The Kitchen Maid
Victor walked home from work with a spring in his step. Today had actually been a good day. Usually he was bored and apathetic at work. Cannery business did not interest him in the slightest. Recently, though, he felt he'd found a rhythm. A niche. Doing the orders and scheduling deliveries and answering letters wasn't so bad. Perhaps he was even beginning to get better at it.
It was very early evening in September. The air was cool and the clouds were gold. The river ran lazily under the bridge as he crossed it. And there, off to the right just opposite the church, was his house.
His house. His very own house where he lived with his wife, all on their own. Victor was coming home to his house where his wife was from his job that he was decent at on a lovely evening. He had to stop at the end of the circular drive to catch a breath around the sudden swelling in his chest. Grinning at the house, he realized he was perfectly happy.
Eager to see Victoria, he rushed up the porch steps and into the entry. "Evening!" he called, closing the door behind him. No one was there. The house was quiet. Odd. Usually Victoria was there to greet him.
He stuck his head into the parlor, expecting to find her knitting or doing her needlepoint. But the room was empty. Frowning a little, he went to the staircase and peered up, listening. Victoria might be reading or resting. He went up to check, but the bedroom was as empty as the parlor.
Victor went back down the stairs a bit more quickly than he'd gone up and then stood at the foot of the stairs, thinking.
"Victoria?" he finally called to the house at large. "I'm home, are you?"
No response, but he thought he heard sounds coming from the kitchen. The maid must still be here. She'd know where Victoria was.
To his surprise, it was Victoria herself he found in the kitchen. She was at the sink, back to him, scrubbing away at a big copper pot. He smiled, happy to see her. He joined her at the sink and leaned against the draining board.
"Are you the new maid?" he asked, trying for flirtatious and unsure that he succeeded. "Pleasure to meet you."
Victoria paused in her scrubbing to turn and look up at him. He loved the way her face lit up when she saw him after he'd been gone all day. While she was always adorable, she looked especially so dressed for housework. The heavy apron that covered her blouse and skirt was a bit too big for her and was damp down the front. A tea towel was thrown over one shoulder. She'd rolled her sleeves up to the elbow and put a kerchief over her hair. Her cheeks were pink and a few strands of hair were escaping from the kerchief.
"Oh! I didn't hear you come in. Are you early?" she asked, glancing over his shoulder to the wall clock near the stove. Victor shook his head. "Forgive me, this took longer than I thought."
Victor moved so that she could pump rinse water into the sink. He noticed a wet patch on his coat where he'd leaned against the draining board. As he unbuttoned his coat he asked, "Why are you in the kitchen? Did the maid not come today?"
Kitchen work was not Victoria's job. They'd not hired any servants of their own yet and were making do with borrowing servants from Victor's mother to do the heavy work and cooking. Victoria did not mind the lighter work, but Victor felt she was the wife, not the maid, and felt badly to make her work so.
"Edith had to leave early," Victoria told him over the water. He watched her work the pump, oddly fascinated. He draped his coat over the back of a kitchen chair. "Your mother is giving a party. She did the windows and floors and fireplaces and made the dinner. I told her I would clean up from the cooking."
Victor glanced at the pots and pans keeping warm on the back of the stove, then back at Victoria. "I'm sorry you've had to work so hard," he told her. Victoria heaved the pot onto the draining board and then smiled at him over her shoulder.
"I don't mind," she said as she wiped the pot with the tea towel. "Why, I used to help Hildegarde all the time, after we had to let all of the other servants go. There was far too much work for her to do alone."
"Your mother didn't mind?"
"My mother didn't know."
Victor grinned. Victoria set the pot on its shelf, and then set about draining and wiping out the sink. "And it is different," she remarked contentedly, "this being my own house. I rather like working in my own house."
Victor, thinking back on his feelings during his walk home, understood. Finished with her work, she wiped her hands on her apron, and sighed a happy, fulfilled kind of sigh.
She looked so sweet and pleased and proud. She'd turned her back again to hang up the tea towel neatly to dry over the sink. Overcome with affection he went to her and wrapped his arms about her from behind.
"Well, I appreciate your hard work," he told her. He bent to speak into her ear. "And for what it's worth, you look very pretty."
Victoria made a little noise in her throat that wasn't quite a laugh. "In a dirty apron with dishpan hands?" she asked, amused, holding up her palm for him to inspect. Indeed, it was a bit white and wrinkled. He kissed it all the same. Then he kissed it again, lingering this time.
Victoria drew a sharp little breath. He kissed the inside of her wrist, then down her forearm. Her skin was warm and damp and smelled of soap flakes. He untied her apron so that he could slide his hands around her waist, then down to her hips, drawing her toward him. Head still bent, he nuzzled her cheek.
He'd just begun to inch a hand toward her bosom when he stopped. "Wait," he said, backing off a bit. "Are you finished being the maid?"
Victoria turned in his arms, her back against the edge of the sink, and looked up at him questioningly. "It wouldn't be right to do this to the maid," he explained.
"Oh," she said, in a low and intimate voice he liked. "I see." She slipped off her apron and her kerchief and set them on the drying board. Her hair was attractively mussed. She rolled down her sleeves and buttoned the cuffs in a slow, deliberate way that was almost saucier than disrobing.
Victoria put her arms about his waist and tugged him to her more roughly than he'd been expecting. He teetered and had to catch himself on the sink. Victoria, pressed tightly to him, said into his shirt, "I'm your wife now, not the maid."
"Oh, good," he said, and clutched at her hips again as he bent to kiss her. This wasn't the sweet, affectionate kissing they usually did. This was the open-mouthed, hungry, devouring kind. The kind that felt like it might bruise.
As they kissed, Victoria made swift work of unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt. He loosened his tie before pulling it off and casting it aside, unsure about where it landed. Then he set about opening her shirtwaist, fiddly work with tiny buttons. But once it was opened he pressed his mouth just as hungrily up and down her neck.
He let Victoria undo the even tinier buttons on her corset cover, since she was swifter at it and it was always nice to watch her do it. To his delight she was wearing the corset that stopped just under her bust. It hoisted her breasts in a very flattering way, and, even with it and her combinations on there was plenty to see and touch. Which he did, first with his hands and then with his mouth. Victoria bent backward over the sink to give him better access.
Before long his neck began to ache, and her back couldn't be comfortable like this. Their height difference had its drawbacks. So he took her by the waist and hoisted her up onto the draining board.
"Oh!" she panted, shifting uneasily. "It's still damp."
"Sorry," he panted in return. Her arms about his neck and legs about his waist, he pivoted and moved a few steps to the broad pine work table and set her down upon it.
"Better?" he asked, panting harder from exertion.
"Better," she replied, pulling him down to kiss her again.
She'd kept her legs about his waist, and she hitched up her skirts still higher. Her hand brushed against the front of his trousers, a question. Victor answered by gently guiding her fingers to the buttons of his fly. He had to help her get the buttons undone but soon he was freed.
He drew her toward him until she was just at the edge of the table. She lay down, hair mussed, blouse open and pulling free from her skirts, a slight peek of cleavage visible over the top of her corset. Victor took all this in, enjoying the sight, as he plunged himself inside of her.
He went weak at the knees and almost lost his footing. He was grateful for the table's support as he thrust. Victoria lifted her hips to meet him and before long they'd hit a sort of frantic rhythm.
Victoria gripped the edge of the table above her head, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth open. Sensation compelled him to close his eyes just then, head thrown back, hands gripping her hips as he moved against her. So he felt her shudder and heard her cry out, but did not see her face. Once that happened he felt free to stop holding back.
He thrust deeply into her once, twice, and a third time, and then was overcome by an absolutely blazing hot wave of pleasure. He actually saw stars behind his eyes. When the blaze cooled and receded he was weak and his heart was throbbing. With a groan he fell forward on top of Victoria, unable to move. He felt her arms go around him. All he could do was breathe, and listen to her own heavy breathing.
They lay on the table for a long while, getting their breath back. After a while the position grew uncomfortable. Victor smoothed Victoria's hair out of her face and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"That was...very nice," he told her inadequately. Then, jokingly, "One can't do that with the maid."
"I should hope not!" Victoria said, running her hands through his sweaty hair and giving it a tug he barely felt. She sat up and let out a breath, a sigh that was contented and satisfied in a different way than earlier. Victor stepped away and turned his back to clean himself up once his legs could support him again. He still felt pleasantly warm and loose.
"Now I must scrub the table again," she murmured to herself, sounding tired. Victor, finished cleaning up and his trousers set to rights, turned to her. She was still sitting on the edge of the table, flushed and mussed and adorable.
"Allow me," he said chivalrously, helping her down from the table. She smiled at him and handed over a damp cleaning rag from the side of the sink. "After all, the maid is off-duty, and the wife needs a rest."