Alexandra Guy: A Maiden's diary

James winced but smiled again. I slid the skin of the pulsant thing back and forth, back and forth as I groveled to my belly and rested my chin on my brother's thigh so I could watch the cock's responses close at hand as I manipulated it. I wanted very badly to take it into my mouth and lightly chew on it, so to speak, without any further processes of digestion taking place, but I thought I would lose my sanity if I did so. I therefore contented myself with the use of my hands. At which James seemed quite satisfied. He drew long shuddering breaths. I thought I would enhance the proceedings by bringing up the subject of our new governess-the last we were to have-Miss Cleves. “What do you think of her?” I asked as I pulled rhythmically at his shaft. “Angela Cleves who sleeps blissfully, we trust, in the adjacent room?” “Yes,” I said, pushing the flesh away from the tiny aperture at the tip of the creature's pointed head and noting that some white ooze had anointed it. Once again I utilized the lubricant but this time I much more vigorously massaged James's organ. His hips bucked. “It's impossible,” he said, “to give you an opinion about anything so long as you're intent on bringing me to the point of no return.” I murmured my apologies and diminished the frequency, whereupon James turned and said, “All Rome will fall before its due if you go too slow. Moderation, my dear Clarissa, moderation… All I so far appreciate about the Cleves woman is her flaming red hair.” He seemed to be disgusted and I asked him why.

“Well, the Cleves woman promises some interest-I like her emaciated type. Emaciated in the waist and belly and arms, but pouting up those prominent breasts. I suspect very full thighs from the amount of voluptuously curved leg she's shown. But, Clarissa, we don't really need another governess, we're a bit too old for it, I think. It's simply that the Marquis and Marchioness want to keep us children for the longest while possible-almost as if that will ensure them from getting any older. The subject's terribly depressing. But not Angela Cleves, I think. She seems all salt and pepper and I look forward to drinking from her well-she can take care of my thirst at any time!”

“How terribly generous of you, James,” I said dryly. “I do think I'll finish you off-now.” “Clarissa, please-let's prolong it a bit more.” “I'm too excited,” I said. “Really. Touch my nipples, James, and see.” He reached to them and took them between his fingers, one at a time. The nipples were hot and febrile. He clamped his mouth about one and sucked. I went mad. I pushed and pulled at his little cannon. He writhed, my nipple still in his mouth.

I dug a fingertip into the base of his organ on the underside. He let go my nipple. His head thrashed back and forth on the bolster. His eyes were shut. Then, as I stroked his apparatus wildly, teased it beyond endurance, rolled it, slapped it against his groin, wrenched at it, wiggled it, glided it along my belly, slid it along the as yet shallow cleavage of my immature teats, twisted it, nestled it under my armpits, flopped and fluttered it-his whole body tensed and made something of an arc. “Clarissa-” “Yes?” “I'm going to-ah, ah, ah…” And, all at once, my cupped hands were flooded with my brother's thick white stock. So inflamed I became by the sight of it that, believe me, I needed no further stimulus. I became a strung bow myself and quivered to an unbearable degree-or, better still, a brilliant bell struck to make the highest possible chimes that did more than ripple through me. I felt as if I were wrenched, torn, ripped and stormed. I gritted my teeth to keep myself from screaming, and the wild thought careened through me that, if I could react like this to something seen, what might I not do when experiencing the actual coupling in the flesh? So caught up both James and I were in our respective ecstasies, that we did not detect the opening and the closing of my bedroom door to which I had neglected to rethrow the bolt. We were not aware that a third party was present just inside the door until we heard that husky vibrato with which we were to become so familiar. “Good evening, children,” she began. It was Miss Angela Cleves, our new governess, in a quilted robe that effectively concealed her high breasts and scimitar hips. Her flaming red hair, of course, was quite lost in the gloom. “Or, should I say good morning?” James and I at this point were sitting bolt upright in the bed and realizing we had made complete asses of ourselves. I tried, nonetheless, to save the day-or, what was left of the night. With as haughty a mien as I could muster, I said, “Miss Cleves.” “Yes, Clarissa?” “I'm not in the habit, Miss Cleves, of having my privacy so grossly maligned as you have just done. I am afraid I shall have to ask you to go. You were assigned quarters, were you not?” Miss Cleves admired my gall and told me so. And she added, “Your precociousness is beyond question. We shall have to do something about that, Clarissa. But is there trouble with your brother? He seems inarticulate.” “I beg your pardon?”

James said stonily, looking straight ahead of him. “I said,” Miss Cleves repeated, “you seem inarticulate.” “I am not in the habit,” James said, falling in with my supposed stratagem, “of discussing my aptitudes with governesses, thank you. And I most definitely join my sister in asking you to go.” “Do you?” Miss Cleves inquired, and she burst into a merry laugh. “I do indeed, in my capacity as heir-apparent of this house.” He continued to gaze stonily ahead of him. “Then I'm sure,” Miss Cleves said, “the heir-apparent will not in the least mind if the Marquis is advised that the heir-apparent was entertained by his sister in her bedroom.”

James was silent. I was silent. Miss Cleves had just bound us hand and foot to the Quist-Hagen traditions of honor. You see, if in an interview with the Marquis the allegations of Angela Cleves were in opposition to the testimony of my brother and myself, Miss Cleves would be the loser-even though we would have lied. Because our word would be taken rather than Miss Cleves'. But, by our standards of honor, we were enjoined from fabrication and were under the obligation of telling only the truth. At last James spoke.

“The heir-apparent would mind if Miss Cleves so advised the Marquis.” In all justice to her, Angela Cleves gave not the slightest hint of triumph. “Thank you, James,” she said gravely.

“And I believe that none of us will regret this nocturnal chat, now that I am assured of your complete cooperation. James-” she turned to him-“if you are ready, I will be most happy to accompany you to your bedroom. It is quite late-I suggest that all of us could use some sleep.” His eyes downcast, grumbling under his breath, James slipped out of my bed and into his slippers. He preceded Miss Cleves to the door and opened it for her. Smiling, she glanced up and down the corridor and then beckoned to James to follow her. He did so and I shut the door. It goes without saying that, in a fury, I slammed the bolt home, admitting to myself at the same time that it was far too late for bolts to be of any value unless they came from the blue.

Miss Cleves, I thought, had the upper hand. The question was, how would she use it?

I had not long to wait before finding out. Angela Cleves made her intentions known in no uncertain way the moment she had the opportunity. The prolonged incident occurred after my mother and father had left for the evening to attend a ball given by the Queen for her consort, Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. The Marquis had been in a generous mood that entire day and, at noon, he had informed the staff at Hagen House that they could have the night for themselves.

The only individual who had not joined in the exodus had been Angela Cleves. I should have been suspicious that she had not taken advantage of the opportunity for an evening's personal pleasure, but the thought simply never crossed my mind. I was in the library working on an assignment given me by Harwell, James's tutor and mine, when the ornately carved door opened and-there was Angela, her red curls piled pyramidally atop her head, her breasts pronounced against her shirtwaist, her faintly slanted gray eyes alive with mocking merriment. “Yes, Miss Cleves?” I was most distinctly annoyed at having been interrupted. “My dear Lady Clarissa-” she began formally. “I'm still a child,” I said tartly. “There's no need for formal address. I find you in poor taste.” “I'm terribly sorry, Clarissa. I do apologize.” The scorn in the voice of her apology put me fairly into a fury. “What is it that you wish, Miss Cleves?” In my tension I stood up at the library table and slammed shut the books I had before me. “I took the liberty of having the maids bring water for our baths tonight before they left. I suggest you take advantage of it before it cools-in my quarters. I will assist you, of course.” “I need no assistance,” I said levelly. “As your governess, Clarissa, permit me to be the judge of that.” “Suppose I do not permit you, Miss Cleves,” I said coldly. “Then,” she said bluntly, “I will have to advise the Marquis of your behavior with your brother in your bedroom on that famous evening.” “Your stratagems are rather crude.” “But workable,” she said lightly. “Shall I expect you in my rooms shortly?”