The English adventures of Delia continue. The subject is adult oriented. Read it forward only if you are 18 years old or more.
With the sunset at his back, Matt O’ Sycophant was guiding his horse on a feisty trot towards his Lady’s mansion, at the end of his day. In his chest, the joy was bouncing higher than his heart, and on his red gorgeous lips, the smile was ruling like the midday sunlight of a summer day. “Finally, it happened!” Matt said to himself and no other thought could inhabit his mind, while his horse was dancing its road through the vast lemon garden. But, here, the trees were growing sparser and, there, the big Italian garden appeared in front of the rider and his steed.
Matt took off his flat hat and shook it in the air before looking at the balcony of the main floor to see if his Lady was really there, standing close to the balustrade, smiling with pride. But the Lady wasn’t there. With his flat hat still in his hand, Matt smiled to himself: after their meeting at the river, a thousand affairs should have kept his Lady busy. Surely, she was going to call upon him for a private conversation. Still merry, Matt put on his hat again and led his horse towards the kitchen quarters, far from the balcony and the entrance staircase.
Beyond the stone balustrade, beyond the arches and the wide French door, inside the dining room decorated with carpets and ancient wood furniture, the Lady was tormenting her high rising boot against the pillar of the chair she was sitting on tensely. She was trying to focus on the mail and her morning papers, but something, like a thought, like a thrill, like an itch of the mind was diverting her from her duties. “I will complete these tasks and then I’ll be free to think about it.” She said to herself, but her concentration kept on come and going like a bee among the flowers. She grasped the focus for a moment and then, it was gone. In the meanwhile, papers laid in front of her, untouched, and the itch insisted somewhere between the vague memories of a dream and the worries about the harvest. Her maid, who had entered the room to withdraw the breakfast tray and the letters to be send, was standing near the door in perfect silence. She was supposed to not come near the table until her mistress had hung out the folded letters to her and so, even if the huge clock at the opposite corner of the room was marking the six post meridian, the maid was not going to move.
When Idol, the Ancient Child, the Ducklettes poet, the spoiled brat dressed in silk and velvet entered the hall, he found the maid and her mistress frozen in a complete impasse. First thing, Idol walked near the immovable young maid, avoided her several skirts, and pinched with energy the soft flesh between her tights and her bottom. The scared girl jumped in the air and could not refrain a high scream.
«Theresa! I am trying to focus! »
Theresa threw herself onto the floor and crawled to her lady’s shiny boots, but before she could grab them the Lady raised from the chair moving the boots away from the maid’s grasp and saw Idol standing near the door.
«There you are! »
«There’s breakfast for tea! »
The woman glanced at the table and blushed.
«I had a lot of paperwork to do and it took me a lot of time. From the dirt on your clothes, I assume you’ve been rolling in the woods again. »
«I too want breakfast for tea! »
«You’ll have tea, now go take a shower and change your clothes! »
Idol, who seemed to have gained a span height between his encounter with Delia and his arrival at the mansion, puffed out his cheeks.
«Phew, you’re a bore! »
«You won’t have tea or dinner until you’ve bathed and changed your clothes».
Idol’s cheeks swelled tremendously and then exploded in a scream with no pauses to breath.
«I don’t like to bath on my own! »
That said, he threw himself on the floor, where the maid was still crouched at her mistress’ feet, whispering: «Please, forgive me! Forgive me! » in a loop. From the pick of her black Amazon attire the Lady observed the disgusting duo.
«Theresa, drag this bundle of mud and velvet in a tub and give him a good curry groom! »
«Usually, it is Matt who bathes him. »
The Lady looked the girl straight in the eyes. The maid closed her eyes immediately and raised up on her feet, wiping her apron with her hands.
«Milady, do you want me to withdraw the tray as well? »
The Lady made a gesture with her hand but the girl’s eyes were still shut. The woman snorted.
«Take everything with you, but don’t touch the documents on the table. Make sure I have hot water in my private quarters and that dinner is served at the usual time. Today is Friday, so we’ll have seafood. Now, go! »
The maid placed all the dishes on the tray together with the cold tea and the barely nibbled toasts, then she invited Idol to follow her and he obeyed promptly, taking the end of her skirt in his hands. When the listless team was out, the Lady measured the room with large steps for a couple of times. That itch was still in her mind, irritating and vague. What was missing from the picture? What was slipping from her grasp? She was accustomed analysing everything, to see the details of everything, to study every situation. Sit in the highest pick, the Lady used to command and observe every gear turn in the complex mechanism of her world. That morning, one gear of that mechanism got stuck and that gear was nobody else but her. According to the rule, she was due to a punishment. The Lady chose one that she judged adequate to her crime and moved towards her rooms.