There was a noise in the distance and the couple had quickly left, dragging on their clothes and disappearing from her line of sight. A man and his dog came by, the reason for their swift departure.
Kate left her hiding place as soon as she was decently able to. Gathering up her long skirts, she ran all the way back to her house where, as usual, her father was reading and writing, deep in his books. But her heart lifted when she saw Mrs Proctor in the kitchen making bread, her sleeves rolled up and a floury apron protecting her dark dress.
Kate was bursting with things to say and ask, but did not know quite where to begin.
“Have you been birdsnesting again, young lady?”
Kate flushed pink and looked guilty.
“How did you know?”
Mrs Proctor looked up from her kneading, mildly surprised.
“I didn’t, really – you often come back with a nest or an egg to show me. But you look upset, young Katie. Is everything alright?”
The note of gentle concern in Mrs Proctor’s voice triggered a violent reaction from Kate, who sat down on a kitchen chair and started to weep uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving with emotion. Between gradually diminishing sobs, she recounted all that she had just seen to the kindly housekeeper who placed a floury, maternal arm around her.
“Well now, child, I expect that they’ll be getting married soon and that what you saw just showed how much they loved one another and just couldn’t wait for their wedding day.
There live no birds,
however bright or plain,
But rear a brood
to take their place again.
They’ll be rearing a brood together, soon enough, I’ll wager.”
Kate thought Mrs Proctor sounded rather unconvinced, however, and waited for her to continue.
“But there again maybe they were just enjoying being young,” and here she sighed heavily, “because, Lord knows, I used to love playing their game when my Jack was alive.”
She looked down comfortingly at Kate and gave her a reassuring hug.
“Your turn will come soon enough, Katie my pet. Why, in a year or two you’ll be a fine young lady and ripe for marriage, to be sure. And when you find your husband you will have all those bodily and spiritual delights married life brings with it.”
“And will my husband put his John Thomas, his cock, into my cunt? And will he fuck me like Joss fucked Rosie?”
Mrs Proctor winced slightly and coloured, and Kate was surprised to see that she looked mildly discomfited.
“Why yes, my darling, no doubt he will, but you must not say those words to any but your dearest, for they are words that only lovers use between one another. Now then, child, be off with you, for you have learned far more today than I could ever tell you of the matter.” And she gave Kate another hug and gently pushed her out into the kitchen garden to gather some broad beans for supper. Over the next weeks and months, Kate learned all she needed to know from Mrs Proctor, even as to why the feelings of pleasure that she had experienced by her own hand came back to taunt her again and again when she was alone in bed at night. Kate never returned to the little bower in the hedgerow. But in her mind she would often revisit that place and secretly spy upon Joss and Rosie as they took their pleasure with one another, and her hands would feverishly seek out those places that would bring her a very similar pleasure until she drifted off to sleep, her dreams full of a dark, good-looking young suitors and their hard, penetrating cocks.
* * * * *
So when Mr Belfont had suggested that matrimony might be the best career for her, Kate had heartily agreed. It was indeed her desire to marry, and to marry well, too. She rather thought that a handsome young man, preferably wealthy and titled, would do rather well (although possibly good looks and wealth alone would be enough). It so happened that an old comrade from university, Sir Bradley Fordham, had written to Mr Belfont about an entirely different matter and had, by way of digression, mentioned that he and his wife Alice were seeking a governess for their daughter, Eleanor. Mr Belfont had written back post haste to suggest Miss Spencer for the position. Apparently the recommendation of an old varsity friend won the day, and the pretty young orphan was now on her way to a new life with, as Mr Belfont had put it, ‘some thoroughly decent people’.
“How much further to Walthrop?” Kate asked.
The older coachman half turned in his seat to face his passenger and smiled indulgently at the note of impatience in her voice.
“Oh, only a couple of miles, Miss. Should be there in no time now.”
The carriage drew up at the lodge gates of Walthrop House. A cheerful, fat, gatekeeper’s wife emerged from the lodge to swing the heavy gates back and allow them to continue the last stage of their journey up a long, gently curving drive, lined with dark green laurels and tall, graceful deciduous trees. Half apprehensive, half excited, Kate gave a little gasp of delight as they rounded the drive’s last bend to see the elegant, golden façade of Walthrop House, a fine eighteenth century villa set in carefully tended parkland.
Moments later in the front hall the new governess was being greeted warmly by her future employers, Sir Bradley and Lady Fordham and their daughter, Eleanor. The coachmen, housekeeper and maids busied themselves with the new arrival’s luggage.
* * * * *
After all the necessary introductions and arrangements had been made, Kate was taken on a tour of the house and gardens by Eleanor. She was a pretty, instantly likeable young girl, only too eager to make the best possible impression on her new governess. As the shadows lengthened on the immaculately kept lawns behind the house, Kate began to warm to the charming sixteen-year-old, who, although not the sharpest knife in the box, had as lively and affectionate a nature as anyone’s she’d ever met.
Young Eleanor was petite. She had a typical ‘English rose’ fair complexion with an appealing face and sweet, sincere expression. Her nose was slightly retroussé and her hair was blonde and wavy, and grew almost down to her waist. Her bosom was not yet completely formed, but showed promise, Kate thought, and in any case, it complimented her girlish figure. As they entered a walled kitchen garden, in a gesture of unassuming friendliness, Eleanor took Kate’s hand in her own, looked with great seriousness into her eyes and said, “Please, Miss Spencer, will you call me Ellie? It’s my pet name, everyone I like calls me so.”
Kate was touched by the young girl’s implied offer of friendship and she smiled and gave Ellie’s hand a little squeeze by way of saying ‘yes’. The squeeze was immediately reciprocated and, impulsively, Ellie bent down and gave her startled governess’s hand an ardent kiss.
“Oh, oh Miss Spencer, I’m sure that we shall be such good friends. I just know we will!”
Kate smiled and murmured her agreement.
“I’m sure we shall, Ellie. But you must be a good and diligent pupil, too, if you are to learn what your Papa and Mamma are so keen for me to teach you.”
* * * * *
That evening, Kate came down to supper wearing her dress of grey silk with a small neat white collar; for a smarter effect she had supplemented this with a plain silk lilac shawl worn over her shoulders. Mary Belfont had advised her that, until she had found her bearings in her new home, she should proceed with caution, not appear too loud or clever, speak only when spoken to by her employers and address most of her conversation to her young charge, Eleanor. Even so, she was a little disappointed that her appearance seemed so drab compared to that of Eleanor and her mother who were both wearing the latest Worth fashions, beautifully made from finest silk and taffeta and shimmering in the soft, flickering light of the silver candelabra.
She sat on Sir Bradley’s left and they discussed young Ellie’s curriculum while mother and daughter chattered on to each other about the events of the day. Sir Bradley was a good-looking man for his age, which Kate put at about 45. He sported neatly trimmed side-whiskers and a luxuriant moustache and had a similar, fair complexion to that of his daughter. Kate was a l
ittle nervous of him at first, but he had a comfortable, charming manner that soon put her at her ease. At nine o’clock they rose and went upstairs to a large drawing room, an elegant room, hung with ancestral portraits and sporting paintings; a welcoming fire flickered in the grate. The butler brought a large tray of after dinner drinks in and set it down on a small table in front of Lady Fordham who reclined informally on a huge tiger skin rug by the fire, the extravagant folds of her dress heaped up behind her.
Sir Bradley excused himself and the three women continued to talk as they sipped tea, with Kate entertaining her two female companions by telling them some of the history of her respectable, but humble upbringing. It was her first chance to compare her companions properly. For mother and daughter they seemed very unalike: Lady Alice Fordham was a raven-haired woman in her mid-thirties, with a sensual, exotic appearance, strong dark eyebrows, a full, sensuous mouth and big, expressive eyes; she was slightly taller than her daughter but a little shorter than Kate. Her figure was almost voluptuous: it had a superb bust and a tiny waist that flared into womanly hips and a bottom as full as a ripe peach.
“My dear Miss Spencer, we must not keep you a moment longer,” said Lady Fordham during a lull in the conversation. “You will have had a most exhausting day and you really should retire immediately. Breakfast will be between half-past eight and nine o’clock, but one of the housemaids will bring hot water for your toilette at a quarter to seven. Do let me know if there is anything else you need and I’ll have one of the servants take it to your room.”
* * * * *
That night Kate was woken by a violent storm. Cracks of ear-splitting thunder made it impossible to sleep, rain lashed the windowpanes and the air seemed thick and muggy. Just as she thought the tempest was dying down and she was drifting back into an uneasy slumber, she heard the door open. In the dim light saw a slight, familiar figure steal into her room. Ellie Fordham – like Kate herself – wore a long white nightgown buttoned up to her neck. Her lustrous blond hair fell over her shoulders in the manner of a shawl.
“Ellie! Why, whatever are you doing here?” asked Kate sleepily.
“Oh, Miss Spencer! I was so terrified… the storm!”
The girl’s voice did indeed sound frightened and tearful; Kate rose up to a half-sitting position in her bed. Ellie threw herself into her arms and hugged her governess tightly.
“There, there,” Kate soothed the young girl, “it’s only a thunder storm, nothing to be scared of. Why, we’re all safe and snug in doors, are we not?”
By way of response, Ellie merely shivered and hugged her more passionately. Kate absently stroked the girl’s hair. She could smell the fresh, sweet scent of this young girl’s body, so warm and comforting against her own. She could feel the two springy, apple-like globes of her breasts as they pressed into her ribcage and she fancied that she could even feel their firm, protuberant nipples as well. Little by little, Ellie shifted her body so that they were lying side by side in the narrow bed. Little by little, Kate felt herself drifting back to sleep, her lids grew heavy and her breathing regular.
Kate started to dream. She was back in the hedgerow, in her secret coign of vantage, and she could hear a voice calling her. It was Rosie Jebb. She was saying, “I know you’re in there, Kate Spencer! Come out! Come out this moment!” Shamefully, Kate emerged from her hiding place, no longer a fifteen year old, but a twenty-three year old. To her surprise, she was naked. They both were.
“My, but that’s a lovely bushy fanny you have there, young Katie, let’s give it a feel, shall we?” said Rosie and boldly put her hand between Kate’s legs. Kate blushed scarlet, not because of what Rosie was doing to her but because she loved the feeling so much, and because she could feel her own wetness squelching between her thighs as they clamped together on Rosie’s questing fingers.
“No, Rosie, no! Please Rosie, please don’t, don’t!” For Rosie’s fingers had won the day and now they were tormenting her in the most delicious way, having found a familiar source of pleasure that was located where her sex-lips joined to form a little hood over that impudent button that was her clitoris. And now Mrs Proctor happened by, smiling and nodding at Kate encouragingly. She too was naked, still a fine figure of a woman, but to Kate’s horror, an enormous John Thomas sprouted from between her thighs…
Kate woke up.
In the dim light of her bedroom, she could see that the girl whose hands she could feel between her legs was not Rosie Jebb but Ellie Fordham.
Her sixteen year old pupil was quite naked.
Ellie had thrown aside the sheets and blankets and had somehow managed to raise Kate’s nightdress, too. She had also unbuttoned the cotton garment so that Kate’s full breasts now lay outside it, quite exposed and Ellie’s hungry lips were causing the young governess deliciously erotic feelings as they licked and sucked her nipples with passion. But it was Ellie’s fingers that were causing her the most pleasure as they busied themselves between the folds of her cunt.
For several critical moments, Kate was unable to speak. So confused was her waking mind, that for a time she was unable to distinguish between dream and reality. It was impossible to stop the blissful sensations that swept over her body, that thrilled her senses so. But a tiny corner of her consciousness told her that what was happening was very wrong indeed, that she must stop it, and right away, too.
“Oh Miss Spencer!” murmured her young ravisher disingenuously, “you are so very beautiful. Please forgive me but I simply could not help myself, lying next to you and feeling your lovely, soft, warm body next to mine.”
Kate realised, with another shock, that the young girl’s legs were intertwined with her own, and that Ellie was rubbing her sparsely-haired, wet little sex against her thigh with an increasing urgency. At the same time, her nimble fingers worked the governess’s drenched labia and clitoris until the sensations that this caused became almost unbearable. Finally, Kate found her voice.
“Ellie! You must… ohhh! you must stop that at once! Please… what you do is not… it is very wrong!”
Her voice died away to a tortured gasp as Ellie somehow redoubled her efforts and managed to find a rich seam of the purest pleasure between her teacher’s legs. Kate, half-frightened, half-ecstatic, became aware that she was rapidly losing control of her body. She started to shudder and shake, to twitch and shiver as if gripped by a strong fever. Her mouth opened and, to her horror, she let out a loud and involuntary howl of delight…
Just then Ellie started to give a series of little screams as she, too, started to tremble with a near-orgasmic enjoyment.
Kate was about to make one last valiant attempt to prevent the explosion of physical pleasure that was welling up inside her when the door to her room was flung open and a shaft of light fell upon the bed. Lady Fordham stood there, holding an oil lamp aloft, and gazed down at the writhing tangle of naked legs and arms in front of her. She could see how her nude daughter’s thighs continued to grip and relax, still in the dying throes of orgasm. She looked down upon Kate’s semi-naked body as well and noted her proud breasts, the shine of juices that flowed at the junction of her legs and that the beatific expression on her face that was fast changing to one of guilty horror and dismay.
“Eleanor!”
A furious Lady Fordham literally spat out the name. There was no need to say any more. Little Ellie jumped up and, pulling on her nightgown, sidled past her mother and out of the door without so much as a backwards glance at Kate, who could just hear the soft patter of her retreating footsteps as the young girl escaped to her bedroom.
But Ellie was not to get off so lightly. Kate remained frozen as Alice Fordham wheeled around, set the lamp on the table by the door and strode rapidly after her daughter. There was the sound of a sharp slap, a terse admonitory lecture and loud sobs. A door slammed and, to her very great apprehension, Kate heard her employer’s returning footsteps.
She quickly pulled her nightdress down, pulled on a pair of drawers, then jumped
down from the bed and stood, buttoning herself up so that her breasts were once more covered. She could hardly bring herself to look Lady Fordham in the face when she once more stood in her bedroom. When she did, to her amazement, the older woman was smiling.
“That girl! Such a silly young thing, but she has a good heart…”
Alice Fordham advanced on Kate until she was only inches away from the confused governess. Her steady gaze held Kate riveted in place. “Well, my dear, your pretty little governess’s body is really most beguiling. No wonder my daughter was so seduced,” the taller woman mused. “Now that I’ve seen what’s on offer, there’s really no need to cover it all up again.”
And as she said this, she began unbuttoning the top buttons of Kate’s nightgown.
Kate was too flabbergasted to do more than gape. Then she made a feeble attempt to pull herself together and brush away the older woman’s hands, but failed. “But-but, Lady Fordham, you’re married… a mother…,” Kate spluttered. “Surely you can’t …” She was unable to finish the sentence, the words failed her.
“Prefer my own sex? Be a sister of Sappho? A Lesbian?” Lady Fordham finished for her in tones of mock-horror as she pulled the nightdress down to reveal Kate’s bosom. “No, not really, or rather, not strictly. My, those are pretty breasts,” she sighed. “Those pretty, pink little nipples are so eager and alert.”
Kate shivered. Lady Fordham was teasing her nipples, and they liked it! Their reaction astonished and dismayed Kate. She flapped her arms loosely.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” Lady Fordham crooned softly, pinching Kate’s delicate pink nipples, rolling them between her long, graceful fingers, tugging them outward to stretch Kate’s beautifully shaped breasts provocatively. “I do not love women exclusively,” Lady Fordham explained. “I enjoy the pleasures either sex can afford me.”
“But your husband, Sir Bradley,” Kate blurted out, trying desperately to fight the tremors of lust that were once more shaking her.
“My husband knows all about it,” Lady Fordham answered easily. “As a matter of fact, he finds it rather enjoyable. Sometimes I bring my women friends home and we have some truly interesting variations.”
The Young Governess Page 2
