The Young Wife (18 page)

‘Well, I shall have to see what I can do about that, then, shan't I?' I announced, and we started to plot how it could be done.

Which explains why, the following evening, I was more receptive to Antonia's attempt at conversation. And why again, that very same evening, I accepted her offer of a drink on the porch outside her room in the guesthouse. Gin and tonic, with ice and lemon, and we were soon deep into conversation. Three gin and tonics later, and she was telling me everything.

For well over an hour she treated me to a condensed view of her world, from her third birthday party, which had over a hundred invited guests, ice sculptures, magicians and assorted minor celebrity entertainers, to her ‘hellish' sojourn at a posh Swiss finishing school, which she had attended in her late teens. I got the distinct impression that she was trying to be friendly and distant simultaneously, as she attempted, by a series of utterly boring anecdotes, to explain how rich and how lonely she was. I presume this was her way of establishing to herself that she was doing me a favour by talking to me, and that she was somehow ‘getting in touch' with the outside – and, by implication lower – world in doing so. It appeared that she thought the perfection of my accent was the product of imitation, rather than training, and it obviously never occurred to her that I was anything other than a ‘helper', to use the modern word for servant. The silly, condescending little fool had no way of knowing that I could understand every nuance of her existence thus far in life, for it almost exactly mirrored my own, with the major difference that I had the benefit of an English boarding-school education, and she did not. One finds one's own amusements in places like that. It is the only way to make them bearable. I encouraged her to expand on her favourite subject, herself, by nodding and simpering in the right places, while thinking furiously about how I was going to manoeuvre her into a compromising position such as was dictated by the mission I had been set.

Eventually, her thoughts turned to men, and her lack of success in finding one she liked. This conversational gambit was all I needed to introduce my own attitude to men, or lack of it.

‘I hope you don't hold this against me, Antonia, but I have to tell you,' I said, ‘I am a lesbian.'

She smiled deeply with satisfaction, and told me, ‘I had hoped you were, from the moment I first saw you.'

Then she stood up, and moved over to me in what I presume she thought was a sexy sway. She was wearing her cream-coloured jodhpurs again and, I have to admit, they showed off her trim thighs and hips to perfection. They pleated in a very suggestive way at the lowest peak of the triangle at her groin, and showed the rounded thighs off to perfection. She was wearing highly polished, brown elasticised ankle-boots on her feet, which were very smart, though I prefer knee-boots myself, and a belt of the same shiny hue, at her waist, emphasised how narrow she was above the tight swell of her hips. Her apple-like breasts strained, stiff-nippled under the fawn linen of her shirt, and she had trouble concealing her excitement as they heaved out at every breath.

She cocked one dark, arched eyebrow as she smiled cockily down at me, and said, ‘You know I like you, don't you, Anne?'

For someone who was only twenty-four, she had a breathtaking self-assurance that would not have shamed a politician. I maintained my attitude of respectful subservience, as she hovered, hips swaying excitedly, above me. She had that curious habit that children have of tapping their foot when they are speaking in a saucy fashion to adults. A proper little Miss. How I was to enjoy humiliating her!

I stood, meekly, and allowed her to put her hands on my waist, as I turned my face away in mock surrender. The form of my entrapment of her was taking shape in my mind, and it needed the appearance of servility to make her fall unwary into my clutches. I felt no sympathy for her, as she clearly felt none for the girl she took me to be. Her hands scrabbled triumphantly under my skirt, and the smoothly filed nails of her slim, tan fingers closed like talons on the tender flesh of my behind. I felt her scrutiny of me, as she watched for a reaction when she squeezed me hard enough to hurt. I exhaled a little puff of distressed breath, and she smiled in satisfaction when I turned my face to hers in false appeal.

‘Am I hurting you?' she asked, through a tight grin of premature triumph.

I let her see what she wanted to see, in the lowering of my eyes from hers, and the shy nod of affirmation that I gave her. Her fingers burrowed under the elastic of my knickers, and she wriggled the fingers of one hand towards my furry slit. A finger probed towards the parting of my nether lips, and I glimpsed the smile on her bitchy face grow wider as it slipped easily against the oily cleft.

‘You're wet,' she cried, half-accusing. ‘You like it, don't you?'

I swayed my bottom back to her, and the finger went into me, as easy as a needle into silk. I laid my forehead against her collarbone, so that she wouldn't see my expression when I answered. ‘Yes.'

‘We can't do it here,' she told me, as her finger moved gently back and forth between my open thighs. ‘Why don't you take me to your room, before my aunt comes back and catches us?'

‘If you want to,' I whispered into the linen of her chest, and listened to the dull thumping of her heart as the pitch of her anticipation rose.

She was no stranger to that kind of thing, I knew, because the soft pad of her finger knew exactly where to roll within the folds to find the bud of pleasure that they hid. I could have physically forced her away from me, but I let her exert her mastery in the way she wanted, and waited for her to decide to pull away. I knew she would enjoy the idea of depriving me, of keeping my pleasure as her prerogative. She liked control, especially of her social inferiors, was my guess: and to a point I guessed correctly. For there is always another side to the cruel, that makes them want to suffer themselves. It is the flip side of the coin that, where there is the desire to conquer, there is also the willingness to submit.

We separated at her whim, and my knicker hem snapped back into place as my dress fell to cover my cheeks again. I could tell she wanted to lead me by the hand up to the house, but did not dare, and I took that as further proof of her weakness. It was vital that she come on to my ground, and so far she had managed to walk herself towards enslavement without any help from me, and all the while she was thinking that it was she who was in control. It was so delicious, I nearly laughed aloud.

I followed her mincing arse, at a respectful distance of course, as she strode in what I presumed was her idea of a forceful way, towards the tall, white-fronted house. Floodlamps lit the facade, so that I couldn't see her expression when she turned at the door to speak to me. I guessed that her normal hauteur had returned by the tone of her voice when she spoke to me.

‘If there is anyone around, you are letting me in because I have lost a bracelet, and I think it's in your room. Do you understand?' she asked, in a manner that implied she thought I was a little bit dim.

Who says men are the only ones capable of arrogance?

I gave her a little mew of docility as I fumbled for my keys, and opened the door. True to form, she pushed past me, only pausing to brush her hand possessively over my stocking tops, and pressed on into the house. She wasn't keen on meeting Jessica or David, it seemed, for she nearly ran up the stairs, but she tried to pass it off as eagerness, though I wasn't fooled for a moment. My cunt was wet and heavy as I opened my door, for the thought of what she might do to me before I trapped her was making me squirm with a kind of fearful hope. I wanted her to be cruel to me, before I took the ground out from under her feet.

You see? The other side of the coin.

This time, she followed me in, as a vestige of manners clung to her, despite the natural pushiness of her nature. She swept her eyes haughtily around the room, as if what she saw was mine, and not her uncle's. There was little enough to see, for the room was decorated in that pastel plainness that passes for taste among the vulgar. My bed, though big, was lost in the fiat expanse of thick, cream carpet that flooded the vast room. I saw her pitying eye take in my little valise, forlorn on the chair beside the polished, mahogany vanity cabinet. My shoes, arranged in tidy rows in front of the louvred doors of the wardrobes, on the other side of the room from my bed, stood like naughty children in the headmaster's office. She started to move towards them, and I rushed to intercept her, as it was vital that she stayed away from those doors.

Her eyes betrayed a wariness in their brown depths, which I immediately sought to allay by adopting a little girl posture in front of her. She relaxed as she took in my knock-kneed, elbows-in stance, and she laughed softly in superiority.

‘What do you want, little girl?' she mocked. ‘Have you been naughty?'

I pouted prettily, and her smile took on the twist at one corner that indicates cockiness in a certain type of person, such as herself.

‘Not really,' I answered, in pretend insolence, and swayed a little, from side to side, to show my friskiness.

‘I think you have,' suggested Antonia, with a shake of the head that made her glossy curls bounce in a way she had obviously practised.

Her vanity was very amusing to me, but I hid my smile by dropping my eyes to the floor and murmuring, ‘Perhaps?'

‘You are naughty, Miss Simpson,' she retorted. ‘There's no perhaps about it.'

‘What are you going to do about it?' I asked her, as we began the game.

‘I'll show you, you cheeky little thing,' she said, and advanced intently towards me. She caught me by the arm, half-hesitant, then steered me gently towards the bed. I tottered towards it, awkward on the thin towers of my heels, and my tummy was loose with excitement. I let her force me to my knees at the bedside, though I could easily have resisted, and then she made me lean over until my face met the cool puffs of linen on my quilt. I felt my dress tilt up stiffly at my rear, and knew that my thighs were exposed where they rose up to my cheeks. I felt the air drift around my cleft, and the meeting of my thighs, and could not quell a little shiver of excitement at the thought of the pouch of tightly knickered flesh that was peeping back behind me. I wriggled a little, to make her eager, but she resisted for a while, and just looked at me, from behind, as I pushed my face into the bed. She rolled my panties down, unhurriedly, and plucked them from my cunt with delicate pinches. Fastidious, and distant.

I knew she would smack me, so I dipped my back to tempt her even more. My sex-lips were pulsing wetly back, and they parted, just a little, as my hips widened. She could not hold herself back any longer, and I felt her cold fingers rub shakily along my offered slit. Her hands were trembling, as she took a first, tentative swipe at my brazen cheeks. Little pat followed little pat, as she fumbled around my rear. She spread my cheeks apart, and kissed my slit, then rolled them up and down to make them relax. I let her play with me, hoping she would grow bold, but she did not. My face was hot and flushed, when I grew tired of waiting and pushed upwards from the bed, but it was not as red as hers. I knew exactly what she wanted, and I also knew that she was too weak to do it.

She was kneeling, too, so I pushed her upper torso until she gratefully flopped over on to her side, and then her back, on the bed. She wriggled upwards, away from me, until her knees were backed against the edge; then she closed her eyes and waited for me to do something.

These spoiled, petulant girls. They love to be persuaded.

I reached along her thighs, to the waistband of her trousers, and plucked her shirt out at the front, just below her belly button. I rolled the crumpled flaps away from the fiat, brown curves of her belly, until her ribs showed. Her stomach floated up and down as she breathed, and I licked the ellipse of taut skin around her navel with my hot and pointed tongue. The muscles trembled with tension, as I snapped the button at her waist and hauled the stretchy fabric of her jodhpurs over the glossy, flawless skin on her hips.

I left the white, lacy frame of her panties in place as I pulled her trousers down over her muscular, brown thighs. Her knees were packed with plump muscle, stretched over fine, neat joints, and the cords of tendon stood in stark relief against the swells and hollows. My eyes trailed up to the meeting of her inner thighs, towards her mound, making my stomach tighten with ecstatic lust when they alighted on the frilly covering that hid her cunt. I could see her pubic hair, fiat and curled beneath the white gauze, and the line of her sex-lips inrolling showing starkly in their deep, inward curving. I rolled the legs of her close-fitting trousers over the hard bulge of her calves, until they gathered like a stay around her ankles. If I had tied her, it would not have been more effective in keeping her ankles together.

I pushed her legs apart with gentle pressure on her inner knee, and slid my hands up the soft bulging of her smooth inner thigh. She tilted her hips up, and the cheeks of her bottom squeezed tightly around the stream of white panty that rolled up between them. I leaned my torso forwards, around the outside of her right knee, until my tummy touched the bed's edge; then I stretched over her lower stomach until I could kiss the ravine that flowed towards her chest. I popped the buttons of her shirt, one by one, until her sweet little apples of breasts rose out of the parting wings of material. Her nipples perched like turrets on the hills of satin flesh, and they strained with every hushed, excited breath she took. I watched my fingers walk, head laid on her stomach, up the sandy plain to those two ripe and shuddering globes of golden skin. She moaned, a little girl's sigh of contentment, as my fingers plucked the little nuggets in their goose pimpled circles of hard, brown flesh, and her stomach rippled with excitement to the stroking. Her skin smelled of coconut oil, mixed with the sweat of arousal, and the faint hint of musk from her groin made my thighs tremble to a loose acceptance of my own desire. I relaxed my bottom, and hips, then slid my face down her shuddering form until her panties' hem grazed my cheek. The cleft of thigh and lower stomach was warm against my face, as I dragged my nails lightly down her ribs to rest upon the tightened waistband of her knickers. I clawed the delicate, elastic material down, over the spars of her hip bones and watched from eye-level as her pubic hair sprang up and out from under the retreating line of white. She lifted up her hips as I pulled the flimsy pants from the crack of her tight behind, and let me draw them down her swaying thighs. I craned my neck, to get my tongue into position, then licked the fold of flesh that ran into the crevice of her thigh and groin.