“Please don’t stop,” Marjorie said again, her inability to sit still nothing to do with the rocking, jolting wagon. Her body felt strange, like her gown was a full size too small, her breasts sensitive, her skin warm and prickling.
Janet smiled and leaned back against her seat. “I won’t. Prepare yourself, my dear.”
Her guardian was just so sensual. As Janet had taken off her hood to travel, her unbound hair fell to the small of her back like liquid flames. Her green eyes were glittering, and the red velvet gown with silver embroidery she wore had tucked up around one slender thigh, offering a glimpse of stocking and satin garter. Would her skin be as soft to touch as it looked? Was the bush between her legs the same hue as her hair?
Swallowing hard against the shamefully lewd thoughts, Marjorie forced a smile. “I’m ready.”
“Hmm. Where was I? Oh yes. An ode to being stroked between my legs. I often bring myself to release when alone, but it really is quite delicious when a lover does it. Do you touch yourself? I daresay you must. A body has needs.”
She blushed. “I…ah…”
Janet frowned. “Marjorie. Never say you’ve been denying yourself that.”
“It’s sinful,” she protested weakly. “The punishment was ten lashes.”
“Bah. If you don’t know your own body, what you like and dislike, how can you guide a husband? They must be instructed kindly but firmly, so when it is time for bed, it is something you delight in, not dread. An ill-prepared woman is one who will feel pain. Besides. If God did not intend for women to feel pleasure, He would not have furnished us with our own special little pearl.”
“Our what?”
Again, that husky laugh echoed in the wagon. “Pleasure pearl. That small bud between your legs with no other purpose than making you feel good. Forget everything else; this is all the evidence required that God truly loves us.”
Marjorie blinked in confusion. “I don’t…I don’t know what you speak of. I’ve only touched my breasts. Nowhere else. Apart from bathing, but that was too swift to feel anything.”
“That must be remedied at once.”
Excitement flared, so strong Marjorie almost whimpered. “You mean…”
“I mean,” said Janet, her eyes darkening to emerald as she flicked her lips with the tip of her tongue, “if you wish, I shall offer instruction on how to touch yourself and gain release.”
“Yes! Er…yes, please. I would like that.”
“Well then, my eager little student, raise your gown so we might begin.”
Marjorie gripped the folds of her kirtle and gown, which were once cream colored but now more gray tinged after frequent wearing and sponging…then stilled. If she raised them, Janet would see her bare thighs. They weren’t long and sleek and smooth but short, plump, and dimpled. Not to mention her rounded, fleshy belly. Would Janet be dismayed like the prioress and nuns had been, always advising Marjorie to fast, to work harder in the gardens, to walk another circle of the convent?
“I must warn you,” she said miserably. “I am—”
“Delicious. Curved and ripe,” replied Janet softly. “The way your hips sway and breasts bounce…I am envious. Dale to your hill. But whether we are tall and slender or petite and plump, we are all worthy of love, respect, and hours of tongue appreciation. Now, be a good lass and lift that gown.”
Marjorie shuddered, both soothed and stirred by the kind but unmistakable command, the avid interest in Janet’s gaze. “Very well.”
Slowly, awkwardly, she gathered all layers of fabric and lifted them to her knees, then higher, as heat scorched across her cheekbones. How difficult this was.
“Spread your thighs, my dear,” said Janet gently. “At once.”
Taking a deep breath, she obeyed, and cool air ruffled the thick tangle of brown curls covering her mound. A new scent teased her senses, and she wrinkled her nose at the unusual spiced muskiness of it.
Oh no. The scent came from down there.
Embarrassed, Marjorie glanced up at Janet. Yet there was no dismay or disgust there, only smiling approval. “What should I do now?”
“Stroke yourself. Feel how soft your inner thighs are.”
But her hands remained attached to her gown, seemingly unable to break free from the hold of convent life. “I can’t,” she choked out, bracing herself for a scolding.
Instead, Janet nodded sympathetically. “You think I don’t understand what is swirling around that pretty little head of yours, but I do. Years of enforced shame. Of being told your body wasn’t beautiful and needed to be corrected. Of being denied what it craved. This first time, it might be easier if I showed rather than told you.”
Marjorie’s eyes widened. “You would touch me? Guide my hand?”
“If you wish. Come and sit in front of me.”
As if in a dream, she moved across the swaying wagon and settled herself between Janet’s splayed thighs, her head resting on Janet’s shoulder. It was the strangest thing in the world sitting so close to another woman, her back pressed hard against breasts, her body encircled by another. And yet it felt wonderful. She’d never felt so warm and safe. So cared for. More importantly, she’d chosen to do this.
Marjorie held out her right hand, and Janet covered it with her own. Then her guardian gently pushed both down between Marjorie’s legs, gliding back and forth along her inner thigh, brushing the crisp hair between her legs but not parting it.
A soft whimper escaped her lips, and her hips jerked, trying to force touch to her aching mound.
Janet tsked.
