by JetBoy and BlueJean
A brief summary of what has transpired thus far. (To get a more detailed breakdown of the earlier chapters, please see Chapter Links for descriptions)
Orphaned at the age of eight, sixteen-year-old Doris Sloane has spent half her life in a Catholic orphanage, where she was trained to care for young children. Our story begins when she is taken into service at the home of Victoria Shaw, a widow with three daughters: Melinda (ten), Sophia (eleven) and Becky (fourteen). Doris is thoroughly satisfied with this new life, but her orderly world takes an odd turn one night when she is seduced by Mrs. Shaw. Surprising herself, Doris responds eagerly, fully returning the pleasure she has been given.
Next morning, Doris is taken aback when Mrs. Shaw’s behavior seems no different from any other day, with no acknowledgement of the coupling they’d indulged in just hours earlier. Her confusion soon turns to fear, and Doris begins to wonder if, having given in to Mrs. Shaw’s desires, she is about to be dismissed from her position. Thankfully, one morning after seeing the girls off to school, she is summoned by her mistress, and they make love again.
I
The days and weeks following that divine afternoon with Victoria were the happiest I’d known since childhood, when Mama and Papa were still alive. My tread seemed lighter than air, as if I was buoyed along on waves of love.
My mistress and I shared pleasure nearly every day, and occasionally at night. I quickly fell into a routine in which I would awaken, serve breakfast, then get Melinda and Sophia ready for school. Once the three girls were on their way, Victoria would seek me out, giving me a look that never failed to quicken my pulse, and the two of us would come together in a deep, ardent kiss.
As is often the inclination of new lovers, Victoria and I would seek out ever more novel places to couple. The kitchen, the garden, and the drawing room all bore the brunt of our passion, as did my mistress’ study and the back seat of the family automobile. Sometimes, she liked to have her way with me on the stairs, or even upon the dining table where the children had eaten their breakfast not long before.
Victoria taught me a great deal about the art of pleasing a woman – including some things that might even be considered depraved. When she first licked my anus, I was shocked, but that warm, wet tongue felt so lovely in my arse that any protests I might have made vanished like morning mist. It wasn’t long before I was eagerly servicing her in the same way.
She taught me forbidden words that lovers only spoke in the heat of passion, then encouraged me to use them freely when we lay together. Oddly enough, that was the most difficult desire of hers to fulfil. I could kiss Victoria’s bumhole or suckle her toes with enthusiasm, but found it absurdly hard to use rude words in the presence of a lady.
We had to keep our pleasures a strict secret, of course, not just from the girls, but Mrs. Broomfield as well. Thankfully, the cook’s routine was entirely predictable – she always arrived first thing in the morning to prepare breakfast, then again at three o’clock in the afternoon to start the evening meal. This gave Victoria and myself plenty of time to put ourselves back together after a frenzied bout of lovemaking.
Sometimes, she would even lend me a hand with the housework, if we dawdled too long in bed. You may find it difficult to imagine the lady of the house assisting a mere servant girl in her everyday duties, but I came to discover that kindness was one of Victoria’s chief attributes – a trait that perhaps she had felt the need to keep guarded in her everyday life, one that came with its own vulnerabilities.
But my mistress was as good and generous as she was beautiful. When she’d first taken me on as nanny, we agreed on a salary I was to be paid. I would have gladly worked for nothing in order to escape that wretched orphanage, but nevertheless made plans to save as much of my wages as possible.
A few weeks after I entered her service, and a few more before we’d become intimate, Victoria not only increased my wage, telling me she was completely satisfied with my work, but also helped to open my first bank account.
As for the three frumpy, dun-coloured dresses I’d brought with me to Shadowglen, I passed the lot along to the local ragman. I bought myself several new outfits, and for the first time in my life, was able to take genuine pride in my everyday appearance.
Then one day, Victoria called me into her study to let me know that from that day forward, I was to take my meals with her and the girls in the dining room, instead of being relegated to the kitchen. “There’s no earthly reason for you to eat on your own,” she told me. “Besides, the girls will enjoy your company.” This was glad news indeed, because I did sometimes feel a bit lonely during mealtimes.
As you see, I had ample reason to be happy. And I was happy, for the most part. There was but a single note of melancholy, and it grew a little more pronounced with each passing day: the knowledge that my life with the Shaws was only intended to last for two years.
In a couple of months, we would celebrate Sophia’s twelfth birthday. When Melinda, the youngest, reached that age herself, Victoria would no longer require the services of a nanny. What would become of me then?
When I first came to Shadowglen, my intention was to prove myself as a reliable employee in the time allotted to me, then set out to carve my own path. I had ambitions, you see, and had never planned to live out my days as the servant of another. I intended to be my own woman, come what may.
Now, though, my priorities had shifted somewhat. I loved my life with the Shaws, and wanted more than anything to remain with them. I’d come to adore Melinda and Sophia as if they were my own sisters, and was equally as fond of Becky, though since that day in the clothing shop, she had regained some of her aloofness, and seemed inexplicably distant in my presence. As for Mrs. Broomfield, she became something of an aunt to me, once I’d broken through the crust of her gruff exterior.
And then there was Victoria. Victoria, who I loved with every fibre of my being.
In the institution, when the other girls had prattled on about love and how they longed to know it, I quickly became convinced the whole notion was a bright, shining lie – a cheap gimcrack to dazzle us while the world picked our pockets.
From the conversations and gossip we exchanged, I was quick to learn how despicably boys treated the girls who dallied with them; how they took what they wanted, then strode away laughing, slapping each other’s backs. It was far from easy, but girls who wanted it badly enough could often find the ways and means to meet up with boys they liked – and the boys, in turn, seemed ever able to work out ways to get to us.
I remembered our Lucy, a vivacious beauty who’d been rendered pregnant, abandoned by a local lout, then gave birth to a child she was deemed unfit to raise. It broke the girl, wrecking her life when it had scarcely begun. At the age of fourteen, I’d already determined that I would never be led astray by the good looks or sweet words of a boy – or a man, for that matter.
But how could I have known that my heart might be so easily stolen by a woman? Victoria Shaw had enchanted me, left me utterly undone. She was my first thought upon waking; my last before slumber.
And yet, I had never shared these feelings with her, never confessed my love. Why? Fear, plain and simple. Yes, I loved Victoria, but how was it possible for her to love me in return? She was beautiful and wealthy, she had property and position. I was a servant girl, an orphan with a few scrimped and saved pounds squirrelled away in the bank. Oh, Victoria was fond of me, for sure, and the pleasures we shared were a mutual delight, but even at that tender age, I knew a huge gulf lay between the sex we had and the devotion I ached for. My mistress gave her body freely, but what right did I have to ask for her heart as well?
A few times, I’d shored up my courage and vowed to say the words to her. As we lay entwined in the sweet aftermath of our coupling, I would gaze into those bright blue eyes and silently mouth, “Victoria, I love you.” And every time I tried to say the words out loud, my courage failed me. Later, at night, curled up in my lonely bed, I would toss and turn, infuriated by my cowardice.
II
Bath time in the Shaw household was a rather unusual affair, unlike anything I was accustomed to. Several years previously, Victoria had commissioned the installation of an ornately tiled Japanese-style bath, in place of the customary small tub that sufficed for most families in Britain. She had fond memories of bathing in onsen and traditional bath houses in Japan when she was younger, she explained, having made several trips there with her parents. Subsequently, communal bathing became a perfectly normal ritual at Shadowglen. By the time I entered service with the Shaws, Becky no longer shared the water with her sisters, having outgrown the practice. Or perhaps she was simply emulating her mother, who preferred to bathe alone, usually accompanied by a glass of wine.
Melinda and Sophia, though, had no qualms about sharing, and early on in my days at Shadowglen the role of bath attendant was added to my duties. The girls often encouraged me to join them in the water, but I thought it improper behaviour for a nanny, so I confined myself to washing their hair and drying them off with towels afterward.
Once Victoria and I became familiar with our new intimacy, it was inevitable that we would find ourselves in her luxurious sunken bath, where we would make love, or wash away the evidence of our passion.
That first time in the bath, we stood in the steaming water and lathered each other’s bodies, then took great delight in brushing breast against breast, nipple against nipple. Each touch was greatly amplified by the soap lubricating our bodies, so sublime that I thought it would be enough to make me climax there and then, when we’d scarcely begun.
But Victoria had other plans. She had me sit on the corner of the bath and open my legs for her. I felt somewhat self-conscious exposed like that, but when my mistress brought a soapy breast to my aching cunt, all inhibition evaporated at the prospect of her nipple engaging with my sex. I simply had to know what it felt like.
With Victoria stuffing her stiff nipple into my cunny while rubbing my clit with her thumb, I couldn’t hold back any longer. My climax came hard and fast, legs clamping down against Victoria’s shoulders, a thin, reedy cry echoing off the ornately tiled walls. I was only faintly aware that the sound was coming from me.
When I eventually recovered, Victoria insisted I return the favour. And who was I to argue? Kneeling before her, I began to nuzzle my lady’s sex, drinking from her like a bee imbibing nectar.
Soon after, both entirely spent, the two of us sank down into the warmth of the water and basked in each other’s company for as long as we dared. Mrs. Broomfield would be returning soon, and the bath would need cleaning before the girls used it later that night, lest they become curious as to why someone would be having a soak in the middle of the day. Afternoon bathing was an unheard of practice in those days, even for well-to-do families like the Shaws.
That was when I idly mentioned how Melinda and Sophia would sometimes invite me to bathe with them, and my reluctance to do so.
My mistress made a suggestion that took me completely by surprise. “Why on earth shouldn’t you share the water with the girls?” was her reply. “You’d have a much easier time washing their hair, and you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your clothes wet. Honestly, I don’t see why you’re so shy about it. I bathed with my daughters many times when they were younger. It’s perfectly natural.”
“But you’re their mother,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be odd for them to see their nanny naked?”
“Is it odd for you to see them naked?”
“Well, no. But that’s different.”
“Different how?”
“I… I can’t explain it very well, Victoria. It just feels like something I shouldn’t do. And it would feel at least a little awkward, having them stare at me.”
Victoria made a dismissive cluck. “You’re making too much of this, dear Doris. There’s nothing at all wrong with a bit of healthy curiosity on their part. I’m sure you haven’t failed to notice their bodies when you bathe them. Why shouldn’t they see yours?”
I wasn’t sure what my lady was getting at. “I… No… I mean… Yes, of course I can see them. But I don’t dwell on it, I’m just there to help them wash their hair and make sure they don’t get up to mischief.”
My lady snaked a soapy finger along the curve of my breasts. “Then perhaps you should take the time to look at them more closely. The human body is a wonderful thing to behold. Trust me when I tell you this: there is no shame in looking. The Church has done its best to cultivate the notion that the naked form is somehow sinful, something to be hidden away. I disagree.”
Victoria was right, of course. Despite my efforts to purge it, I remained tainted by lingering traces of Catholic guilt. Even after escaping their clutches, it proved hard to let go of my prejudices. That I was there, naked in the bath with a woman lover, proved I had overcome some of that indoctrination, but there was still progress to be made.
“You’re right,” I said after some consideration. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, is there?”
“Certainly not,” Victoria agreed, her smile warm and inviting. “And so, when you bathe the girls tonight, open your eyes.” She widened her own eyes to illustrate the point. “Take the time to admire their beauty. Each little girl is unique in that regard, like a flower. I’m sure it won’t be long before you pluck up the courage to get in with them and bathe together, as the Japanese do.”
Cupping my face, her mouth found mine, and we shared a tender kiss. Then, as it so often did, the embers of our desire began to smoulder anew, and we drifted easily into another afternoon of lovemaking.
III
When bathtime came later that evening, as it did every other day in the Shaw household, Victoria’s words from earlier stayed with me. Consequently, my usual workman-like attitude of getting Melinda and Sophia washed and shampooed gave way to a slower, more languid bathing regimen. From the moment the two girls began peeling away the layers of their clothing, I made no effort to avert my gaze.
Melinda was smooth-chested, with pale, creamy skin, the faint shadow of her ribs trailing down to barely-there hips and an adorable little bum. I caught the mere glimpse of a puffy mound and the neat pink crease that divided it, before she leapt into the large bath with a whoop.
Sophia showed the very beginnings of womanhood upon her chest, tentative peaks with little pink nipples at their centre. Her hips were wider than her younger sister’s, but she was as hairless as Melinda between her legs.
As the two girls frolicked in the water, gleefully splashing one another and arguing about who got to use the soap first, I did my best to lather their hair. I usually took great care to keep my clothing dry on these occasions, but that night, paying careful consideration to their naked forms, it didn’t seem such a matter of concern.
I carefully rinsed the soap from Sophia’s hair, then did the same for Melinda, still stealing the occasional glance at their bare bodies.
Sophia gave me a sly grin, then whispered something in her sister’s ear. The two of them began giggling.
“What’re you both conspiring about now?” I said in my best nanny voice.
“Sophia says you keep looking at us!” Melinda tactfully explained.
“Of course I’m looking at you, silly. I can’t very well wash your hair with my eyes closed, can I?”
“You’re looking at us more, though,” Sophia said.
“Am I making you feel shy, then?”
“Not me!” Sophia insisted, and to prove the point she stuck her chest out and pursed her lips at me.
Melinda seemed to find that hilarious. “We don’t care if you look.”
“Oh, what a relief!” I trilled in good-natured sarcasm, and that set the two of them laughing again.
“You should get in with us, Doris! Really, you should!” Sophia said excitedly.
Melinda pulled herself from the water and leaned towards me from the edge of the bath. “Oh, come on, Doris! It’s fun bathing together!”
I smiled and shook my head. “Not tonight, girls. But who knows? Maybe one of these evenings I will jump in with you. And then you can wash my hair for a change!”
“Hurray!” Melinda cried. “Can I be the one to do that?”
“That’s not fair! What about me?” Sophia protested. “If Melly does your hair, can I wash your back? Or…” Her eyes flickered down to my chest, cheeks colouring a little. “Or something else?”
I felt a twinge at her words, but it left me feeling uneasy. Victoria’s seed of a suggestion had taken root without my knowing, and I was seeing her girls in a wholly different light. The beauty of their bare bodies had always been there for me to appreciate, waiting for me to open my eyes. Now that beauty seemed to perfume the air, leaving me lightheaded and very warm.
Realising this was no time to dwell on such things, I reached for a towel and abruptly dried my hands. “Time to get out, girls.”
“Do we have to?” pouted little Melinda.
“We’ve not been in that long,” Sophia chimed in.
“Long enough to be squeaky clean and wrinkly as a prune,” I said, “but I’ll give you another…” I glanced at my watch. “…ten minutes. Fair enough?”
“Thank you, Doris,” a beaming Melinda replied.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” I told them, making my escape. “I have a couple of chores that need attending to.”
Upon leaving the bathroom, I slumped back against the door, puzzled and a little alarmed by my own feelings. My skin was tingling, my hands restless – the way I always felt before making love with Victoria. Had the sight of her little girls in the bath done that to me?
A ridiculous notion, I told myself. Why would I feel desire for children?
I put it down to my newly liberated sexual appetite – repressed for so long, now awakened by my mistress. Like any girl fumbling her way into womanhood, a substantial portion of my brain seemed to be preoccupied with thoughts of making love. That was all well and good, but I was coming to realise that youthful desire is chaotic, often unable to discriminate between objects of lust.
That night I dreamt I was relaxing in the bath with Melinda and Sophia while they lovingly washed me, their soapy fingers exploring every part of my bare body, the two naked cherubs giggling away as they went about it. At some point in my dream, Melinda was reaching up to kiss me, her tongue shyly slipping into my mouth.
When I awoke with a start, my nightdress damp with perspiration and a throbbing heat between my legs, the dream lingered at the edge of my consciousness like an apparition. The images it harboured were undeniably compelling, yet also troubling.
IV
In the days that followed, the very air of Shadowglen seemed charged with sensuality. My love and desire for Victoria burned brightly as ever, but now I found my thoughts drifting to the girls as well, seeing them in a wholly different way. I’d always thought of the Shaw girls as pretty. Now, I truly saw that beauty; felt it resonate in my soul like a piece of much-loved music.
After bathing Sophia and Melinda on that special night, I quickly came to enjoy seeing them naked. Even the sight of the girls dressing or undressing stirred something inside me. At first I was able to convince myself there was nothing sexual about these feelings, that I appreciated their bare bodies as vessels of beauty and nothing more.
I recalled Victoria telling me every girl’s naked form was unique, like a flower. I clung fast to those words, trying to believe the interest I felt was healthy curiosity. Even then, I knew it was more than that, but managed to bury those thoughts deep inside, refusing to recognise them as mine.
This denial grew increasingly difficult to maintain with each passing night, though, thanks to eleven-year-old Sophia. She’d been quick to notice my awakened interest in their nudity, and it seemed to intrigue her. Now she seemed particularly inclined to put her body on display for me.
When I first began to supervise the girls’ bath time, she and Melinda were always quick to disrobe and climb into the tub, then promptly wrap themselves in towels upon emerging. Now, though, Sophia often lingered about in the altogether before and after her bath. Sometimes she would casually perch on the tub’s edge, or jump out and pace about, claiming the water was hotter than she liked.
I could clearly see what the little minx was doing, but wasn’t sure why. Was this a game to her? Was she angling for some kind of response? Sophia knew little when it came to matters of sex – of that I was fairly certain. Still, when she flaunted her nakedness in my presence, I couldn’t help but wonder if the feeling it gave her was sexual in nature, even if she didn’t recognise it as such. She was, after all, reaching an age when she must surely be starting to consider such things.
Then there was Becky, the eldest, who was ripening deliciously into womanhood. She hadn’t shared the bath with her sisters for a couple of years, so I had yet to glimpse her in the nude. Yet the memory of the fourteen-year-old in her underthings, so close to me in the shop changing stall, lingered, and I found myself lamenting her absence when we bathed. I tried to come up with some plausible reason that might persuade her to join us, but never had the nerve to ask. Still, I stubbornly refused to acknowledge these hidden cravings for what they really were.
What finally pushed me over the line took place a week later, the fourth night I’d bathed the girls with these ideas of Victoria’s fluttering about in my head. I’d already washed Melinda’s hair, and was now occupied with Sophia’s.
In a corner of the room there were a few rubber bath toys – mostly Melinda’s, though one of them belonged to Sophia, a smiling blue whale named Jasper. Its colours were faded and one of the flippers was missing, but she insisted on keeping the toy, occasionally bringing it into the water with her.
Her hair rinsed clean of soap, Sophia settled back into the tub with a blissful sigh, her eyes closed. When she opened them again they were fixed upon me, bright and mischievous. When the corners of her mouth curled up into a little smirk, I suspected a game was afoot.
Sure enough, a brief moment later she sat upright and announced, “We’ve not had Jasper in the bath for a good while, have we? I’m sure he’d fancy a bit of a splash about.”
I moved to fetch the toy for her, but I was too slow. Sophia emerged dripping from the water, declaring, “I’ll get it!”
What a lovely sight she was, tossing her wet hair as she padded over to the corner, her skin gleaming like a new penny. She stood before the mixed toys for a moment, then went down on both knees, bum thrust outward while she rummaged through the pile.
I nearly gasped out loud. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of her girly bits; the rosy cleft of her sex, the darker whorl of her anus. Sophia was an active girl, nearly always in motion, so what I’d seen of her privates was limited to mere glimpses. Now the child had put herself on full display… and the quick glance she gave me over her shoulder made it abundantly clear she’d done so intentionally.
I felt my face grow hot, and a deep, familiar throbbing commenced beneath my belly. I was aflame with lust, wanting nothing so much as to creep up behind Victoria’s eleven-year-old daughter and apply my tongue to her pretty pink holes, each in turn. Would she taste like her mother? I wondered. In fact, I ached to know.
Now I could no longer ignore the truth about the feelings the girls had awakened in me. My mistress had taught me to see their beauty with fresh eyes, yet I’d denied the effect that beauty had on e – or rather, refused to recognise it for what it was. Whether it was Victoria’s intention that I regard her daughters through a lens of sexuality was another matter entirely, and only added to my dilemma.
But I loved Sophia. I loved Melinda. And I wanted to be intimate with them both, I realised. To kiss their sweet mouths. To fondle their young bodies. To taste their juicy slits, even their bumholes. To teach them what their mother had taught me – how one woman can pleasure another.
All this raced through my mind as Sophia plucked the blue whale from the pile. Needless to say, the toy had been within easy reach all along. I tried to compose myself as she scampered back to the tub and leapt in. The gleam I saw in her eyes was one of triumph, but I don’t imagine she was fully aware of how she’d shaken me to the core.
“If you don’t close your mouth, Doris, you’ll swallow a fly,” Melinda said, and the two girls tittered together.
The rest of the girls’ bath was something of a blur to me, save for towelling them down afterward. This time my movements felt more like caresses, damp terrycloth the only barrier between their bare bodies and my hands.
Finally, they padded from the room, no doubt off to play. As for me, I had business of my own to attend to. I quickly tidied the bath area, then hastened down the hallway to the small water closet.
Closing and bolting the door, I hoisted up the tweed skirt I wore and tugged my knickers down and off, then sat back on the lavatory.
I wasted no time in mauling my cunt, using the palm of my hand instead of fingers, masturbating harder and more fiercely than ever before and not much caring if it hurt. Images of Sophia and Melinda spun through my mind like a crazed carousel, both girls still gloriously nude, and me nude with them.
I allowed my innermost feelings to run rampant, revelling in visions of shared ecstasy. I pictured myself kissing the girls, my tongue darting into their mouths, their lips parting to receive me.
Within seconds I was coming, a hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my hoarse cries.
Once the storm had passed, I found myself slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, wondering how my life had come to this pass.
V
Most nights, Victoria and I would come together to make love after the girls had gone to bed, usually in her room. But on that evening, my mistress was feeling poorly – she had her menses, accompanied by a rather severe headache. After dinner, she only wanted to lie quietly with a damp flannel on her forehead.
I accompanied Victoria to her room and helped her to settle in, then read to her for a while. Finally, she dismissed me with a tender kiss.
Truth be told, I didn’t mind having that particular evening to myself. I wanted time to reflect on the feelings I had for Victoria’s daughters – all three of them.
Returning to my room, I stripped naked, then crawled beneath the cool sheets of the bed.
That afternoon, I’d brought myself off hard and fast in the stuffy confines of the water closet. Now, I would take my time, play my body like the divine instrument of pleasure it was. I would allow the images to come freely this time, place no boundaries on the fantasies my mind chose to conjure, letting them churn and swirl and percolate. And all the while, my thoughts would be of Melinda, Sophia and Becky.
Closing my eyes, I pictured the two youngest in bed with me, deciding to bring their big sister into the fantasy later. My little angels were nude, of course, and ready to play a new, very different game.
In the prism of my aroused mind I indulged in every conceivable sexual delight with Melinda and Sophia, all the skills I’d mastered under Victoria’s tutelage, and others of my own perverted imaginings, coming into play. Nothing was forbidden to me. I kissed, fondled, smelled, nibbled and tasted my young lovers, making music of their ecstatic whimpers and cries.
They taunted me with wicked smiles and open legs, bare vaginas displayed as exquisite offerings, prised apart with little fingers. And while I made love to the girls in my imagination, I did the same to myself in the here and now, spinning and weaving a tapestry of ecstasy upon the hot moist loom of my cunt. Again and again I brought myself to the very edge of release, pausing at the last moment, then retreating once more to begin another ascent.
Eventually, my body throbbing and slick with perspiration, I summoned up Becky, picturing Victoria’s eldest gazing at me in unconcealed lust as I stood naked before her. She allowed me to remove her clothing – her underthings exactly as they had been that day in the narrow confines of the shop changing booth – then we came together as lovers.
I was fingering my clitoris, charging headlong toward the precipice, ready to come. The final vision I invoked, the one that would bring me to that place of release, was Becky and I head to tail, each feasting upon the cunt of the other.
The storm seemed to brood inside me, deepening, steadily growing, soon to explode. When my climax arrived, it shook me until my teeth rattled, but still I kept going, my wrist and arm pumping wildly until I was coming a second time. I rode it as hard and as far as it could go, until my strength suddenly gave out.
For no real reason, I found myself crying in the aftermath. Why? I had no idea. Perhaps a physical release of that intensity had to have an emotional equivalent as well.
My tears quickly passed, replaced by a satisfying weariness. By then, the sheets were sodden, and I was still glazed in perspiration myself. So I simply covered them with the blanket, stretched out on top of it and dozed off.
VI
The next morning, I was caught up in what almost felt like a fever – lightheaded, pulse racing, unsteady on my feet and clumsy-handed. In truth, I was consumed by helpless lust, assailed by memories of the night before.
While I prepared myself for the new day, standing nude before the bathroom mirror as I washed my face and body at the sink, the passing of the sponge over my breasts and sex were exquisite torture.
The temptation to masturbate was fierce, but more than that, my soul cried out for the hands, mouth, and body of Victoria. I prayed to whatever dark god I now served that my mistress was in better spirits, her headache gone. Quickly dressing, I hastened down to breakfast.
My heart leapt with joy when Victoria appeared at the dining table, smiling and rosy-cheeked. Soon, the three girls were filing into the room. We exchanged morning greetings before seating ourselves and tucking in to bacon and eggs.
That hunger for release continued to simmer inside me as we ate and chatted; enough that I was scarcely able to hold up my end of the conversation. Somehow I got through the meal, then hurried Melinda and Sophia upstairs to ready them for school.
It took more than an hour before I was able to get Victoria on her own. I found my lady in the front parlour, arranging posies in a fluted glass vase. She glanced up at me, her eyes widening at what she saw. By then, my hunger for her was honed to a razor-sharp edge that must have been immediately apparent.
This time, I seized the initiative, moving toward her with a determined stride, taking the woman in my arms and claiming her mouth in a hard, fiery kiss. She swayed slightly, relaxing in my embrace, allowing me to claim her. Then I felt fingers unhooking my skirt.
We coupled like animals on the parlour floor, the cold, hard tiles a distant concern in the heat of the wild passion that demanded tribute.
Victoria urged me on breathlessly, each uttered obscenity invoked like the words of some forbidden spell. “Fuck me, Doris. Fuck me!”
I gave my mistress what she wanted, breath hissing through my clenched teeth as I thrust two fingers in and out of her cunt. She was juicy as a ripe peach, and my hand was soon slick with her essence.
I felt intoxicated by a sense of brute power that surged through my body like electricity. Soon enough, I found myself responding to her entreaties, my voice a husky growl. “Is this what you want, Victoria? Mmm? Do you like it when I fuck you this way?”
When Victoria spent, her cries seemed to reverberate through Shadowglen. By then, my own arousal was so intense that I came with her, simply by the act of pressing my thighs together. A violent tremor rippled through me, until we both yielded to exhaustion, sprawled upon the floor and gasping for breath.
In the past, Victoria and I seldom lingered together for very long once we’d taken our pleasure. I suppose once that lustful fire had run its course, there was the matter of returning to our designated roles of mistress and servant. In bed we are equals, she’d told me, and I didn’t doubt her sincerity, but I still felt a hint of awkwardness when things returned to their usual status.
This time was different. Victoria stood and offered her hand, helping me to my feet, then leading me to the large sofa, where we stretched out, nestled in each other’s arms. There we relaxed for a long, lovely while. Few words were spoken – somehow, they weren’t needed. But we did share lazy caresses and the occasional kiss.
Yet again, I felt the longing to bare my soul, to tell Victoria how desperately I adored her. And once more, I held my tongue. This moment was one of such unalloyed bliss that I couldn’t allow myself to run the risk of spoiling it by declaring a love that must surely be unrequited.
A strand of melancholy wound its way through my soul at the thought of that looming day when the bliss I’d found at Shadowglen might be snatched from me. But I forced it from my mind, determined to savour this moment of happiness with the woman I loved.
Eventually, Victoria began to stir. “We’d best get dressed,” she murmured, peering at the grandfather clock. “Mrs. Broomfield will be here soon.”
We slipped our clothes back on in silence, then Victoria caught me by surprise, twining her arms around my waist from behind, her lips brushing my neck. I gasped, overwhelmed by a surge of renewed desire. Turning around in my lady’s embrace, I sought her mouth with mine.
At that instant, I wanted nothing more than to enjoy Victoria again. But afternoon was upon us, the cook’s arrival imminent. So when we finally parted, I gave my lady a nod and left the room, making my way down to the kitchen to convey instructions for the evening meal to Mrs. Broomfield, my mind a crazy-quilt jumble of emotions.
VII
That day proved to be a happy turning point in my relationship with Mrs. Shaw.
Victoria had always been kind, but now there was a warmth to our day-to-day dealings that nearly undid me. There were many more casual touches when in the presence of the girls, her hand brushing an arm or a shoulder in ways that never failed to quicken my pulse. Then there were the looks she gave me, looks that spoke of much more than the polite, warm consideration I was accustomed to. There was a kind of newfound fascination to my lady’s regard, as if she were truly seeing me for the first time.
And when it was just the two of us, my mistress seemed capable of anything. I could be dusting the shelves, making the beds, even reading quietly in the study, and Victoria would steal upon me like a mischievous pixie, claiming me with a kiss upon the neck. Other times she would stalk me like a beast of prey, her eyes burning into mine. Then she might bury her face in my hair, cup my breasts, crush her mouth to mine in a ravenous kiss, or draw me into her arms for the gentlest of hugs.
One quiet afternoon I was lost in a reverie whilst washing dishes, the lazy sun spilling gold through the window. Before I knew what was what, Victoria had crept up from behind, hoisted my skirt with a sharp tug and thrust a hand down into the back of my knickers. I nearly swooned, my choked cry ringing through the kitchen as she thrust her fingers into my cunt, causing me to spend within seconds. After regaining my breath, I went to my knees, backed Victoria against the sink and parted her house dress to find my lady stark naked. Without a word, I buried my mouth in her dark curls and feasted on the syrupy flesh until she came.
There was a distinctive difference in our lovemaking, too. The act itself was astonishing as ever, but now we spent more time basking in passion’s aftermath, entwined skin to skin, gazing into one another’s eyes, taking pleasure in each other’s company.
We spent more time together outside the bedroom, too. When the day’s chores were done, sometimes with Victoria lending a hand, she and I would adjourn to her study and spend a quiet hour reading, though it could be difficult to focus on our books if our desire had yet to run its course that day. Our literary pursuits might be discarded in favour of a heated fuck on the rug, our clothes scattered willy-nilly.
On days when the weather was pleasant and the girls at school, Victoria would sometimes invite me to relax with her in the beautifully kept gardens of Shadowglen. Old Mr. Farnsworth came several days a week to maintain the grounds; otherwise, we were assured of perfect privacy.
There was one particularly lovely spot near an ancient oak that we liked best of all. I would fetch something to nibble from the kitchen, she would choose a bottle of wine from her generous cellar, and together we’d leave the house by the back door, making our way to the grand old tree. There we would spread a blanket, then enjoy a light snack and a few glasses of noble vintage before undressing and making love.
The wine and the pleasure we shared never failed to leave me lightheaded; then again, I seemed to be in a constant state of intoxication, overwhelmed by my love of Victoria, as well as the secret attraction I had for her daughters. I tried to savour these joys while I was able, doing my best not to think about my time at Shadowglen winding down to its inevitable end.
Come what may, at least I’ve tasted true happiness, I told myself. In this life, precious few get even that much.
Soon to come: Chapter Five!
I am old now, so I will tell my story while I still have the time and memory to do so. For whom I recount it, I’m not sure – this is certainly not a tale for grandchildren, or for the pensioners I play bridge with on Thursday afternoons. Perhaps I tell it for myself, to gather it all together in one place, that I might make sense of those years and all that happened in that old house.