by Lucy Wild
“Oh sir!” she said. “That’s so big. Is it all for me?”
“Yes Laura,” he replied. “Every last inch of it is just for you.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, grabbing the swing and stopping its motion. He moved between her legs as she wrapped her ankles around his back. Looking down by the light of the flickering candles in the walls, she watched him take hold of his shaft and brush it over her clit, sending shudders of delight through her entire body. “Get inside me!” she snapped. “I need it in me.”
“You are a naughty girl aren’t you?” he said as he moved the tip of his cock to the entrance of her soaking wet pussy. He stood still, pulling the swing forward so she slid onto him, his cock vanishing inside her. Laura felt delirious with pleasure as he filled her, the fullness of the dildo in her bottom was one thing but this fleshy heat was something else, something far more real. As she let out a groan of deep satisfaction, he let go of the swing and she slid back off him, howling with frustration as he smiled at her.
“Don’t do that!” she cried as he caught the swing and brought her pussy back over his cock once more.
“What this?” he said, letting go of the swing again.
This time as he entered her, she kept her ankles tightly held round his back, not letting go and smugly nodding her victory. “Fuck me,” she growled. “I want to feel you come inside me.”
“Very well,” he replied. “Although I never do this with my students.”
“I don’t care. Just fuck me.”
He began to rock the swing back and forth a few inches, his shaft plunging deep into her as she smelt the air fill with the scent of sex. She reached up and kissed him with each forward motion, loving the feeling of his cock moving deep within her. She began to stroke her clit, loving the way he stared down at her with hunger in his eyes. A heat began to build in her pussy as she stroked herself. “I think I’m going to come,” she gasped. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“Come for me,” he growled, beginning to thrust deeper inside her. “Come for me Laura.”
The dildo in her bottom ground its way in little circles, completing her sense of fullness as her clit throbbed more and more until her hand moved in a blur, her fingers frantic. She let out a gasp and arched her neck back as her climax hit her. She saw stars, her whole body shaking as the amount of times she’d come close seemed to have only served to enhance the power of her orgasm as it finally reached her. She screamed with delight, her pussy contracting round his cock as she stared into his eyes, waves of pleasure continuing to wash over her before slowly ebbing away.
“Come in me,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Please come in me sir. I want to feel it filling me up. Make me pregnant. I want to have your babies. Oh just come in me please, I beg you.”
“I intend to,” Mr Sturdy replied, ramming harder into her as her body continued to shake. “You’re intoxicating. I’ve never met anyone like you.” His jaw dropped and his legs shook as he slammed home a final time. With his cock buried inside her, he came at last. Laura let out a deep sigh of joy as she felt him pulse between her legs, a jet of hot spunk shooting far inside her, more following until she felt it must overflow, there was so much pouring into her.
“Yes!” she cried. “Oh my god, yes!” She kept her legs wrapped around him as he breathed heavily, a final load of cum spurting from him before he slowly withdrew. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said as he lifted her from the swing, kisses landing on his cheeks. “I’ve wanted that for so long. I can’t believe you just came inside me.”
“Nor can I,” he replied. “I have never felt this way about one of my students before. I do not know what it is about you but there is something very special I cannot ignore any longer.”
His hand slipped into hers as they walked from the playroom, leaving all thoughts of Maria far behind them.
Chapter 12
Mr Sturdy and Laura stood over Maria’s prone form as she scowled up at them, the bandage still in place over her mouth. “Will you confess?” Mr Sturdy asked, yanking the bandage away. “You have had the night to think about your sins after all.”
“Let me up from here!”
“Did you or did you not leave Laura naked and half frozen miles from here?”
“So what if I did. The whiny little brat has caused no end of trouble to her father. None would miss her if she died, trust me.”
“I would miss her and she is no brat, not anymore. She is a woman!”
“So say you!”
“So say I. Now I think you can just wait there for your husband to arrive and perhaps then you can explain to him why you wanted Laura to die.”
They closed the door on her protesting form before Laura turned to Mr Sturdy. “You do not consider me a brat, nor an infant?”
“You have my seed inside you Laura. You are a woman at last.”
“Thank you sir!” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
“It is hard to believe how much you’ve changed since coming here. When I first met you I was appalled by your attitude.”
“Do not remind me, it is shameful to remember it.”
“But since then, you’ve grown, you’ve matured. You’re a different person.”
“I am,” she said quietly, her face falling.
“Something troubles you?”
“If I am no longer in need of your tutorage, I must return to my father I suppose.”
“There is another option.”
“Which is?”
“Marry me and live here for the rest of your life.”
Laura burst into an enormous smile. “Live with you? Oh that would be wonderful.”
“You accept then?”
“I do but only if you agree to carry out one task every morning.”
“Hmm, nothing too onerous I hope.”
She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I am still beholden to my inner child and I have much to learn about womanhood. The thing I most desire each day is that you dress me in whatever way you see fit. In return I will do something for you.”
Mr Sturdy raised his eyebrows. “And that is?”
“I will be your little girl for the rest of your life.”
Kiss Me
Chapter 1
Clara looked around her as she was wheeled into the observation room. Three rows of ranked seats looked down at her, each of them holding a stern looking man, not a single one of them smiling. She felt more intimidated than ever. “Gentleman,” Doctor Franklin announced as he brought her chair to a halt. “I give you my newest patient.”
Several of the men stood up, craning over the balcony for a better look at her. “She does not need your treatment!” a voice shouted from the back of the room. Clara looked up as a man was forced out of the room, still shouting even as the door closed behind him. Doctor Franklin held his hands in the air to quiet the murmurs which had begun to grow.
“It seems as if one person isn’t interested in the science of progress,” he said.
A ripple of laughter spread through the room.
“I apologise for the interruption. Shall we begin?” Nodding to an attendant, he stood back as Clara was wheeled into the centre of the room. “This is Clara Bennett, aged nineteen and quite, quite mad. Childhood routine, education minimal, parents dead. Caught naked in the street crying for “papa,” and attempting sexual congress with all and sundry. Brought to the asylum not long ago and has proved extraordinarily resistant to treatment. She insists she is an infant who should not be held here. Observe the cranial features, indicative as they are of a criminal nature. Gentlemen, I propose to make her well again.”
“Huzzah!” shouted a number of the observing doctors.
Clara stood up, bristling. “I want my bottle!” she whined. “Where’s my bottle?”
“You see the clear sign of mania,” Doctor Franklin said, pointing towards her. “She believes herself to be a child, despite multiple attempts to dissuade he
r of that belief. How did she come to be this way? Allow me to explain.”
A month before, Clara had left the workhouse with the dress on her back and sixpence in her pocket. It had been the most terrifying day of her life. The workhouse was all she’d known for years. She had no memory of her parents, being informed by the Beadle that they had both died before she was born. She knew no love, no care, no compassion. She knew only drudgery and continual hunger. Despite that there was a sparkle in her eye as she walked through the streets, a spark that even the most ardent efforts of the English Poor Laws had been unable to extinguish. It was the spark of hope.
“Any work going?” she asked at the first factory she came across.
“Experience?” the foreman replied, not bothering to look up from an enormous ledger.
“None sir but I’m a fast learner.”
He’d merely shaken his head and sent her on her way. She’d spent the rest of the day trying and failing to find employment, ending it sitting on a bench as the sun set and her stomach growled with hunger. She refused to spend the sixpence on food, not knowing how long it needed to last. Sighing deeply, she looked across at a couple arm in arm, silhouetted against the dying light.
“You look lost my dear,” a voice said.
Clara looked to her left to see a tall man had sat beside her on the bench. “Perhaps I am,” she replied.
“Where have you come from?”
“The workhouse sir.”
An expression crossed his face, one she didn’t understand. “You seek employment? Lodgings?”
“I do sir.”
“I could provide you with both if you’re a hard worker.”
She straightened up on the bench. The spark in her eyes glowing brightly. “I am sir.”
“Excellent. Would you like to walk with me a while?”
He stood up and held out his hand. Clara took it and together they walked out of the park. “What line of work are you in?” she asked.
“It is a delightful evening isn’t it?” he replied. “The city comes to life at night don’t you think?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. It is my first night out of the workhouse.”
“A blot on the reputation of our good country. Every criminal I know came from the workhouse.”
Clara frowned.
“I’m not for a moment suggesting you are of the criminal bent my dear. Merely that I wish we lived in a more enlightened age. One which supported the poor, helped them to help themselves.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Excellent. I think we’ll get on famously. I’m Edward Cockburn by the way.”
“Clara Bennett.”
“Well it is a pleasure to meet you Miss Bennett.” He turned from the main thoroughfare down a smaller, darker street, the buildings sloping towards each other as if trying to meet above their heads. As they headed around one corner and then another, Cockburn asked Clara many questions, seeming most interested in the fact she had no family or friends. Finally he stopped by a door and pulled out a key.
“Is this where you work?” Clara asked, glancing around at the figures in the shadows around them, a slight unease building in her mind.
“In a manner of speaking. After you my dear.”
She walked into a pitch black hallway as a candle flared behind her. The flickering light was enough to make out a frayed carpet and crumbling plaster walls. She turned to find Cockburn blocking the doorway. “That way,” he said, pointing past her.
Clara took slow steps forwards, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as she turned a corner and found an open doorway waiting for her. “I think I should go,” she said, stopping at the threshold.
“Nonsense. You’ve only just arrived. In there lies your future prosperity.”
“I thank you for your kind offer but my family will be wondering where I am. I should return home.”
“Your family? Your attempt at deceit would be insulting if it weren’t so amusing.” His voice grew colder. “Inside that room, now.”
He took a bold step towards her and she fell back. A moment later she was in the room and the door was locked, Cockburn turning to her and blowing out the candle.
Chapter 2
Clara burst out into the street, ignoring the booming voice behind her. She didn’t stop until the voice and the house were far behind her. She finally slumped against a wall, panting hard and trying to stop her hands from trembling.
A tear ran down her cheek as she ran over what had just happened. He’d attacked her in the darkness and she’d barely escaped with her life, slamming her shoulder into the locked room door with enough force to send it flying from its hinges. The house had been a maze and in the darkness she’d stumbled her way up one flight of stairs after another, all the while with Cockburn pounding after her, yelling the most obscene insults.
Finally she’d reached an attic and there was nowhere left to run. Turning she saw him standing in the doorway, candle in one hand, knife in the other. “Where are you going my dear? We have much work to do if you are to earn the wage you deserve.”
He took a step towards her and she froze, making a lightning quick decision as terror filled her mind. “I would like to earn a wage,” she replied, ignoring her instincts and walking slowly towards him. “How best could I please you?”
“That’s more like it,” he’d replied before leading her back downstairs into a gaslit room. Inside was a four poster bed. “That’s how my employees earn their keep.”
She perched on the edge of the bed and beckoned him over. “This seems a suitable workplace,” she said quietly.
He leaned down towards her and she let him kiss her, her skin crawling as he stared hungrily into her eyes. As his tongue slid into her mouth she brought her knee up hard between his legs. He’d fallen to the floor, gasping for breath, the knife gone from his hand, the candle on its side. In an instant she was up and running past him, pelting along the hallway and out of the front door into the street as he roared after her.
She didn’t sleep that night and by sunrise she was exhausted, walking the entire time and always glancing over her shoulder in expectation that he would find her. Finally she sank into the doorway of a church just as it opened and a clergyman stepped out.
“Good morning my child,” he said. “Are you quite well?”
“Oh father,” she replied, bursting into tears and unable to say another word.
He led her into the church and sat her on a pew, leaving her for a moment and returning with a blanket which he wrapped around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked, his face a picture of concern.
She shook her head, still sobbing.
“I think I recognise you,” he said quietly, sitting beside her and taking her hand in his. “Are you one of the workhouse orphans?”
“Not anymore,” she replied, jerking the words out between hitching breaths.
“Cast out into the wilderness,” he said to himself. “As are so many in this wicked world. I believe I can help you. Wait here. I shall not be long.”
Clara sat in silence until he returned a few minutes later, accompanied by a middle aged woman wearing black dress and veil.
“Your name my dear?” the woman asked.
“Clara Bennett miss.”
“Father Thompson informs you are a governess. Is that correct?”
Behind her the clergyman nodded vehemently. Clara understood.
“Yes miss.”
“As he recommends you so highly I shall not ask for references. If you so desire, you can journey with me to meet your potential charge.”
“I…I would be honoured miss.”
“It’s Mrs actually. I am a widow but I keep my husband’s name as I keep his memory, in my heart and on my lips for all time. You should call me Mrs Thaw.”
“Yes Mrs Thaw.”
“If you are ready, my coach awaits.”
Clara followed Mrs Thaw outside, turning to mouth a thank you to the clergyman who merely no
dded and turned away. A quarter of an hour later, she was rattling along the road beside Mrs Thaw, the driver urging on the horses until the city was far behind them.
Mrs Thaw spent the journey reading, leaving Clara to stare out of the window at the unfolding countryside. Having never seen open fields before, she was entranced by the sense of space, white clouds floating by above lowing cattle and an occasional drover pushing on towards market.
Eventually they turned off the road through a pair of enormous gates and then on between a long yew tree avenue. The coach drew up outside a red brick mansion and Mrs Thaw set down her book, climbing down onto a gravel drive and waiting for Clara to join her.
“Welcome to Brockton Hall,” she said as Clara stared up at the enormous house. “Shall we?”
The door was opened by a maid as they walked up the wide stone steps, the girl staring at Clara intently as she passed by.
“Don’t mind Ella,” Mrs Thaw said. “She stares at everyone like that.”
They reached a parlour and Clara sat whilst tea was poured. Sipping at her china cup, she listened as Mrs Thaw spoke.
“In truth, your role will not be that of governess to a child. Instead it is to become governess to Mr Brockton’s emotions. He is a somewhat damaged individual. A spell in the army scarred his body and his mind and he has sought peace in his own way since then. None of the previous governesses I have hired have had the mental wherewithal to put up with his mood swings and his unusual demands. But Father Thompson believes in you and that is enough for me.”
“What is required of me?” Clara asked.
“It is simple enough. You must do whatever Mr Brockton asks of you and in return you will receive fifty pounds per annum and your own apartments here. Do you accept?”
Clara’s mind leapt at the words. Fifty pounds! Not only that but lodgings alongside. “I do,” she said, having no idea how much her life was about to change.
Chapter 3
