Anonymous

First training

CHAPTER ONE

I do not recall the passing of my dear Mama, for I was then too young. I guard her likeness still, faded as it has become. That she was a gentle woman I have no doubts. I would have followed in her ways, perhaps, had not my father remarried when I was thirteen.

I remember well the coming of Stepmama, as I first called her. Father was then no more than thirty-five and she his junior by seven years. I remember her being all of a glitter, much taken with jewelry as she ever is, tight-waisted, slender, and an allure to all male eyes. I remember that she awed me a little at first, for her voice, though well modulated, caused even Papa to take immediate notice of her at all times, it having a quality to it that is rare to encounter.

Strange were those first days, for sometimes there was merriment, social gatherings and parties, and at others a benign silence in the house which Papa seemed to accept as his due. My brother Robert was then fifteen and much taken with her. She would tease or even flatter him sometimes, but at others scold him and send him to his room. All things began to change. There was much alteration of furniture with carts drawn by great dray horses coming and going. This occasioned much excitement, but we were not allowed to express it unduly. There was too much clutter in the rooms, she declared, and so many small tables and whatnots among which the housemaids had to thread their way when cleaning were cleared away and more space made. In place of small settees, larger ones were brought in, their ornate coverings delighting me so that I loved to bounce up and down on them and feel their richly patterned surfaces.

I was not chided for this and felt myself perhaps my stepmother’s favourite. Often she cast a most kindly eye on me and fed me tidbits so that my older sister, Sarah, and Robert became jealous, but she would have none of that. We could not but notice that Papa was quieter in her presence than he had been before, and had it not been for the social proprieties I am sure she would have taken her place at the head of the table.

“I wonder she does not wear the trousers,” Sarah once remarked crossly, though the words were said without malice for it was difficult to withhold admiration from her.

My stepmama’s name was Julia. The name suited her for its richness. She was above middling height and indeed when she wore boots or shoes of a certain type was to be seen as tall as Papa. Her hair was sometimes taken up in a bun which revealed a lovely swanlike neck, though I preferred it when down and would beg her to let me brush it which she did, to the annoyance of Smith, her personal maid, who could often be seen glancing at her with awed eyes.

Picnics she was much fond of and would take us on them when father was about his business. From such as I learned, he had been more lax in the past with his affairs but was spurred on by her and indeed she would sometimes tell him when to go and when to return. He abided meekly by her decisions as we all did, and so as may well be imagined we looked up to her and perhaps I believe were all a little in love with her.

My special pleasure as I grew older and attained my fifteenth year or thereabouts was to occasionally assist her in dressing. Poor Smith would be sent out and I set first to help undo the hooks and eyes in her gown. This being removed revealed a delicious frothing of lacy petticoats and underskirts. As I helped remove these in turn I would sometimes find myself touching her thighs and feeling the perfumed warmth of her body, which made me quite enamoured of her. Occasionally when divested to her corset, stockings and bootees, she would even utter a little cooing sound as she held my hands to her plump silky thighs and moved them up and down while smiling at me.

“Do you like the bodily pleasures?” she asked me once quaintly, seating herself before her dressing table mirror. As she spoke she slowly unlaced the front of her corset and therewith unveiled two large firm breasts of such marbled whiteness that I could not help but gaze upon them in awe and envy. The brown nipples upon them, set in large aureoles of sweetly crinkled flesh, stuck out boldly, being conical and finely-pointed. With a little sigh as if taken herself by her beauty, she then cupped them and gazed at me smiling. “One day yours will be as large,” she said, whereat I blushed and knew not what to say. “I believe they must be very pretty already. Show me, Clara,” she went on and turned about on her stool.

I turned my head towards the door and felt flustered, thinking that Smith might return.