Opening up the house for the summer was usually a chore, and this year was no different. Each year Margaret was sent down to the shore two weeks ahead of the family’s arrival to ready the house, and each year she both dreaded it and welcomed it. The house was a large three story Victorian, and to get it ready was hard work with no time to waste, but Margaret had come to enjoy the time alone in the house. Why, it was almost as if for those two brief weeks the house belonged to her; almost as if she were a woman of position instead of the servant she actually was.
The two weeks were almost up and Margaret was nearly done with all the preparations for the house. Now, she only concentrated on the finer points–fresh flowers in each room, fresh linens in the bedrooms and bathrooms, and fresh lavender sachets put in the closets and dressers. Once she was done, all that would remain would be to welcome the family when they arrived.
Descending the stairs, Margaret made a final inspection of all the rooms, pausing at the entrance of each to breath in the spirit of the room, take it in as if she were seeing it for the first time. The library and the sitting room were her favorites, and she paid special attention to the preparation of these two rooms. He loved these rooms, and what he loved, Margaret loved.
Unable to resist as she stood at the entrance to the library, she entered, walking to stand behind his chair. Margaret passed her hands over the leather chair, letting her fingers run over the smooth chair covering. Breathing in deeply she almost became intoxicated by the touch and smell of the chair and the room itself.
She could have sworn she could smell him, but that was silly, because of course she couldn’t, otherwise she would have failed at her job. But, she thought for a quick moment she could smell the aroma of his pipe and the slight traces of his cologne. Margaret loved the scent of Mister Davenport. Truth be told, Margaret loved Mister Davenport. Although her emotions only manifested in her impeccable service to him.
It was his pleasure in her service that sent a rush of pleasure through her body and to her privates. When things were to his standards, he smiled. When they weren’t he frowned. That was all Margaret knew or cared about. When he smiled, her pleasure was more than she had ever known in her life. When he frowned… well, Margaret had never seen him frown at her.
The thought suddenly brought a gush of moisture to her panties and Margaret let out a small almost imperceptible moan of pleasure. She leaned her body against the leather, then righted and composed herself.
Satisfied that the rooms were ready, she danced off to the kitchen to finish the last remaining item–polishing the tea service. She always left the best for last. Margaret was efficient and thorough at opening up the house each year, but she excelled in serving tea, and it was during tea that she felt the closest to Mister Davenport.
The care it took to clean and polish the service. The brewing of the tea. Cutting lemons and picking the perfect cubes of sugar. All of this was like a ritual to Margaret. She looked forward to preparing and serving tea as much as some young women looked forward to an evening out with a beau. She knew it was the one thing she did perfectly–well perfectly to Mister Davenport’s standards, and that was all that mattered to Margaret.
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Margaret tapped gently on the library door and heard a low and husky voice say, “Come in.”
She passed by the chair where he sat and placed the silver tray on the table in front of him. She gracefully poured the tea, letting the hot liquid slowly drain from the container. It was an art and Margaret knew it. It was an art to pour the tea without a sound. The angle had to be perfect, not so steep that the tea poured out too fast and splashed, and certainly not so slow that the tea sputtered and sprayed. No, the pot had to be held with a firm yet graceful hand, the tea pouring out and gliding into the tea cup, effortlessly and quietly.
She turned and handed the offering to Mister Davenport in one smooth motion. He put his newspaper down and accepted the cup and saucer, bringing the cup to his nose to take in the aroma of the Earl Grey.
She turned quietly to leave the room, her service no longer required. By the time she reached the door she was feeling dejected until a, “Perfect, as usual Margaret,” sounded throughout the room.
She didn’t turn her head to look at him, but a smile broke out across her face. She never knew why this moment was so important to her, she only knew that it was. These four simple words of praise from Mister Davenport were what she lived for. It filled her body with a kind of pleasure she never felt in anything else, and she always found herself completely and utterly happy in this moment.
“Thank you Sir,” she said, as she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
