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Introduction:

In 1899 prim governess Charity Pentland experiences a male member for the first time

It was the summer of 1899. The sun streamed through the drawing room windows, the perfectly mown lawns stretched down to the lake. The birds sang, everything was perfection.

But the summer was ending and my daughter Auguste was sixteen and about to go to Switzerland to finish her education. This left her governess Miss Pentland with no remaining purpose at Corston Hall and I faced the awkward task of discussing her future with her.

Charity Jayne Pentland. As cold as the wind swept firth with which she shared a name. Cold and grey though able enough as a governess. An expert player of whist. An opponent to fear at chess but as prim and proper as only a governess can be. I could not tell you the colour of her eyes or hair, I cared not, but I never knew her to wear anything colourful and her wardrobe seemed to range only from black to white through grey.

Clarissa my dear wife had departed some ten years hence. Departed with one Colonel Pickering of the Dragoons you understand, not departed this mortal coil. That I could have borne. But no, not satisfied with cuckolding me Pickering had whisked her away to some fornicatorium beside the sea.

Miss Pentland came highly recommended, her father was a man of the cloth, she had studied diligantly and would have been an able scholar had she been a male, but had perforce to earn a living and so came to me aged eighteen to care for my poor distraught six year old Auguste and her older brothers Robert and Charles.

But now her usefulness was at an end. I did not relish the interview. She had to go. A young woman in a house with a gentleman such as myself not quite in his dotage you understand. Still lusty enough to make a whore or serving wench shriek on occasion, if I say it myself.

I came home early. Auguste was visiting Miss Millicent Millard-Price her best friend for the weekend and I was troubled at the prospect of sending Miss Pentland away.

I had arranged to meet her in the drawing room at seven. It was barely five. I went to my bedroom.

It was still as it had been when Clarissa left. Facing south over the park. Our marital bed. The oak dressing table still strewn with Carissa’s things. She had taken only the clothes she stood up in and I had retained everything on her side of the room exactly as she had left it.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

Someone was there. Wearing a white wedding dress. Clarissa’s white wedding dress. For a moment I thought it was Clarissa returned. But no. It was Miss Pentland who sat at Clarissa’s dressing table wearing Clarissa’s wedding dress. Her shimmering virginal white wedding dress.

Miss Pentland stared wide eyed. “Excuse me,” I said as I went to withdraw. But the look of shock and horror on Miss Pentland’s face made me pause.

She wore the wedding dress and naught beside. Her dress was over the chair. And her under things. She had Clarissa’s ivory and ebony hairbrush. I stared mesmerised. She had the hairbrush between her thighs. I could see the head but not the handle. She was pleasuring herself as a whore does as she awaits a customer. She was debauched. Utterly shameless.

“I must apologise,” I said awkwardly. “I should have knocked.”

Her other hand was within the gown and upon her breast. Realisation hit me. I had unconsciously employed a young woman with rampant sexual urges. The thought sickened me. How far had she led my precious Auguste astray? Was she still pure? Or was she ruined?
How could I ask without myself overstepping the bounds of propriety.

I turned away and swept from the room. I was greatly troubled. I wanted to sit on my bed to think but I could not. Not with Miss Pentland there. Not with any propriety at least.

I went to the kitchen. Cook made me some hot sweet tea. “What ever is the matter Mister Charles?” she asked. She was a kindly soul of uncertain age. Her grey hair and lined face and corpulent belly suggested great age but from my childhood I remembered her as a young woman, flirtatious and popular with the gardeners.

I did not answer.

“It’ll be that Miss Pentland,” Cook said knowingly, “Poor love, cast out with nothing after giving all her best years to you.”

“What do you mean cast out with nothing,” I demanded. “I have not even spoken to her about leaving us yet.”

“Well stands to reason don’t it.” Cook reasoned, “She hasn’t had a day off in all that time, she even takes your kids when she see’s her Father or goes to church.”

“I will see her right.” I promised.

“And how you going to do that what with being married and that?” Cook asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well stands to reason don’t it,” Cook said.

“Sometimes you talk in riddles,” I sighed and I went to sit in the sitting room.

I could not settle and went instead to seek Miss Pentland in her room. I knocked politely.

“A moment please,” she asked. Something sounded very strange.

I opened the door. The curtains were drawn but in the gloom I saw Miss Pentland was desperately trying to dress. She had her underskirt on but was bare above the waist. Her breasts hung very pleasantly. Clarissa’s hairbrush lay on the bed, its handle glistening with moisture. She knew not whether to grab her blouse or cover her breasts, and what breasts. Beautifully pear shaped and her nipples were roused.

“Miss Pentland,” I gasped. “What on earth are you doing!” It was a stupid question. It was obvious, she had been pleasuring herself again.

“Get out!” she wailed. I stood my ground.

“I must know, now I see you are a deviant, a wanton deviant at that. Miss Pentland have you debauched my children, my Auguste?”

“No, no absolutely not.” she declaimed as she scrabbled to hide her nakedness.

“And how am I expected to believe this, after your wantonness?” I demanded.

“I am a woman. I have needs,” she said quietly.

Her hands fell away. She stopped trying to hide herself. Her breasts hung deliciously. Mesmerisingly so. She looked me in the eye in silent invitation.

“Why do you do it Miss Pentland?” I asked as my member stirred.

“I have needs,” she said again.

“Then you should marry,” I said.

“But you are spoken for,” she said hopelessly.

“What?” I demanded.

“I imagine it is your member inside me.” she replied hopelessly, “I want you.”

“You foolish girl,” I sighed, “I should use you and cast you aside, you deserve better.”

“But I want you.” she repeated.

“Then I shall take you,” I announced quite coldly though my heart was pounding.

We stared at each other.

“Oh,” she said awkwardly.

“I shall take you and use you like a whore,” I said as I stepped forward and held her by her upper arms.

“Release my member if you desire me,” I suggested.

A moments hesitation and her hands were at my belt and buttons. My member sprang free. Proud and erect.

I raised her underskirt revealing her parts. Her slit glistened with anticipation. There was no need to delay. I pressed her back onto the bed and slid my member easily into her. I pressed firmly. She gasped and it was done.

She seemed delightfully nonplussed at the sensations I created within her. A confused smile crossed her lips and I for my part felt a strange contentment. Consorting with a woman in my own house again. Ten years after Clarissa it was as if I had come home again.

Liquid and warm and vibrant, Miss Pentland’s womb welcomed me. I kissed her neck. I kissed her cheek and then I kissed her lips. Not like a whore but like a lover. My tongue explored her mouth. My fingers sought her breasts even as I ploughed her.

She moaned softly as I kissed her. My juices welled up. My heart pounded and quite suddenly my juices flowed.

Her eyes were wide as my seed gushed and flowed deep inside her.

I rested a while. “That was very pleasant. I thank you.” I said to break the silence.

She looked ashamed, almost. Shocked.

“Better than a hairbrush?” I joked.

“Uh, yes,” she said and tears welled in her eyes.

“There is no need for tears,” I assured her. But she started sobbing.

“Are you in pain, should I fetch a doctor?” In asked as I swiftly dressed.

“You don’t love me,” she said. “I gave you everything and.”

“Don’t condemn me.” I suggested, “Love grows, perhaps I don’t love you but I have a great fondness for you, and indeed a great liking for your charms, please allow me to sample you anew before I profess that which I do not feel.”

“Anew, are you not casting me out?” she asked nervously.

“On the contrary,” I assured her, “I might easily be persuaded that you shall remain.”

I looked at her. Disrobed she was a completely different person. Her breasts usually so cruelly constrained were perfection. Her belly flat and taut. her woman’s parts delightful. With her hair cut fashionably and her face rouged she would make a very acceptable courtesan. But why should I share her? No, if she were willing then she should remain as my mistress. House keeper perhaps?

I wanted to hold her. “Come here,” I ordered. She stopped puling her corset around herself. “Come here I don’t bite.” I insisted and I stepped forward and put my arms around her. I just held her. For a long moment.

“I will see you downstairs.” I said at last as I released her and I slipped away down stairs.

She came to the drawing room at seven o’clock precisely.

“Ah Miss Pentland,” I said awkwardly. “Please sit down.”

She blushed. She sat demurely.

“As you know Auguste will be going to Switzerland shortly so she will no longer need your services as governess.” I said in a matter of fact manner. “Have you made any plans?”

“No,” she said.

“Perhaps you see yourself staying here with me, as my mistress, housekeeper, lover.” I suggested. “For my part I value your companionship, and today I found I relish your charms.”

“But you do not love me?” she demanded.

“Love hits in a moment but what we have is companionship, an emotion deeper than mere love I feel,” I explained.

“I don’t know,” she said looking at the ground, “What will happen if I fall for a child?”

“I had not thought that far ahead,” I confessed, “But if you give satisfaction I am sure something can be arranged.”

“I want a legal contract,” she said staring at me.

“Saying what? you will consort with me like a whore?” I demanded.

“That you will pay me an annual sum,” she suggested.

“A mere formality,” I agreed.

“Shall we shake hands?” she suggested

“I had something rather more intimate in mind,” I replied.

“After dinner, a game of chess and then....” she suggested.

We ate, she won the chess. I bared her breasts in the drawing room and suckled her teats.

“Mister Charles!” Cook exclaimed as she came to clear the plates, “I should never have believed it!”

“We have an arrangement,” I explained.

“I should hope so,” Cook laughed, “You charge him well Miss Pentland. You’ll be blown up like a balloon with child afore you knows you mark my words.”

“Thank you cook,” I said with a laugh, “That will be all.”

Miss Pentland was distraught. “She saw my chest!” she protested.

“And the whole village will know before the week is out,” I assured her, “Now sit on the chaise longue and raise your legs if you please, I wish to make love to you.”

She did as I bid, I slipped her voluminous pantaloons off and admired her woman’s parts. I kissed the lips leading to her womb. She liked it. I flicked my tongue into the moistening slit and she moaned. I released my member and aimed him at her haven and then I kissed her full on the lips as I drove him home. Deep in her womb. Sheathed entirely yet constrained by clothing. I wanted her naked. I wished myself naked also, so there was just she and I and nothing between us.

“No!” she said, “Upstairs!”

We were of one mind, I withdrew and with trousers around my knees hobbled upstairs after her, almost falling until we fell into my bed. She threw off her skirts and I too undressed until there was nothing of clothing on us but her stockings.

We conjoined anew. My member strained as it filled her, she gasped as I kissed her full on the mouth even as I ploughed her and we were as near to being one as any two people may be.

“I love you!” I whispered.

“I know,” she replied.

An age passed and quite unexpectedly the moment arrived and my release came from nowhere sating me and as it seemed sating her needs at one stroke.

I rolled off her, pulled the bed clothes over her, turned down the gas light and joining her I drifted into a contented sleep.

She was watching me as I woke. I pulled her to me and kissed her. My member reared. She lay back. I used her. She relished it. Every moment. Every drop of my emissions she relished. She wrapped her legs around me. She almost milked the cum from my balls. She kissed me with equal fervour to my kisses. Her need as great as mine.

We remained in bed until lunch time and the afternoon we spent together clearing Clarissa’s things from my room and moving Miss Pentland’s clothes in in their stead.

We did take lunch and we were more than ready for Dinner but it was delayed as we waited for Auguste to return, the Millard-Prices having little sense of time, indeed little sense at all.

She arrived breathless at ten past eight.

We ate at the dining table, engaged in idle chit chat and after the cheese and biscuits I casually announced, “Miss Pentland has consented to become my housekeeper when you depart for Switzerland.”

“Oh, but I thought you wished to be Papa’s mistress!” Auguste blurted out.

“Auguste!” we chided as one.

Miss Pentland blushed crimson.

“Sorry,” Auguste apologised.

“Miss Pentland and I have formed an affection,” I admitted.

“Oh Papa!” Auguste exclaimed, “That is wonderful, will Miss Pentland be my new Mama!”

I thought a moment, “Not exactly Auguste, everything will remain as it is, except Miss Pentland will share my bedroom and my bed from now on.”

“Oh Papa!” Auguste squealed delightedly, “I am so pleased for you!”


To be continued

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