The Young Governess
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Envoi
THE YOUNG GOVERNESS
Phoebe Gardener
Safe Sex is essential: your very life may depend on it. Please remember that some of the sexual practices that are featured in this work of fiction (written in an era that pre-dates lethal STDs) are dangerous and they are not recommended or in any way endorsed by the publishers; by the same token, we do not condone any form of non-consensual sex for any reason: it is reprehensible and illegal and should never become a part of a person’s real life: rather it should remain firmly in the realm of sexual fantasy.
THE YOUNG GOVERNESS
Er Books
Past Venus Press
First published London, 2006
eBook created 2012
Past Venus Press
is an imprint of Er Books
www.erbooks.org
© 2006 & 2012 MacHo Ltd, London
ISBN : 978-1-904989-19-5
eBook ISBN : 978-1-904989-83-7
No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means without the express written permission of the Publishers. The moral right of the author of the text and the artist has been asserted.
While every effort has been made by PVP to contact copyright holders it may not have been possible to get in touch with certain publishers or authors of former editions of some of the titles published in this series.
Chapter One
As the train pulled into Windsor station, Katherine Spencer could not resist giving in to a girlish impulse. She lowered the window down a couple of notches on the broad leather strap so that, by craning her neck only a little, she could lean out (taking care not to touch the grimy brass sill) and enjoy a fine panorama of the platform’s busy throng as it glided past. The scene did not disappoint her. There were travellers of all shapes and sizes, porters, guards, and plenty, it seemed, from that curious class of person that inhabited stations for no obviously good reason, the loafer. The train slowed to a halt and, amid clouds of steam and acrid coal smoke that billowed up to the glass and iron roof, the very air seemed to shake with the repeated slammings of heavy carriage doors as passengers stepped down from the train and, gathering up their luggage or seeking a porter, made their way towards the ticket gate. To most this noxious blend of steam and smoke was no more than the necessary stench of modern transport, but to Kate it was the sweet smell of liberty, yet another confirmation that her dearest hopes and aspirations were well on their way to becoming realised.
When she herself alighted it was with the purest thrill she thought that here, on this very platform, the Queen’s dainty feet had also trod, albeit on a fine red carpet reserved for the occasion.
“Fetch yer luggage down, Miss?”
Kate smiled graciously at the florid-faced porter who seemed to have materialised from nowhere, and she pointed to her luggage on the rack with a gloved finger. It was a warm June day, and the porter’s male sweat caused Kate’s nose to wrinkle slightly as he emerged from the compartment with her valises and heavy portmanteau and proceeded to load them on to his barrow.
As Kate, the porter and her luggage weaved through the crowd towards the exit, her impassive demeanour gave away little of her inner thoughts; in fact her mind was in turmoil, oscillating between the irrational anxieties of the unseasoned traveller and the heady excitement of a grand adventure.
Handing her ticket in at the barrier, she started to rummage for her purse in the pocket of her light travelling cloak, but a tall, elegantly liveried coachman stepped in between Kate and companion and said, “Miss Spencer? I’ll take care of that, Ma’am,” smoothly slipping the perspiring, expectant porter a reward that seemed to be, judging from his gap-toothed grin, on the generous side of adequate. She looked from one man to the other. Her rescuer was handsome, she thought, clean-limbed, blue-eyed and square-jawed. Mentally, she chastised herself for this rather too nice observation. Handsome young coachmen were all very well, but it did a young lady no good at all to assess their physical attributes in such a way when she was the first to admit that she aspired to more suitable male company.
Kate followed her rescuer to his carriage, where a similarly attired, older man stood by the horses. As they arrived, the second coachman gave her a little salute by raising his fingers to the gold cockade of his black top hat. He bent down to release the landau’s steps while his partner secured the luggage. Kate placed her small, neatly booted foot on the lowest rung and climbed gracefully into the carriage. She had time to glance at the discreet coat of arms on the shiny black lacquered door and, once seated, she could also appreciate the gleaming brass work and the immaculate leather and cloth upholstery. The carriage, its coachmen and its occupant moved off at a gentle trot down Windsor High Street, eliciting the occasional curious glance of a passer-by; Kate settled back to enjoy the ride; she felt almost as grand as the Queen herself. She glanced up at the Castle walls on one side and the smart shop fronts on the other. Crossing the Thames at Windsor Bridge she looked down upon the flurry of boating activity on the river where every sort of river craft, from humble skiff to elegant steam launch, seemed to be out that day.
Soon they left the busy hum of town far behind and as they followed the meandering road through lush meadows and fields of green corn, Kate had time to loosen the bow of her bonnet, tilt her head back on the plush seat and reflect on the unhappy circumstances that had thrust her into this entirely new episode of her relatively short life.
Upon his death, her long-ailing and beloved Papa had left Kate all but destitute – and an orphan, so to speak – since her mother had died when Kate was a child. It had been two years ago, only weeks after her twenty-first birthday, and at first Kate was inconsolable, but she had been fortunate enough to be taken under the wing of a neighbouring family. Her neighbours, the local magistrate and his wife, had been kind towards her. As the highly educated daughter of a retired schoolmaster, she had been able to tutor their two young children in return for bed and board. George Belfont had recognised both a spark of ambition and a streak of determination in their young guest, and as soon as her period of mourning was over, he had quietly reminded her of the choices of career that her none-too-promising wealth and status of an impoverished, genteel spinster accorded her: village school teacher, lady’s companion or governess. He pointed out that the latter seemed to offer the most direct path towards a fourth, and certainly more desirable, career for a pretty, intelligent and competent young woman: that of matrimony.
* * * * *
Marriage was certainly something of an ambition for the pretty young governess. And this ambition had come about in a rather unorthodox way. As an only child whose mother had departed this life shortly after Kate’s second birthday and whose father, though a loving and conscientious parent, was more often than not preoccupied by his work, she was much given to wandering the streams, fields and hedgerows that surrounded their village. Especially fascinating to her was a patch of common woodland, with dense and almost impenetrable undergrowth. A keen naturalist and budding ornithologist, young Kate would often set off across the fields to this location in order to bring back specimens of natural history to show her father or, if he were busy, their housekeeper, Mrs Proctor.
This kindly, intelligent, widow had looked after her for the past ten years and was more substitute mother than servant to Kate, more elder sister than housekeeper. Her knowledge of country lore was considerable, and she was always happy to help Kate identify the specimens s
he returned with.
One summer’s afternoon, a little before Kate’s sixteenth birthday, she found herself in the small space formed by the junction of two hedgerows, an almost cave-like bower; she had come to look at a blackbird’s nest she had discovered the previous day, to see if the bird was still sitting. Just as she found the four greenish blue, brown-speckled eggs, she heard laughter and voices. She immediately recognised them as belonging to Joss Witherspoon and the butcher’s daughter, Rosie Jebb, a pretty lass, whose curly golden tresses possessed a hint of red that complimented her creamy, freckled complexion to perfection. She was a wild, spirited girl, only a couple of years older than Kate and had a reputation of being ‘fast’ with boys, although were she to be truthful, Kate wasn’t really sure what this meant. And Joss, with his dark, gypsy looks, who sometimes came to tend their garden, was a respectful, pleasant enough lad, always dressed in a patched, ragged jacket, breeches tied with twine, his collarless shirt sometimes open so that Kate had once seen the way that the dark hair on his chest went all the way down to his navel. She wasn’t certain why, but this had given her a guilty little thrill of excitement. Now, peering from her hidden shelter, she could see that both Rosie and Joss’s clothes were loose and open: Joss holding his trousers up having undone the twine belt that held it up and Rosie’s pale, pink-tipped breasts bursting out from the tight confines of her unbuttoned russet dress.
“Are you going to do me here, then, Joss?”
Rosie’s voice had a gently mocking lilt to it.
“Reckon I will, Rosie. Here’s as good a place as any.”
There was a sound of the tall grass being beaten down into a makeshift bed.
“Come on now, off with yer dress, and down with yer drawers, there’s a good girl.” And there was laughter in his voice, too.
To her mortification, Kate realised that not only were they within a couple of feet of her secret bower, but they had blocked its exit, too, and she had no way of leaving without declaring herself. She was trapped! She would have to stay until they had finished whatever it was they were going to do. And what were they going to do? ‘Off with her dress and down with her drawers?’ Was Rosie about to answer the call of nature in front of Joss? She most certainly hoped not – it would be too embarrassing for words! Now she could see Rosie, as she stood facing her hiding place.
With hands on hips, head lowered and brow knitted in a mock-serious frown, Rosie gave her taller companion a playful look through long, fair eyelashes as an unruly strand of golden hair fell across her brow.
“Reckon I’ll be doing that for you, Joss,” she answered, tossing her head and blowing the strand off her face, and then followed on more sternly, “but you’ll have to kiss me again first. And kiss and squeeze my titties. I likes that. And I likes it better still when you kiss my cunt, and all.”
Spooning! Kissing! So that’s what it was all about. Kate smiled to herself for she had seen courting couples come this way, arm in arm, stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking, but she was puzzled, too, she had never heard the word ‘cunt’ before and she wondered what it meant.
“Now let’s see that fine John Thomas of yours. I’ll give it a suck, if you like, here… Oh, that’s nice, that is… I wants that inside me I do… but don’t you dare forget now, to pull out and spend on my belly. And don’t you do that until I’ve had a chance to spend meself!” and she giggled in a way that Kate thought was quite foolish for a grown girl.
Kate, quite hidden, was beside herself with frustration and curiosity. None of what she now heard made any sense to her. They had shifted again, and Joss – tall, good-looking, dark Joss – stood with his back to her, clad only in his shirt now, feet planted wide apart, while Rosie knelt in the flattened grass in front of him and was doing something she could not see.
Hardly daring to breathe, she moved her position silently so that she could see through another little chink in the thicket. Rosie had dispensed with her dress and undergarments and knelt in front of young Joss entirely nude: her breasts, belly and her sex, were all exposed to the more innocent girl’s spellbound gaze. She was so hairy down there, thought Kate. Not like my downy little patch, but a great reddish-gold bush with her blushing nether-lips showing so clearly, all swollen and pouting. But what made Kate’s eyes widen in pure amazement was the long fleshy stalk that sprouted from the tangle of black hair at the base of Master Witherspoon’s flat belly. It was as thick and as long as the biggest pork sausages that Rosie’s father sold in his butcher’s shop… and… why Rosie had the end of it in her mouth! As if she were actually sucking it… so, of course, this must be Joss’s ‘John Thomas’ that Rosie had talked of!
Kate had felt alarmed, excited, and somehow not a little grown-up to be witnessing all this. But what came next caused an entirely different group of emotions to flow through her already confused young mind. After only a few minutes, Joss pushed Rosie down onto the bed of grass and Kate could see that Rosie’s fingers were parting the petals of her sex and that – oh no! – Joss had lowered his head between her thighs until he was… kissing her down there! Kate could clearly hear the liquid sounds that his tongue was making as he licked and lapped her for a few moments more, Rosie giving loud moans of pleasure. There was a further change of positions and now Rosie’s lover was placing the purple, bell-shaped end of his ‘John Thomas’ – now grown even larger and stiffer -into that tender part of her anatomy, and with a great thrust of his loins, drove it in to its very roots. Rosie gave a great shriek and Kate winced in sympathy for the poor girl who was obviously horribly injured by violence that this callous youth had done to her.
It seemed there was to be no end to the number of surprises given to Kate that day; far from continuing to scream in pain, a look of pure rapture transformed the older girl’s features. And, while he thrust and thrust like a madman, Rosie would caress Joss’s head and mutter endearments to him in a sweet tone of voice. Far from hurt, what she was experiencing was obviously the greatest of pleasures as she alternated her wails of passion (for now Kate recognised them as such) with strange uncouth-sounding grunts and exhortations that meant little to her unseen observer.
“Oh, Joss, you’re fucking me! You’re fucking me! Unggghhh! Fuck me, fuck me harder for I will spend soon… keep fucking my cunt you great brute, you lovely lad… ohhh your beautiful cock is so big it’s fair killing me!”
But Joss was unable to comply with her wishes. Kate saw him suddenly jump up to kneel and as he did so, extract his ‘cock’ that was all shiny and wet from its recent foray, give it a few squeezes with his fist and groan loudly as spurt after spurt of thick, milky-white liquid issued from its engorged tip (Kate had seen stallions urinating, but this was quite different, she thought). The thick, creamy liquid spattered Rosie’s belly and even the underside of her big, pink-nippled breasts. Her hand flew to her sex, all angry, red and gaping from its recent ordeal and worked it with a speed and violence that again shook the virginal Kate to the core, for in no time Rosie was quivering and shuddering, all pink in the face and upper chest and wailing like a banshee.
For a few moments they lay together, limbs entwined, and then Rosie started to rub the sticky pools of Joss’s mysterious white liquid into her breasts and over her belly, laughing softly, throatily. She coated her fingers in the slimy stuff and brought them to her mouth, sucking each dripping digit in turn with a look of intense lust on her face.
“Mmm… you taste good, Joss. I like to have your warm, creamy spunk in my mouth. I’ll suck you off any time you like, but you know that, don’t you just, you rascal!”
For the first time, Kate became aware of a smell, a warm, musky smell that was unlike any other of the human body’s odours she was familiar with. Her nostrils flared and a prickle of excitement seemed to electrify her most sensitive body parts, a tingling and quivering quickened her senses. It seemed to her the most exotic, seductive and mysterious of perfumes, and from then on, whenever she encountered it again, she would always re
cognise it as the smell of sex and it would have the same aphrodisiac effect upon her as it did now. Only now she was still quite ignorant of why her body was responding in this way.
Kate sat quietly in her hiding place, her mind in uproar. So this was how men and women created their progeny! It was so… bestial, she thought. And yet, it had stirred some deep emotions within her and before she knew what she was doing, her hand stole between her thighs and felt her own, less mature sex. To her horror it was all wet! But surely – she had not lost control of her bladder, nor was it her time of month? What could it be? She brought her fingers to her mouth and tasted and smelled what was on her fingers… it was familiar and yet, different. It was slightly sweet and not unpleasant and once more she felt curiously grown-up. It was a rite of passage; the quintessential moment where childhood seemed to recede and adult life strongly beckon.
Tentatively she rubbed her own sex as she had seen Rosie doing. It was all slippery and felt almost indecently good. Now she looked at the thick tube of flesh that lay across Joss’s thigh, no longer stiff, no longer threatening and thought she would like to take its pink head (which now seemed to have retreated under a thin covering of skin, although she was fascinated to see that she could still make out its contour) in her own mouth and caress it with her tongue, just as she had seen Rosie doing. Kate even felt an irrational jealousy of the older girl’s experience. For the first time she became aware of a fleshy, wrinkled bag under Joss’s softening sex that seemed to bulge with two spherical objects, and that, too, was fascinating to her. She rubbed her sex again, her middle finger now easily slipping into the slick groove between her excited, swelling labia. All sorts of wonderful, but unfamiliar sensations coursed through her body, centring in that critical spot where her thighs met her belly.
The Young Governess Page 1
