The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  I thought perhaps to peek through the keyhole – but quickly decided against it. Such peeping-tommery was beneath me, and though I cannot deny my furious curiosity, I would not demean myself so. I knew with that strange sense of instinctus that it was something most carnal and inappropriate – and yet this knowledge did not so much disgust me as excite me. I wanted to see what was occurring in that room, and though I knew a lady such as myself ought not wish such things I found myself unable to stem the desire.

  I knew no man of fine breeding should attempt such activities in daylight hours – and most certainly a male was in that room. An argument formed in my head, to justify my curiosity. Was it not my moral duty to interrupt the proceedings – if they were so suspect? Whomever it was in that room – no doubt a maid and a footman – were wickedly taking advantage of their employers’ gentle natures and must be stopped.

  Yes, indeed! Such acts of amorality should not be taking place under this hallowed roof – and in interrupting the proceedings I could also quench my curiosity about the act itself.

  The sounds from within the room increased in urgency again. The thumping, the grunting, the gasping seemed to reach a feverish pace. My face burned, and I am ashamed to admit that other, more private places seemed to strangely reciprocate the heat. I placed my hand on the gilt doorknob and twisted it silently. Before I became too perturbed, I opened the door a small amount and slipped inside.

  Well, words cannot accurately recreate the scene that met mine eyes. A woman, whom I immediately recognised as the nurse Nancy, reclined upon a writing desk, her face a mask of agony or pleasure, cast towards the ceiling. Her skirts were pushed up high above her waist. Her state of deshabille was alarming, but it was nothing to what was occurring betwixt her legs. They were splayed wide and parted by the form of a tall man who stood between them. For a time I took little note of anything but the taut, bared buttocks that clenched and pulsed with each lunge forward.

  My mouth felt dry as I absorbed the scene before me. The man’s breeches were crumpled about his boots, his legs long and dusted with fine hair. Yet all these details seemed perfunctory, meaningless, as I became mesmerised by the increasingly brutal rhythm and motion of his hips and buttocks as he sought some kind of salvation betwixt Nancy’s open thighs. I could not much see his male parts, buried as they were within the wet nurse, but as he withdrew, I caught a glimpse of a smooth, glistening, ruddy pink rod before he buried himself once more.

  ‘Ah,’ he grunted as his flesh slapped hers.

  ‘Oh yes, Milord, yes, like that,’ Nancy cried, her voice high and tight. She twisted her head against the surface of the writing desk, freeing her hair from its cap, as her body rocked with force of the man’s rut.

  I was struck instantly with the image of Penthesilea’s agonised face as Achilles gripped her. Was I perversely witnessing the degradations of an Amazon? Was this the ancient, most primal battle betwixt man and woman? The notion exhilarated me. Yet, would I never experience it myself? As this thought confounded me, I did not grasp the meaning of the nurse’s verbal ejaculation.

  Then it struck me. Milord?

  I gasped out aloud, foolishly. Nancy’s eyes fluttered open, and caught me standing beside the door.

  ‘Milord!’ she shrieked again her hands flying to her skirts.

  ‘Hush girl, hush now, I’ve nearly got to it …’ Lord Stanton’s hips flexed and tensed with even greater momentum, and Nancy’s body shuddered beneath the force. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle another gasp. Nancy scrabbled wildly beneath the Lord’s ministrations, her eyes wide and terrified by the discovery that her lover still remained so oblivious to.

  ‘Ah, little cat! You love it a little wild – do you not? ’ Lord Stanton gasped and laughed a little as his hands went to Nancy’s thighs, gripping them tight and holding them yet wider.

  I knew I ought leave, lest Lord Stanton discover my interruption – yet my body seemed to refuse my suggestion. I felt something heavy and peculiar betwixt my own legs, when, in his fervour, Lord Stanton withdrew to renew his thrusting and I glimpsed the hairy, reddened, wet flesh of Nancy’s most private place. Would mine own flesh look thus, if ever I were to take a man there? My womb tightened with the thought.

  ‘Milord! Please,’ Nancy spoke between thrusts, her eyes wide towards me. ‘Miss… Sw… ’

  I was nearly ready to turn and flee before my presence was revealed, when Lord Stanton gave a most bestial cry and pulsed like an invalid between Nancy’s slackened thighs. After a moment of rest, in which I seemed verily frozen with fear, he laughed. ‘What did you say?’ He lifted his hands from her skin and I could see the reddened marks of his grip linger.

  ‘Miss Swan!’ Nancy squeaked and sat up, still staring at me as she pulled her skirts to cover herself.

  ‘What the Devil are you speaking of?’ Lord Stanton asked, and I saw Nancy raise a hand to point in my direction.

  At this point my legs finally answered their summons and I made to flee. Whether he saw my abrupt departure, I shall never know, but without further hesitation I fled to my rooms.

  ***

  When I arrived here, I found my heart settled uncomfortably somewhere in the region of my throat. My body was thrumming and my mind terribly fractious. I could scarce hold a single through steady in my head.

  It seemed that three vastly different aspects of my shocking discovery were battling for my attention and reflection. The first aspect of the discovery that cried for my attention was what would happen now that Nancy had made it known to Lord Stanton that I had witnessed their debauchery. Would he dismiss me? I shuddered with the very thought. It would be such an embarrassment to return to London a failure so soon after my departure. What should I say to Lady Stanton? How could I look upon the Lady’s face, knowing what a lewd and wicked man her husband is?

  The second aspect of concern is that Lord Stanton had engaged in lewd conduct with the wet nurse. Quite the scandal indeed. This sinful liaison must have been in place for some time if their brief inter-coital conversation was anything to go by. A scandal of such tremendous proportions could bring down much shame on the Stanton name and family. What was one to do with such terrible knowledge? Should I speak of it to Lady Stanton? Should I approach Nancy and offer moral advice? Mayhap I should speak with Mrs Roberts, the housekeeper, and leave the information with her? I cannot possibly know.

  The third aspect of the discovery, which has caused me perhaps the most inner turmoil and requires much reflection indeed, is that I have actually witnessed that most wicked and sinful of occasions betwixt a man and woman. Penthesilea and Achilles; the total submission of the woman to man. Forgive me, but even recalling the scene makes my skin hot and my woman’s part heavy. Why should my body respond thus? Why can I not dispel the image from my mind? Why does this discovery make feel as if I myself am missing something by choosing a life of piety and chastity?

  Verily, these thoughts caused my head to ache. Where was Mrs Hester Chapone’s Improvement of the Mind when I needed it?

  I sank down upon my bed, head in hands. As I lingered, I became uncomfortably aware of a strange moistness betwixt my legs. It was not the occasion of my courses, and so the moistness was disconcerting. Of course, biology dictates that a woman’s sex is a curious thing, prone to peculiar emissions at times, but this was most unnatural for my own. For a time I moved, trying to dispel the moisture, hoping my skirts might absorb it, yet it seemed not to work. After a moment I moved towards my dresser and took a flannel, knowing with certainty it was necessary to attend to myself. I sat then upon the edge of my bed and drew my skirts above my knees and thighs. I unlaced my drawers and allowed them to slip down my legs.

  Gooseflesh ran across my body, and I parted my legs to allow access for the flannel and dry my seeping sex. Yet before I did so, my finger ran along the soft hair-cloaked seam of my quim. I was mystified to discover that the entire area seemed swollen, and those inner, secret lips were fleshy and slick with the unusual and unti
mely wetness. At this slight touch my thighs clenched quite involuntarily, and a sensation of utter sweetness and warmth seemed to radiate through my body.

  I couldn’t withhold a gasp of surprise. I am not such a prude that I have never touched myself there before; I believe cleanliness is of supreme importance for women and personally take great care with intimate cleansing. Yet I had never experienced a sensation quite like that upon doing so.

  Thus, I did it again. I allowed my finger to slip up through those hot, swollen folds, amazed to find my entire body responded to the touch.

  I did it yet again, my touch lingering this time on the small, hardened pebble of flesh above the opening of my quim. I rolled it about with the pad of my finger. This action made my breath hitch and my bosom stiffen. My mind flew to the scene I had witnessed, the glistening pink of Lord Stanton’s staff, buried to hilt in the nurse’s wet fleshy sex.

  My finger repeated the action, and my entire body tightened, and an unbelievably sweet sensation of warmth coiled tighter. I remembered the Lord Stanton’s clenched, taut buttocks pounding betwixt those pale, wide-spread thighs.

  My hand began to move almost feverishly now. I could no more stop my fingers rubbing and slipping over that hard nub than I could stop reimagining the wicked scene. Wide-spread legs, the slap of flesh upon flesh, Lord Stanton’s guttural groans – I think I may have gone mad, as immediately after my body seemed to spasm, and I lost control. My sex pulsed rapidly as my body broke with a pleasure I had never known existed. I convulsed for a moment, my hand still locked between my legs, and I shuddered once more.

  Eventually, I withdrew my hand, to find my fingertips slick and wet. The flannel had fallen to the floor at some point, and I leaned to pick it up. At the motion, my sex convulsed and bright flame of remnant pleasure flickered through my body once more. I swallowed, finding my mouth as dry as my quim was wet, and brought the flannel between my legs again.

  The cloth was dry and rasped against that tender flesh, causing another paroxysm of pleasurable pulses. With occasional sensual flinches from my overly sensitive flesh, I dried the moisture, trying to ignore the sweet sensations that seemed to beg me to do this thing once more.

  My curiosity will be the death of me.

  With hands atremble I pulled up my drawers and laced them and walked towards my washbasin. A fresh jug of water stood beside it, and I filled the basin and threw the flannel in. I feared a maid may come and realise what moistness it had upon it and think ill of me. Perhaps it was a foolish thought, but it was one nonetheless.

  My mind began to wonder and question all that I had done. Was this the pleasure Nancy had sought beneath the robust ministrations of His Lordship? Did she feel that sweet coiling wonder when his phallus impaled her? She must, must she not? For her cries were those of delight and her wide-spread legs had welcomed his invasion.

  My own sex throbbed, wickedly reminding me.

  I turned to face the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and I hoped I would not see His Lordship or His Ladyship till the pink had faded. Another question rose then; did not Lady Stanton have these same desires, then? She must, for what had I heard that first day – those whispered, heated words shared between her and another? Why did His Lordship take ease with Nancy rather than his wife? Was it her breeding state that made him refrain? Was that why she invited the touch of another woman instead? To ease that slow-burning longing that had just made itself known between my own thighs?

  I mechanically straightened my hair, still staring at my flushed reflection. I felt rude. Was it not a sin to abuse one’s body, as I had clearly just done? Yet how could I call such an act abuse, when it had been so unbearably exquisite? What was it that the Bible said upon these matters? I foraged for my hand Bible, and sank back onto the seat beside the window, searching for a poignant passage that may, in some way, ease my concern.

  “You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

  Matthew 5:28

  Good Lord in Heaven! I dropped the Bible, stung and terribly confused. Had I truly looked upon Lord Stanton and the nurse lustfully? Had I committed adultery in my heart? I was not certain. Indeed was it even possible to do such a thing?

  I bit my lip, and glanced at the clock on the mantle. My charges would soon be ready for their afternoon lessons. I had spent far too long in unhelpful self-reflection.

  I gathered my notes and chalkboards to my breast, ignoring the occasional unwelcome and shameful pulsing of my sex, and struggled to remember the sage advice of Mrs Hester Chapone:

  “You must correct and purify your heart; cherish and improve all its good affections, and continually mortify and subdue those that are evil.”

  The recollection of these words thankfully placated me, and thus I picked up my small hand Bible and took it with me. Perhaps a lesson about morality, and the defiance of temptation, would be in order.

  Chapter 3

  It is perhaps redundant to express that I was dreading dinner this evening – I dared not look upon His Lordship’s face, lest my expression offer something it should not.

  As we began our meal, I avoided both Her Ladyship and His Lordship’s conversation, preferring instead to feign interest in my cabbage and ham.

  ‘Miss Swan?’ I heard my name called. I felt my face heat guiltily. I looked up to find both Stantons observing me.

  ‘My apologies, I… I… fear I am out of sorts this evening,’ I said. Again, I could feel my skin verily prickle under the suspicious gazes.

  ‘How did Alexander and Helen fare in their lessons this day?’ Lady Stanton asked, as I heard scrape of knife on the crockery.

  I felt a moment of undeniable relief, and looked up. ‘Very well,’ I responded, and looked toward the vacant seat Alexander had previously occupied. ‘Is the young master not attending dinner this evening?’

  Lady Stanton offered a slow smile. ‘No. I saw him before dinner, and I fear you have quite exhausted him.’

  My stomach roiled. ‘Exhausted him? I…’ I stuttered and could feel Lord Stanton’s gaze upon me once more. ‘I cannot believe my lessons should have such an effect on such a robust young man.’

  Lord Stanton chuckled, ‘Pray, what was my son learning about that has tired him so?’

  ‘Our afternoon lesson’s focus was the Bible,’ I replied, catching his mirthful, nay, taunting eyes.

  ‘Bible studies?’ He picked up his napkin and mopped about his mouth, perhaps in some vain attempt to hide his vulgar smirk.

  ‘Indeed,’ I held those wicked eyes steadily. ‘I think it most sage to verse even those scarce out of infancy in the dangers of temptation and vice, and that salvation may still be sought by those who sin against Him.’

  The devil verily laughed out aloud. I ignored this, placed my fork down and held his gaze most levelly. ‘Yes, indeed, of note is the passage in Corinthians 1, 10:13:

  “No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.’’

  They were words I should – and would – attempt to follow.

  The room fell silent, and the mirthful gaze seemed to drop from His Lordship’s expression like a leaf from a dying tree. I glanced from His Lordship to Her Ladyship; her expression had paled significantly, and I could not help but wonder if Lady Stanton knew to what I referred.

  ‘A profound and most admirable notion,’ Lord Stanton acknowledged, picking up his cutlery and slicing a portion of ham with quiet dedication. ‘And one worth remembering, I am certain.’

  ‘Yes, I had thought so. I see no need to delay a child’s education in such important matters,’ I added.

  Lord Stanton’s eyes left me momentarily to observe his own wife. Was I mistaken? Did he seem chagrined, mayhap apologetic? There was silence for a moment o
r two.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lady Stanton said abruptly. ‘I find myself feeling quite unwell. If you will excuse me …’

  My heart hammered uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me, Lady Stanton. I hope I did not cause you any offense,’ I said quickly.

  Lady Stanton offered me a brief smile. ‘No, you are doing quite a fine job with our children. You have my thanks. I think I should like to see them now, before I retire early.’

  ‘Ceecee…’ Lord Stanton stood with his wife, and I was startled by his familiar address of her in front of his employees.

  ‘William, I am quite well,’ she replied quickly – too quickly, I believe. ‘My condition has merely made we weary.’ She lowered a hand to her breeding abdomen and touched it gently. ‘Good evening to you both.’

  I stood and bobbed, and without further comment Her Ladyship left.

  In a terrible silence, His Lordship and I sank into our seats. I stared at my meal. It was scarcely eaten, and growing less appetizing by the moment – and, to compound my anxiety, we still had the sweets course to come. I hazarded a glance at the tall footman, Sinclair, relieved he was still present. I had no desire to be left alone and vulnerable with Lord Stanton, now I was armed with knowledge of his true nature.

  ‘Miss Swan …’ He coughed gently to garner my attention. I looked at him, raising my fan to mask any expression that may betray my thoughts of him.

  ‘Lord Stanton?’

  ‘Perhaps it is fortuitous that my wife has departed, for there are matters which need to be discussed.’ He turned to the footman, ‘Sinclair, if you would excuse us?’

  My heart threw itself into my throat and I could scarce stifle a cry of dismay. Without so much as a backwards glance, Sinclair nodded and retreated. I tried to read his expression, but it was guarded very carefully.