Russell Smith - Ecstasy on fire

There were many afternoons, endless mornings, and especially evenings when Mrs. Staunton's, "Nellie, I won't be needing you today, or whatever, darling," would hurt her deeply.

It wasn't that Madame Andre pushed her around in terms of doing work in the house. All she had to do was mostly care for Melissa's apartment, Melissa's things, clothing, makeup, et cetera, her huge collection of shoes, negligees, robes, gowns, and especially her lingerie.

Everything Melissa wore, including her panties, naturally, her silken nylons, her brassieres, had to be washed by hand.

Nellie did this chore lovingly. She loved it. Before washing some flimsy article, she would rub it all over her face, sometimes, rubbing Melissa's panties over her naked breasts, sometimes between her open thighs, over her wet cunt.

She would lick and sniff Melissa's high heels, her slippers, and especially her brassieres, panties and other intimate articles that touched Melissa's delicious nakedness, for example, the short chemise.

So it happened one afternoon that Nellie was doing this personal washing. She usually took the articles of clothing Melissa wore up into her own room to wash them. Here she was certain no one like Madame Andre or George, and certainly never Maurice, would interrupt her or invade her privacy.

That was another thing that differed so vastly from the aupair job with the bourgeois family in Paris. There she had no privacy at all. If it wasn't the brats in her small room, it was the wife, the husband, the delivery boy, the wife's relatives, the husband's children from a previous marriage.

In the chateau outside of Cannes, Nellie had so much privacy she couldn't believe it. And she loved it, she loved the attitude these people had about privacy.

Nude, wearing only a pair of high heeled bedroom slippers that Melissa had insisted on buying for her when Nellie had admired them in one of the boutique windows, her long hair down to her waist, her face not made up the way she liked it, in other words, perfectly natural, came a light tapping at her door.

She turned her head. Now who could that be? It most assuredly was not Madame Andre, George or Maurice. Who else was there?

Grabbing a thin robe she wore when no one else was around because she would have died of embarrassment being seen in it, this remnant from back in England, an item of clothing to which she was very attached for sentimental reasons and would not part with in exchange for diamonds, the 'tweenie' hurried to the door.

"Yes?" she asked, in her usual breathless voice, "who is it, please?"

"Melissa," came the reply.

Nellie could have dropped dead, as the saying goes.

"Nellie," said Melissa Staunton in a soft voice, "am I disturbing you?"

Nellie didn't know what to do. Finally, gathering herself together, she said, "Mrs. Staunton, I can be down in seconds. I'm indisposed."

"I understand, dear," said Melissa, "it's only that I wanted to know if you had that pair of lavender panties I left for you to rinse out? Do you, my dear?"

Nellie found herself blushing. Only minutes earlier, she'd been rubbing them all over her cunt and then rubbing them in her armpits, then sucking on the crotch, taking almost all of the thin, whispy, gossamer panties into her mouth before sticking them up inside her cunt, then having planned to masturbate with the lavender panties up there before sitting on her private toilet and quietly peeing while the precious panties remained inside.

"Yes, I do," said Nellie, "but they're not quite ready yet, Mrs. Staunton."

"Darling," said Melissa, "I know you're occupied, so why don't you just hand them to me and I'll rinse them out myself and they'll dry quickly," she said.

What should she do?

"They're dripping wet, Mrs. Staunton," said Nellie. "They're in the wash," she added, falling into their natural Cockney accent.

"Well, look, dear, just go get them and wring the poor things out and hand them to me, will you?"

Melissa sounded just a bit impatient.

"Yes, M'mam," Nellie breathed. "One moment, please, Mrs. Staunton."

In a flash, Nellie ran with the panties into the bathroom. There was no time to turn on the water in the sink. So she drowned the poor lavender panties in the toilet bowl, then rinsed them out with warm water from the bidet.

Tucking them into a towel, she ran back to the door. She opened it There was Melissa. She was sitting disconsolately on a small chair facing Nellie's door. She was barefoot. Her long hair was down. She wore a short wrapper around her body and she was naked under it. Upon opening the door, Nellie had a glimpse of Melissa's hairy crotch, her naked breasts.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Staunton."

Melissa looked up. She frowned. "Darling," she said, looking at the old robe Nellie was wearing, so worn, so sad looking no matter how friendly it was to Nellie, it looked more like some rag the dog would drag in.

"Nellie, where in heaven's name did you get that?"

Instantly, Nellie broke out into hot tears.

"It's my favorite," she blurted out, sobbing. "It's from home."

Melissa controlled herself. "Of course, I understand now," she said. "Dry your tears, little one," Mrs. Staunton added. "I understand, and I'm sorry."

Nellie said nothing. She just held out the towel with the precious lavender panties dripping inside the folds.

Melissa held out her arms to Nellie and in seconds the young British girl feel into them, old worn robe and all the new high heeled bedroom slippers and nothing else, this topped off with her long hair hanging down to her waist, her lovely breasts fully exposed, even her pussy hair all tangled and matted and more, her beautiful young body smothered in hot sweat from,her masturbation.

"May I come in, honey?" Melissa asked.

Nellie fell to her knees, embracing Melissa around her naked thighs. She buried her face into Melissa's naked belly. Soon she was sobbing, hot tears wetting Melissa's pussy hairs as the trembling girl, crying her heart out, began kissing the older woman, her fingers in back groping, clutching, caressing and stroking Melissa's naked buttocks, hugging Melissa's groin to her face.

Nellie finally got the courage to glance up. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She climbed to her feet and as she did this, Mrs. Staunton folded the shivering girl into her arms…

As Mrs. Staunton led the trembling Nellie across the room toward the alcove in which the double bed was situated, her heart was pounding. The fact that the shivering, sweat-covered Nellie was stark naked under the old tired bedroom robe she wore, exhilarated Melissa terribly.

Melissa's ripe breasts were throbbing, even hurting, and at first she didn't understand this at all. Melissa wasn't at all accustomed to the many strange, even bizarre sensations that were flooding over her own aroused body.

When Nellie leaned her face close to Melissa's and the older woman felt the wet tears against her own cheek, her heart went out to the young girl.

"Don't cry, my little darling," Melissa said soothingly. "Don't cry. Everything will be all right… soon, Nellie."

Nellie let Mrs. Staunton help her sit down on the edge of the bed. It seemed as if Nellie might be ill or have just suffered some kind of traumatic fall by the way Melissa was handling her, so tenderly, so carefully, full of genuine concern.

"Tell me what it is, Nellie. Tell Melissa what's bothering you," Mrs. Staunton said, hardly conscious of how she'd just referred to herself.

Since their strange and rather unique relationship had begun, Melissa had not quite been able to figure out why she felt so sympathetic to the young English girl.

From first sight, there had been that kind of physical and psychological rapport that is hard to define.