By Jen
{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in August 2010 }
It seems to me now as if the path I have travelled was one of inevitability. Looking back I see that to think I had any power over what would eventually become of me was a conceit, and required me to wilfully ignore the influence of the unseen hand that guided me for so long. But at the time I was a foolish girl and I did just that, and you will see how, eventually, I became aware of just how totally my destiny had been dominated by another.
*****
My family were never especially wealthy, but we did bear a proud name, from which we inherited a fine house, and the obligation to project a certain outward grandness. Truth be told, the country about our house in the Limousin was poor, and many of the other great houses and châteaux in these parts were now crumbling ruins. A wave of misfortune seemed to have passed over the great families hereabouts these last hundred years, with whole families sickening and dying of unexplained maladies, leaving their estates to ruin. But our house at least still stood, and within it’s walls our family lived our lives in spite of the rot and decay that seemed to be slowly swallowing up all the lands about us.
That is not to say we knew nothing of misfortune. My mother passed away when I was young, a loss my father never quite recovered from. I have only the vaguest recollections of her, and my sister Severine, three years younger than I, remembers nothing. Father loved us as well as he could, but was not an overly affectionate man, and with only my sister for company I recall the house being a lonely place. Father recognized his shortcomings, and must have felt the best thing he could do to raise us well was to remarry, and so when I was ten years old he announced that we would be gaining a stepmother.
I met her for the first time the night father announced the engagement to us. He had called my sister and me into the library, where he spent much of his time working on one or other of his histories. He was seated upon an armchair, and standing beside him was a tall young woman whom I had never seen before. I was surprised to see a visitor in our house after dark, as we had had no guests at dinner, and none had been announced at the door.
“Genevieve, Severine, I would like you to meet Mademoiselle Catherine. She is to become my wife the Madame Marmontel, and your stepmother.”
Father beamed widely, and motioned for us to come a little closer. The lady was tall and slim, and had a statuesque quality of stillness about her that seemed striking in someone still young. She looked first at Severine, then turned her eyes upon me, and as she did I was transfixed. Never had I seen such beauty! Gathered upon her head her dark hair was full and luxurious, and her skin of her face had a milky smoothness accentuated by full pink lips. Her long lashes batted once as she cast her gaze over us, and her darkly-lashed eyes twinkled with a smile as she met my gaze. She moved towards us sinuously, her long skirt swishing, and bent a little at the waist to bring her face down to my height. As my father gazed weakly on, she placed her alabaster hands on my cheeks and kissed me sweetly on the lips, before treating Severine to the same greeting.
“I hope to get to know the two of you very much better after I come to live with you,” she said. “We shall have such fun together.”
That night I lay awake with my head swimming with thoughts of the future, and with apprehension at what this strange and exciting woman would bring to our home. I could never have imagined the strange and wondrous things that she would bring upon our house.
*****
In due course the wedding came and went, and our new stepmother became as much a part of our lives as our governess and the few maids we had about the house. She treated father kindly, and in return he seemed quietly besotted with her. Satisfied that his daughters were in good hands, he retired more and more often to his studies and his writings, and some days we would not see him at all, as he became in the habit of taking his meals in the library whenever he was engrossed.
Our stepmother was a lady of unusual habits herself. In keeping with the languid, almost luxurious demeanor which she projected she rose late, coming down well after midday most often. And she often seemed lethargic and distracted during the daylight hours. After dark, however the contrast could not have been more vivid, and she would even call for her horse late at night, and wrapping a thick velvet cloak about her, would disappear into the night, riding side-saddle at a gallop. Thinking back now, it was odd that father should have indulged such behaviour, but he was lost in his quill and his books.
It was only slowly that the cracks in our family’s veneer of normality began to show, and dark and hungry things began to stir beneath the surface. The first inkling I had was in my thirteenth year, when my nights began to be disturbed by visions of growing unease and intensity.
I still shared my chamber with my sister at that age, although her presence was to be little comfort to me in my nightmares. At first it was nothing but an odd sensation as I crossed over from the waking world into dreaming. I would feel as if I were falling, being dragged down into my bed by a strong current, a sensation I would barely recall when I woke. But as they continued, I became aware that as I was pulled under a cloud of hot dark silk wrapped and billowed around me, tangling my limbs and blocking my sight. If I struggled it only pulled tighter, and wrapping silken bolts around me, held me fast. Incapacitated by this faceless force, I tried to call out, but when I opened my mouth, the black thing invaded my mouth and stoppered me. Thus assaulted and overcome, I would wake with a rush and find my night dress soaked with a cold sweat, while Severine slumbered in ignorance of my distress.
Often I lay awake for a long while after these episodes, afraid to sleep in case the dream overtook me once more. Our young governess Mademoiselle Courtauld slept in the room across the hall, but I feared to move from my bed, and besides, what power could she wield over nightmares? In the darkness of my bed chamber, and seemingly alone in the world it was no easy task to soothe myself from the terror of the awful dream. Every shadow seemed to conceal menace, and I imagined I saw things move in the corner of my eye.
In a sane world, such fears are unfounded, for in reality nothing lurks in the shadows of the night, but alas I was to learn that for me such fears were justified. As I lay in my bed after one of my night horrors, casting a fearful glance around the room, I was suddenly overcome by a dizzying sensation as if swooning. The room swam, and the shadows about me became like liquid, flowing and swirling. Struggling to find a point upon which to focus, my attention fell on the door of my wardrobe, which was standing ajar. Only the shadows within it seemed immune to the sickening motion of the rest of the room, and I sat up and got unsteadily to my feet to move towards it. As I did, the darkness within the wardrobe swelled, and blew a warm breeze that sent a shiver across my sweat-soaked skin. With the rest of the room still writhing, I glided numbly into the safe darkness of the wardrobe, closing the door after me.
Once within, my head cleared, and I took stock of the situation. Either side of me, clothes hung harmlessly, and I reached out and touched the bare wooden sides. All appeared normal, although it was preternaturally dark, and I could not tell if my eyes were open or not. After standing a moment in this state, I imagined I felt something brush delicately against the back of my hand, though I had not moved. Fear rose again in my stomach. I felt a feather-light touch on my cheek, and turned to see if I could feel what had touched me. There was nothing there. Frozen I stood, still thinking I had imagined it. But after a moment I felt a flurry of light caresses up the back of my legs and thighs under my night dress. I reached for what could have touched me, but there was nothing, and as I did I felt another wave travel up from my wrists, along the inside of my arms, and across my chest. It was warm within the dark wardrobe, and even though the cause was unknown, the touches were not unpleasant. Vainly I felt for what could be causing them, but even as I did a pattering of them flowed from the back of my scalp, down the back of my neck and down my back, passing lightly over my buttocks. I realized that these touches were passing directly over my skin, underneath my night dress, and the impossibility of it sent a little spurt of fear inside me.
Almost as if feeding on my new fear, the touches returned, swelling and dividing. They flowed over my naked skin, and I trembled at the pleasure of it, even as my stomach sank in terror. I braced myself against the wooden walls of the wardrobe, and concentrated on the caresses. They followed the curves of my body, a wave passing from the soles of my feet up my legs, swirling around my inner thighs and passing up the cleft of my buttocks, shockingly tickling my anus for the briefest of moments before growing firmer on my lower back, almost like hands pressing. Then it was soft and ephemeral again, splitting and passing around both sides of my waist and caressing the soft skin of my belly, joining and moving as a wave up my chest and delightfully stimulating the sensitive nipples of my small breasts. Now there were waves of tickles and caresses all over me, and I tilted my head back as they played wonderfully up my soft throat, while another wave worked it’s way down from my belly button, flowing teasingly and warmly over my pubis and finding it’s way between my thighs to pulsate deliciously against my virgin parts.
My fear was rapidly becoming forgotten as I became lost in the pleasurable sensations flowing over me, but an unmistakable sensation of hot breath in my ear tweaked a rush of fearful juices inside. In response the flurrying caresses redoubled, and their attentions upon my breasts became firmer, while a cascade of featherlight touches played on my clitoris and a languid finger of stimulation traveled wetly up and down my labia, teasing them apart. I became aware of a force gripping both my wrists as I braced myself against the interior of the wardrobe, and the breath in my ear returned and slid downwards over my neck, and I imagined it felt as if a forked tongue would, flickering on my skin. Now I could definitely make out some of the flutters on my body coalescing into firm hands, which clasped me about my waist. With my head still flung back and my back arched the tongue slid up my throat, and waves of pleasure flowed and played all over my skin. Suddenly the tongue on my naked throat seemed to grow and become a hot gaping maw, and I felt a sharp pain like two long needles piercing me and felt wet blood begin to flow.
I shot straight upright in my bed, almost crying out in pain. My hand clutched to my neck, but found no wound, and in the moonlight I could see Severine slumbering idyllically in her bed. This time my sweat was hot and my night dress clung to me wetly. Yet I shivered, and pulling the bedclothes tight about me I sat fearfully until dawn crept into the room and banished the shadows at last.
*****
As horrifying and bewildering at this incident was, I came to be strangely glad of it. For its coming heralded the end of my other less graphic but more constant nightmares. I came to regard it as some kind of odd fever that passed over me, a strange rite of puberty and imagined that such things were a common enough secret amongst girls my age.
Life assumed a pleasant enough routine for us, although many about us were not so lucky. The cooper’s daughter was taken by a wasting illness, as was our coachman’s pretty young wife. Most miserable of all was a string of grisly murders that occurred, including several young boys and girls found dreadfully mutilated, as was the local magistrate, whose pitiful disemboweled corpse was found in the road.
I paid little heed to most of this, and the ever-lovely Mademoiselle Courtald indulged me by trying to shield us from much of the worst news. I got most of the local gossip from my stepmother, to whom I had grown a strength of attachment and fondness greater than I had thought I would. She in return provided an abundance of affection to both of us girls, and seemed to have developed a warm friendship with Mademoiselle Courtald as well.
I remember well one sunny afternoon some year and a half after my nightmares stopped, when all four of us took the trap down to the river. There was a small eyot where willow trees grew, and the river on the near side was shallow enough to afford access. The coachman had driven us, and rolling up his breeches he carried Severine and then myself through the shallows on his back. stepmother had ridden her own splendid black mare, and Mademoiselle Courtald climbed onto it with her to splash across to the island. We spent a delightful afternoon there, wading in the river and exploring the little island.
“Mama, come pick some flowers with us,” I entreated her, dragging at her hand. She sat bonnet-less under a large tree, where she had been since we arrived.
“No, my dear, this warm afternoon has quite sapped my energies, why don’t you and Severine go on without me.” She smiled her lovely smile at me and squeezed my hand. I could see she was right, the sun had caused her to wilt visibly since setting out. Mademoiselle seemed equally given to lethargy today, and lay with her head in stepmother’s lap.
“The ride home is tiring,” she said, “and if I am to make it back to the house at all I shall need to have a little more wine here with Mademoiselle before we return.” We had opened a bottle from our cellars on arriving, and the older women had just opened the second for themselves.
“But find me a pretty bouquet, my darlings,” and my sister and I happily bustled off to do her bidding.
We spent some time gathering meadow flowers from the sunny side of the eyot, and had both managed an arrangement that we thought would please our stepmother, idly chatting while we did. The topic of our governess had come up, and I was surprised to here Severine confide:
“She sleepwalks, you know!”
“Does she? How do you know?”
“I saw her,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“You liar,” I scoffed.
“It’s true, I saw her just the other night. I was woken by the sound of a horse in the courtyard, and got out of bed to see.”
I had been moved down the hall to my own room by this age, and would not have known if she was out of bed or not, so I urged her to continue.
“I couldn’t see the horse or rider, but while at the window I heard Mademoiselle’s door open and close. As silently as possible, I peeked out of my own door and that’s when I saw her walking down the hall towards the stairs in her night gown and bare feet.”
“Where was she going?” I asked
“I don’t know,” Severine shook her head, the sunlight glinting off her long golden tresses. “But she didn’t come back, so I went back to bed and fell asleep. Do you think we should ask her about it?”
“No,” I replied, “she might feel embarrassed.”
“I suppose so.” My sister took my words at face value, but in reality I was very curious to find out for myself where our governess went in the dark of the night, and didn’t fancy my little sister tagging along if I was to follow her.
Satisfied with our flower picking I told Severine I was going back, while she elected to stay and pick a few more. And perhaps just as well, for I beheld the most unexpected thing on my return. Although not making any great attempt at stealth, I approached stepmother and Mademoiselle from behind a concealing wall of willow boughs, coming upon them unnoticed. I expected to find them sitting together under the tree as they were when I left, and in a way I did. But Mademoiselle’s head was no longer in mama’s lap, but instead her face was pressed close to my stepmother’s, and their lips were locked in a passionate kiss.
Shocked, I stared for some time from my place of concealment and watched the two beautiful women in this most unconventional embrace. Stepmother had Mademoiselle pulled closely to her, and she held her with one hand to her waist, and another holding her cheek. Mademoiselle clasped her arms tightly around mama’s body, and moved rhythmically as if trying to press herself closer. Their lips were locked together and their tongues played sensually on each other. I could see the wet pink of the tongues sliding and exploring together, and thought how luscious it must be to play in the mouth of another so.
I must admit, I found the sight exceptionally arousing, which shocked me. Something about the way the two women sensuously enjoyed each other’s mouths was intensely erotic, and I dithered for a long while before coming to my senses. Only the thought of explaining the scene, and my voyeurism, to Severine finally encouraged me to retreat a little, then approach more noisily. As I did I saw stepmother’s dark eyes flutter open in mid-kiss and look smilingly in my direction. She broke off the kissing, and the two women arranged themselves into a more decorous scene for my arrival. By the time I had emerged from behind the drooping willow branches there was no sign of what they had been up to, and the prompt return of Severine gave me cover to hide my obvious fluster.
My sister led us in presenting our bouquets to our stepmother, and she received them gaily, praising us both and kissing us on the cheek. Soon after, we waved the coachman back out to the eyot, and duly made off for home.
Mademoiselle sat opposite me in the trap, and although I could not meet her eye the whole way, my eyes kept straying to her lips and mouth. I imagined what it would feel like to touch those lips with mine, and part them with my tongue to meet her own within. She sat primly upon her seat, but as I watched her I thought of the secret I knew, and of the daring, provocative and lustful woman I knew lay beneath. I felt sure that whatever she could be secretly leaving her bed for must be enticing indeed.
Continue on to Chapter 2
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