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.
“No one will come in. Take off your dress,” I was told.
The sunlight came softly into her room and made a haze of all, casting its milky shine through the dusty curtains. One is not of course ever flustered at undressing in front of another of one’s own sex, but perhaps some flickering of intuition told me of something that I could not have expressed.
“Let me help you, dear,” she murmured and with that her fingers were busy all about me so that in no time at all I stood in my chemise. “Take this off, too,” came her words. When I did so, my bubbies-already proud and firm- were revealed. Her eyes opened slightly in admiration, which of course pleased me. My titties had already grown well and would not have scorned the title of pumpkins, the skin velvet smooth and rich, and proud to display my strawberry nipples. That at least is what my stepmother called them while gently tweaking the tips until my face grew flushed and I felt them stiffen. “How well they come up,” she whispered, “shall I show you something nice?”
I nodded, my cheeks suffused. There was a hot feeling in my eyes as she drew me towards the bed, lay down suddenly upon her back with her legs dangling over the edge and pulled me upon her so that I stumbled and fell between her stockinged legs. Holding me so, she gazed up at me quite dreamily and cupped my face in her hands.
“What a beauty you are becoming,” she murmured and then so adjusted herself with a supple movement of her body that my nipples came upon her own. “There-is that not nice?” she whispered. Her lips were immediately under mine and I could scarce speak for excitement. Slipping one hand beneath my chin and so keeping my mouth directed to hers, she stroked with the other down my back. I wore by then only my drawers, white stockings and strap-over shoes such as had just come into fashion. Our nipples tingled together and brushed like rubbery thorns, for I can think of no other description for the feeling. Without speaking further then, she pouted her lips prettily and brushed them lightly all about my own, making me feel quite swoony. Our breaths intermingled. My breasts seemed to swell. “I have been longing to kiss you,” she whispered against my mouth, this being said in such a soft, seductive tone that I moved my arms around her neck and felt distinctly the burr of thick curls around her pussy pressing into mine through our drawers.
Did I like it, I was asked, and I nodded as best I could in my posture, felt my face suffused still, though with excitement rather than embarrassment, and a nice tingling in my belly. Never having done such a thing before, the richness and warmth of her body felt superb under mine.
“I want to teach you. Will you let me?” she husked.
I knew not the real meaning of her words, but the helpless wonder in my eyes spoke for me. Tremulously I felt her fingers pulling on the ties of my drawers which she then began to wrinkle down. I started a little at that, but she purred something incomprehensible into my ear and then worked them so quickly down that in a trice my nudity was pressed into the cotton of her drawers where I could more distinctly feel the hump of her cunny. Then she pressed me up a little so that I had to use my hands to support myself and gaze down upon her.
“Can you feel mine better?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, quite in a daze, but much excited. I could not resist wriggling a little which pleased her for she laughed softly.
“I like doing it through my drawers and so will you, for that is how I mean you to be fondled first, Clara. Keep your belly pressed in tightly to me while I keep my legs open. Now I shall teach you to kiss. Part your lips a little and protrude your tongue into my mouth, then you will feel my own. Move it all around so that I can feel it.”
I gurgled, I panted. What I was experiencing was so beautiful and unbelievable that all the world’s other pleasures seemed as naught to this. Her tongue, wet and long, coiled about my own, causing me the most exquisite sensations as our cunnies ground together. Hers, being veiled, exuded a slight moisture which seeped through her