Governess or Practical Miss Lizzie
— Were you thoroughly informed about the additional duties, Miss Frank?
Lizzie lowered her eyes and tried not to blush.
— Yes, Mr. McConnell, I was.
A pause. He examines her.
The estate owner, Mr. James Abraham McConnell, was a man of difficult character, his hardened nature forged in his youth when every penny had to be wrested from the throats of competitors.
Next to him, Lizzie felt particularly defenseless, like a lamb before a jackal.
Mr. McConnell raised his eyebrows and looked skeptically at the pretty creature in the high-necked gray woolen dress.
—
You come from a good family, though I don't know if that adds any value. On one hand, pure blood and all that. But my boy would be better suited with a simple, understanding girl, without any airs, Miss Frank.
— I will do my best, — Lizzie said quietly, having long since made up her mind.
Aunt needed nursing care and supervision, the younger sister's boarding school had long threatened to take extreme measures due to overdue bills, the house was mortgaged and remortgaged, and Papa lived there and drank.
Lizzie struggled as best she could, tried her hand as a milliner's apprentice, pricking her fingers until they were scarred, but never getting a single worthwhile order. It turned out the girl could count quite well, but was terrible at sewing.
She worked as a governess for the numerous Pimbells, whom no one wanted to work for due to the quarrelsome nature of the family's mistress, the portly Mrs. Pimbell. But each time, the money wasn't enough, the bills multiplied.
And when Miss Agnia, the owner of the "Good Servant" agency, offered her this option... the exhausted Lizzie seized it with both hands, hesitating more for propriety's sake for exactly one day and one night.
A simple year of work teaching music to a young gentleman would not bring enough funds to support Aunt and sister. But attached to the music lessons were "additional duties," and they were financially very attractive. Very.
The wealthy merchant Mr. McConnell wanted a respectable, quiet tutor for his younger offspring, who was stepping onto the path of adulthood, so she wouldn't corrupt young McConnell, but rather help him navigate the complexities of nocturnal relations, so agitating to growing minds.
So that young Mr. Benjamin would go off to a private university as a gentleman confidently looking to the future and knowledgeable in female psychology, and not fall under the influence of some singer in his first year—depraved and greedy for his father's hard-earned money—his father decided to hire a sweet governess—a music teacher. As a dual role.
Lizzie imagined the face of the honest head of the family when his son brings a depraved girl into the respectable home and hands Papa long bills from jewelers. She involuntarily snorted.
Mr. McConnell raised an eyebrow with interest.
Lizzie quickly made her face obedient. Someday her habit of fantasizing and daydreaming in the most unexpected situations, as they say, "wherever a thought catches her," would backfire.
— You know, I'm giving you a chance, young miss, — an attentive look — but I would like some guarantees... ahem... of your skill in delicate matters.
It's good he didn't say "mastery," that would require him to turn to a lady of the night, whom no one would accept as a tutor.
Well then.
The girl slowly knelt down and looked questioningly at Mr. McConnell. The man nodded graciously and sat in the armchair.
She crawled about two meters to the feet of the potential employer, carefully holding her hem. The fabric was old, it needed careful handling. And she lowered her fingers onto the crotch of the well-tailored trousers. 3 dollars per meter, Scottish four-thread fabric.
McConnell remained silent, squinting as he examined the clean face, devoid of any makeup.
You need a simple, understanding girl?
Fluttering her eyelashes, Miss Elizabeth Frank shyly raised her eyes. She stroked her palm over the already rising bulge. And carefully began to unbutton the buttons.
When the fabric parted and a medium-length, vein-laden member fell into her hands, Lizzie smiled rapturously, as if she had never seen anything more beautiful.
The main thing was not to overdo it; the estate owner was an experienced player and could catch excessive pretense.
Cautious Lizzie slightly dampened her rapture and gently kissed the not yet fully emerged head.
Several years of Mr. Pimbell's persistent attention had taught her to find her own pleasure in oral caresses; at least it didn't wrinkle her clothes. And the manic suspiciousness of the fat Mrs. Pimbell had developed in the girl a naturally good secretiveness.
No frills for the interview. Simple Lizzie sucked rhythmically and looked up with a pleasantly naive gaze.
The wide shaft moved like a ribbon between her tender lips. Her little tongue underneath softly crossed the shaft left and right, touching the sensitive frenulum.
The man relaxed his lean, bony body and closed his eyes, keeping his hands on the armrests, surrendering completely to the bliss of the girl's silken mouth.
Elizabeth imagined him giving commands authoritatively at his company, looking at his employees like a hawk. She sighed.
Her papa was a lethargic slacker, considered work unworthy of a nobleman and gentleman, but thought it normal to squander money at gambling dens in revelries with friends and actresses.
When one day he let a drunken friend into Lizzie's room to settle a gambling debt, the tearful girl thought over the situation in the morning, cleaned up the traces of the fall from grace so as not to arouse the maid's suspicions, and, wisely not starting an open scandal, quickly found herself a place in the noisy Pimbell family.
Caressing Mr. McConnell turned out to be pleasant. His member was narrow, with a slight, exciting curve, warm and responsive to touch, with a smooth pale pink head. The man didn't move at all and didn't interfere with jerks, hair-pulling, or capricious demands. Perhaps this would be a wonderful place for a not-proud, intelligent girl.
Mr. McConnell's fingers tightened on the armrests, his testicles drew up and gently wrinkled. Exhaling quietly, the man released a stream of dense, slightly viscous semen into Lizzie's mouth. Like morning fasting pudding.
Decent swallows and soft licking to ensure no drops remained to stain the trousers, and Lizzie was already buttoning up the buttons on the relaxed groin.
The man opened his eyes, came alive with his swarthy, predatory face, and smiled, admiring the clean Miss Frank, who modestly lowered her eyes, which had flashed victoriously.
— Well then. Quite satisfactory work. (pause) You're hired, Lizzie. Go to the housekeeper, let him formalize your employment and show you your room.
— Would there be a very small addition to my salary, in case of your regular gracious attention?
The estate owner was a businesslike man and respected the right approach to money.
— I will consider this additional option and give you my decision tomorrow.
Mr. McConnell considered his duties towards the new employee fulfilled and decided to take advantage of his good feeling for a rare afternoon nap, closing his heavy eyelids and immediately snoring.
Carefully rising from her knees, the girl glanced at the new source of funding, let her gaze sweep over the expensive decor of the master's study.
Her relatives would be looked after, and Lizzie herself would live in the comfort of a respectable house. The thought of what a good girl she was illuminated her sweet face from within, making the practical charmer truly beautiful.
The housekeeper turned out to be a cheerful, chatty little fat man, with a noticeable bald spot in his thinning hair, generally pleasant and active, moving in a barely buttoned frock coat.
— Ah, dear Lizzie, may I call you that? Our house has gained new colors with the appearance of your feminine presence. I must confess, I often have no one to talk to.
— Are there girls and women serving in the house?
— Oh, certainly. There are girls. But, how to put it, they are simple country servants. I'm afraid they are not people of our circle at all.
Lizzie's face twitched slightly. The housekeeper himself, Walter Brickett, was not her equal. What's there to say, even Mr. McConnell, let's admit openly, is far from a sir.
The true sir was the father of Lizzie's troublesome but very pure-blooded papa. Pity, grandfather gambled unsuccessfully and quickly burned up from shame.
A bad branch bends low.
Lizzie smiled softly and thanked Mr. Brickett for his hospitality and the small tour of the house. It was time to meet the pupil.
— Benny? Oh, he's playing with friends in the yard. Mr. McConnell is very unhappy with his lower-class friends, but in a year—university, and young Ben will return a true gentleman. For now, let him play. I'll call him; it's an honor for me to serve such a lovely miss.
The little fat man was all beaming and bowing, not at all embarrassed by the inexpensive coarse dress and the hair smoothly pulled back into a bun. Behind all this, one could feel style, confident noble blood, which nothing external could hide.
"An illegitimate mistake of some dissolute young earl," thought Walter, hurrying after young Benjamin, pleased. "A bluestocking, of course, but given our meager opportunities, even such an evening will brighten things up. And she'll be happy that someone looked at her."
Mr. Brickett cheered up even more and was filled with the most rosy premonitions of communication with the sweet, bashful little fool.
In the young gentleman's bright, large room stood expensive new furniture; it was clear the interior had recently been changed to a more adult one suitable for a young man, rather than the old nursery.
The young governess remembered about teaching music and looked around for a piano, didn't find one. "I hope there's an instrument in the house," she thought cheerfully, otherwise it would be somewhat awkward.
Benny flew into the room at full speed, tripped on the threshold, and hopped around, holding his foot in pain.
— Ooo, damn! Good day, Miss... ?
— Miss Elizabeth Frank, you may call me Elizabeth.
— I'm so glad you've come! Papa has been promising you for half a year!
The wise teacher smiled encouragingly.
— Your papa is one who keeps his word. I'm also glad to meet you.
— Will there be a lesson today? — Ben asked hopefully.
— I've just arrived; the porters haven't even brought my things yet. So the first lesson will be tomorrow.
Benjamin's face fell before her eyes.
— But we will certainly have a good lesson tomorrow, so prepare to explore the world of music, — Lizzie smiled dazzlingly, showing small dimples in her cheeks.
The day passed in bustle. Her things were brought. Walter buzzed annoyingly around. She had to hint at being busy and tired. Walter promised a lovely gift tomorrow in honor of her arrival, which would surely lift the governess's spirits, and finally slunk away.
Deciding to take a walk in the garden before bed and a small evening visit to Mr. McConnell, the young lady felt a surge of energy and good mood.
The fresh breeze was invigorating, tousling her strict hairstyle. The simple dress finally warmed her, rather than roasting her like during the day.
The path wound around a small pond in a romantic style and returned to the house.
An unexpected rustle, and Lizzie froze, rapturously holding her breath.
By the pond, a perfect Apollo was drying himself with a towel. Broad shoulders intertwined with muscles, powerful thighs, buttocks round as globes.
The girl blinked and even pinched herself over her lace glove. No, not a mirage of a maiden's imagination.
Apollo became alert and slowly turned around, demonstrating droplets of water near small, dark pebble-like nipples, as well as a mind-boggling trail of hairs running from his navel straight to a tool of outstanding size.
The girl gasped weakly and covered her open mouth with her palm. Right before her eyes, the tool rose, lengthened, and pointed straight at her.
— Girl, — a low, booming voice rang out, — come here. Want me to hug you?
Jumping on the spot from fright, like a cat caught at the cream, Lizzie bolted straight for the house, gathering her cloth shoes on the stone borders of the paths.
He'll hug me, ohh. Such shame. But so handsoooome.
— Ah, it's you? — the gentleman, already preparing for bed, was pleased. He stood by the bed in a light nightshirt to his knees and warm house slippers.
He gently stroked the approaching Lizzie's nose, lips, reached inside her corset. She stoically endured, though the tugging on her nipple inside the tight corset was extremely unpleasant.
Carefully turning and bending the girl over, the elder McConnell waited until she leaned her hands on the bed, then briskly lifted her skirts, throwing them over Lizzie's head.
Pulling down the simple drawers, which had no chance to boast of acquaintance with lace, he spread Lizzie's legs, grabbed her ripe, plump buns, and stretching them apart, squatted down, admiring by candlelight the intimate secrets of Miss Frank.
— A splendid view! A magnificent panorama! Hold it like that with your hands. — the man said enthusiastically, and, leaving Lizzie holding her buttocks open, rustled, pulling something out with a scrape along the floor.
A bright flash and the satisfied muttering of the head of the family.
— Dear Elizabeth, in my free time, you know, I dabble in the newfangled photography. And you are extraordinarily photogenic! All that's missing is a small touch.
He stepped away from the camera, hiking up his nightshirt as he went.
Lizzie felt pleasant stroking, then a soft entry of male dignity into the depths of vice.
The girl imagined Apollo by the pond and moaned softly. McConnell felt the female depths moisten and thrust with his hips, clutching the tender plumpness of the young girl with his claw-like fingers.
— Whore, — the owner suddenly muttered, — a little wet whore. Here you are with your blue, haughty blood. On my cock, even if you were a duchess. Here you go, duchess, aah.
Lizzie was meanwhile in a happy paradise with the beautiful Apollo.
The couple moaned, twitched together, and came sweetly, pressing their lower bodies against each other. Together in body, but separately in dreams.__P_