad belts, with thin chains affixed. Ready to be bound or to bind, as commanded. Spike-heeled ankle boots. Dramatic eye and lip make up and pale faces. Obedient handmaidens. Sex dolls.

They flanked Lady Agatha as she strode through her palatial home. The other servants discretely stepped aside, turned their faces away, saw nothing.

The servants knew their place. They knew that the doings of the nobility were above them and they must not interfere or gossip. They learned quickly to see and hear nothing, no matter what transpired. And what went on at aristocratic house parties could be quite scandalous. The previous evening at dinner the Earl, Lord Nigel, had drunkenly and coarsely propositioned their house guest, a slender, glamorous TV presenter known to the public as a sweet-natured working-class girl-next-door. She had shrugged, grabbed him and led him by the hand out of the eating room there and then. Agatha had heard the panting, the groaning, the squeals of their lovemaking from her apartment next to her husband's. Tempted though she had been by the girl's fresh, athletic beauty and frank, aggressive sexuality. Agatha had chosen not to join them. She did see through her open bedroom door that they moved to the master guest bedroom, with its sex dungeon accoutrements. The seemingly innocent girl was clearly in complete control, striding naked but for her red slingback stiletto heels, the unmistakeable marks of which already lined the flesh of the Earl's back as he followed her to his further torture. Agatha felt a frisson of jealousy at the sado-masochistic rites she would surely be inflicting on the strapping, manly, yet secretly submissive aristocrat. How she would have enjoyed tormenting and degrading her husband along with the young celebrity, and then perhaps initiating her into the sapphic pleasures of lesbianism...

However, Agatha had enjoyed more frustrating herself for one more evening in anticipation of this evening's pleasures.

She entered the apartment, Natalie and Jemima, blonde and brunette, attending her. Waiting, as she had ordered him, standing to attention for hours while she prepared herself, was a striking young man. Tall, fit, in the uniform of a Guards officer.

The maids went up to him, divested him of sword and hat, undressed him, stripped him until he stood, naked and erect, before the Countess. He quivered with anticipation, fear and desire.

Agatha reached behind herself. She could have a girl do this, but she preferred to disrobe herself. She released the clip and the gown fell away, leaving her stupendous alabaster body in the fetishistic black corsetry, lingerie, stockings and boots, on display to the young man,

He knelt unbidden, bowed his head. Lady Agatha took from a table an old, gold-chased leather collar. Legend has it that it had first been taken from the neck of a favourite hunting dog and buckled by the 3rd Dowager Countess around the neck of her son the 4th Earl. Since then, the perverse matriarchal incestuous domination of the Wildenshires had been a secret tradition perpetuated by generation after generation of dominant and seductive matrons.

Now Agatha used it in her incestuous sex games with her son.

Agatha slipped the collar around his neck, buckled it tight. The young man looked up adoringly at her.

She rolled her hips lasciviously, wantonly. Understanding, he slipped open the bow, let the flimsy velvet panties fall away.

"Mother!" He whispered.

The two maids strode forward, took chains and bound his wrists behind his back. Enjoying their power over the young lord they shoved his face into his mother's pussy.

Agatha began to moan as she let her son perform the first act of worship she had taught him. The night would be long, and she would later surrender like the most wanton whore to his hard young cock. But it was good to remind him at the start that he was her son, her love slave, hers to command. To remind him of his place, the maids drew floggers from their belts and began to lash him.

As Edward kissed her pussy lips, insinuated his tongue between them and sought out her clitoris, exciting and stimulating her, she ground herself hungrily against his mouth and thought back to how she had first seduced him...

*

It had been the night of his twenty-first birthday. In the build-up, Agatha had subtly begun the process. She had scared off his potential girlfriends, kept him occupied with his family duties around the estate. Her handmaidens had played their part too – becoming more and more flirtatious and teasing, but always keeping him at a distance, aroused but unable to indulge himself.

And Lady Agatha had begun to flaunt her magnificent body to him. Asking him to help her into her ballgown, so that the play of her muscles beneath her smooth skin was on display to him. Or having him fasten her shoe, putting him on the ground where her stocking-clad leg was on display for him and he was forced to caress her nylon-sheathed ankle. Sunbathing while he practised his fencing or archery in the garden. And, of course, calling him over to massage sun cream into her back. Or the time she came in from riding in the rain. She was drenched. Her long red hair was plastered to her head. Her jodhpurs clung to her strong, long legs like a second skin, her boots glistened, and her crisp white blouse was sodden through and moulded to her unfettered breasts, wet and concealing nothing. She had her riding crop in her hand and smacked it against her boot. She ordered a servant to run her a bath, and sauntered slowly up the stairs, knowing her son was watching and growing more excited, more aroused, more erect, with every step she took, her arse swaying in the jodhpurs. She peeled off the blouse, flung it casually aside, as she retreated half-naked from her son's lustful gaze.

On the night of his birthday, she dressed carefully for the party. All evening she fussed and flattered her young son "on the night that you at last become a man!"

And at least, when the guests were gone, and Edward retired to his room, Agatha made her move. She let herself in through one of the stately home's secret passages, so that he found himself unexpectedly confronted by his mother as he prepared for bed. She had removed the cocktail dress she wore to the party but kept on the white stockings and bridal basque she wore beneath it, and the high heeled court shoes.

"I forgot earlier – let your mother give her son a kiss, now that you are a man!"

Clearly confused but heavily aroused, thanks to the vision before him and the weeks of teasing she had created, Edward hesitantly embraced Agatha and planted a kiss on her cheek.

She looked disapprovingly at him.

"No, my darling – a proper kiss!"

And then her mouth was on his, smooching him thoroughly, her hands guiding his around her corseted body and down towards her arse. As he began to respond, kissing her back, she felt his cock hardening and pressed herself against him. He drew back, but his mother gripped his waist strongly and pulled his erect prick into her once more. She let out an involuntary moan, and found his mouth opening to hers, and insinuated a sinful tongue between his lips. The young man was lost, and kissed her back passionately, hungry for her. She enjoyed their lustful French kiss for what felt like an eternity to Edward, then broke away, feigning anger.

"You wicked boy! How dare you kiss your own mother like that! You are bad!"

"I – I'm sorry Mumsy .I don't know what came over me..."

"What came over you was becoming a man. And seeing a woman in front of you, dressed like this". She looked down at her seductive outfit. "Dressed – for sex. You want me, my son. You want to fuck me. But that is a privilege you will need to earn! Now, if you ever want to kiss me like that again, kneel!"

Bewildered, unable to resist, he knelt. Lady Agatha peeled off her knickers.

"Now, my son – worship your mother!"

And she drew his mouth onto her pussy for the first time.

It took little training to turn her son into a devoted pussy licker. He was so eager to please his mother, so eager for the pleasures promised by her superb body. And once he had brought her to orgasm, she raised him up off his knees and kissed and caressed him lovingly until he was ready to explode with desire for her. Then, cruelly, she said goodnight and returned to her own apartment.

The next night, she returned. Clad in her riding outfit, knowing what it had done to him before. He peeled it off her and knelt unbidden before her.

The third night, she wore only thigh boots. She used them to literally walk all over her son before he went down on her. After he had knelt for the act of worship, she returned the favour. She demonstrated a talent for fellatio beyond his wildest fantasies, reducing him to a groaning, moaning wreck as for the first time he spurted his spunk into his mother's mouth.

The next night was a Friday. The Earl was out of the country. Eagerly awaiting his mother's arrival through the secret passage, Edward was amazed at the sight of one of her maids, in an indecently short servant's dress. The girl beckoned him to follow her. He did, through the twisting passages, until he was shown to his mother's boudoir.

There, on a four-poster bed, was his mother wearing only a see-through peignoir.

"Tonight, my darling, you truly become a man..." she promised. Then she proceeded to spend the night – and the rest of the weekend – satisfying his every sexual desire. She fucked him hard in every position imaginable, in her bed, his bed, on the dining table, in the gardens...she dressed up in a variety of fetish wear and costumes...she had her maids join them for threesomes...she introduced him to bondage, and to the cruel pleasures of sado-masochism. By the time she had completed her conquest of her son, she knew that she had ruined him for any other woman.

And thus the secret tradition of the Wildenshire family continued. When in time the old Earl passed away, Edward as the latest Earl would still be in sexual thrall to his mother the Dowager Countess. She would of course choose a wife for him. An intelligent, strong, attractive woman of the right sort of family, who in turn would seduce her own son. But that was for the future.

*

And back to the present, where Agatha was screaming in orgasm at the expert ministrations of her son's mouth.

She fell back, breathing heavily. And activated the secret door to the secret passage and slipped to her own room. The maidservants manhandled Edward to his feet, propelled him through the passageway to follow her.

They joined Lady Agatha in the boudoir.

"Unchain him!" she commanded. They obeyed.

"Now, my son – how do you want me?" she asked coquettishly.

"Unlaced, and on top!" he growled.

The maids rushed to free their mistress's glorious body from its confinement. They unclasped the suspenders. Unlaced and unclipped the corset. They caressed her freely as they worked, so that her already hard nipples grew even bigger and firmer.

Edward climbed onto the bed. His mother joined him, sliding one stockinged and booted leg over to straddle him, raised herself up above his straining erection, and brought herself down. He felt the familiar, wonderful sensation of her tight, wet pussy engulfing him, and then his mother began to fuck him. They were a perfect match, a virile young man and a lustful mature woman, revelling in their decadent perversion. Wealth and power meant that the rules by which others lived meant nothing to them. As her son reached up and groped her big, luscious breasts, teasing the nipples, Agatha felt herself starting to come once more. She barely noticed as her orgasm built, how her maids began stripping off their uniforms and start to make love with each other, inflamed by watching the performance of their social superiors. They didn't matter. All that mattered to her was sex and power and family, And this unholy union of all three.