Pride

Brunette

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing I believe.”

Mary Hadley, a thirty three year old brunette was sitting on the sofa in her aunt’s front parlour at the time, waiting for her husband to return from taking their oldest daughter, Angela to boarding school.

“Was Angela too prideful to remain in day school, then?” Jane responded, looking up at her niece through steely grey pupils.

“No, you know that John and I need some time alone.”

“Does Angela know?” Jane queried, scrutinising Mary carefully, taking in the dark midi length skirt, the prim blouse, the conservative black stockings and those terribly boring, sensible shoes.

“John will explain it all to her.” Mary said thinking how John was so much better than Mary at explaining things. It was a no-brainer, him taking Angela to the school. He would explain it all in the car.

Mary was sure that John could make boarding school sound like heaven to their eleven year old daughter. She hoped he would be discrete. In actual fact Mary’s nerves could not take any more of the girl’s clumsy ways and she was more than happy to follow the family tradition of boarding schools.

John had been far more reluctant, but Mary would brook no argument. Angela was going and that was all there was to it. Mary wanted another child and Angela was simply in the way. She was ready and John had just had the most enormous pay rise, so that they could afford both the boarding school fees and re-equipping the nursery.

It had been very good of Jane to put them all up while the house was redone, particularly so, since Jane lived so much closer to the school than Mary. The visit had provided a wonderful cover, as Angela loved her Auntie Jane dearly and always really enjoyed any stay at Primrose Cottage.

And after another two weeks of hot sex with John, Mary was bound to be back to that wonderful state of motherhood she had felt when carrying Angela.

“Will he really?” Aunt Jane replied, putting down her knitting and gazing across at the young mother quite sharply. “I see. Now do tell me more about pride.”

“By all I have ever read, I am convinced that pride is very common indeed and that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of complacency on the score of some quality or other.”

“And what comes after pride?” Jane queried, already feeling slightly irritated by her garrulous niece, but maintaining a neutral tone.

“A fall, I suppose.”

“Are you proud of your discourse?”

“I am pleased to have set down my opinion.”

“Do you have lots of other qualities to entertain me and my little circle with?” Aunt Jane added dangerously.

“I have lots of other qualities,” Mary beamed innocently. “It comes with the prospect of motherhood.”

Mary looked towards the window. She could see that the first Dog Roses were flowering in the hedge, although the petals were still furled and pink. She thought about how she used to play in the back garden here as a child. In early June the Spotted Orchids would be starting to appear on the boggy ground before you reached the open fields that backed onto the cottage garden. And, she recalled, over the back hedge in the short turf, a white foam of Heath Bedstraw would be joining the lilac spikes of Heath Speedwell.

And, yes, down by the stream, where livestock would have churned a patch of red clay to exactly the right consistency by now, half a dozen swallows would be circling, landing, taking up beakfuls of clay to build their nests, getting ready for motherhood.

“You are quite a vain creature, aren’t you?”

Jane’s rather abrupt and sardonic comment brought Mary out of her reverie.

“No I am proud of who I am. Vanity and pride are very different things, though the words are often used synonymously.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. A person may be proud without being vain.”

“Are you proud without being vain?”

“I try to be. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

“And what should I think of you?”

“I would like to think you were proud of your niece as she considers adding to her family.”

“So those of us not blessed with your rutting abilities are devoid of this sense of pride?”

“I didn’t say that, Jane.”

“No. I said it. And do please remember who you are talking to.”

“Why do you insist on this ridiculous notion of being my “Aunt Jane”? You are only three years older than me.”

“Am I not your aunt?”

“You are.”

“Is my name not Jane?”

“It is.”

“Then logic dictates that I am your Aunt Jane, does it not?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Then kindly employ a little common sense and do try to please your hostess,” Jane snapped. “It is good manners after all; and I believe you pride yourself in those.”

“I do.”

“Well then?”

There was a pause while Mary considered whether to make this concession. Jane stared at her niece fixedly as the younger pendik escort woman put her tea cup down and clasped her hands in her lap. Jane could see that Mary was stealing herself to make this little surrender and smiled encouragingly.

“Sorry… Aunt Jane.”

“That’s much better, Molly. Now where were we?”

“Molly — what do you mean ‘Molly’?”

“That was always my pet name for you; don’t you remember?”

“I remember it only too well,” Mary shuddered, recalling the sharp sound of Jane’s voice summoning her to the study that Mary’s father had vacated for the student some fifteen years before: the study that had become Jane’s little playground and Mary’s version of teenage hell, after Jane caught her necking and more with John late one night.

“Well, you will always be Molly to me.”

“I would prefer it if you used my proper name.”

“Molly is a very proper name. Your step father loved it. What did Robert used to call you — Millie- Molly-Mandy?”

Mary shuddered again.

“I always thought your step father to be a perfect gentleman — so discrete in taking his pleasures. And he did leave me this lovely cottage. I never understood how you could dislike Robert so.”

“He was a wicked, wicked man,” Mary practically exploded in her anger. “I was so glad when John took me away and married me abroad away from the whole pack of you.”

“You broke your mother’s heart.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“And yet, you succeeded admirably.”

Mary dabbed at her eyes, feeling tearful. She hated herself for what she had done and yet she had had to get away. It wasn’t her fault.

“I was very sorry that you were cut out of the will as a result of your acting so in haste, but naughty girls who run away have to take the consequences.”

“I am pleased you got the cottage, Aunt Jane. John has enough for us.”

“Your grimace when you say that betrays your lie.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any offense, Aunt Jane.”

“I’m afraid my friends are very sensitive to falsehoods such as that, Molly, especially when they come from naughty little girls like you.”

“I am not a naughty little girl,” said Mary blushing furiously. “I am a married woman and a mother.”

“And a very naughty girl too, at least that’s what I’ve heard your husband say.”

“When on earth did he say that?”

“It was last night just as you got into bed, I believe.”

“Have you been spying on us?”

“No, but the walls in this house are very thin; and your naughty giggle does rather carry.”

“How dare you!” Mary almost shouted at her aunt and got up from the sofa glowering, arms akimbo, preparing to storm out of the room.

“I was trying to read a chapter of Charles de Montesquieu’s Spirit of Laws at the time. I found your noisy sex play most irritating.”

Mary blushed.

“I could not help but agree with Monsieur Charles when he wrote: ‘It would be a very happy thing in an aristocracy if the people, in some measure, could be raised from their state of annihilation’, having to put up with your amoral annihilation in the background.”

“I am sorry Aunt Jane.”

“I should think so too; but sorry is really not enough. I will certainly have to do something about it, before you are too much older. I should never have allowed that wretched man to kiss your neck, all those years ago.”

“It was a jolly good kiss; and he is a splendid lover not a wretched man.”

“He is certainly a noisy lover,” Jane commented dryly.

Mary hid her face in her hands, growing tearful at the shame of Jane’s onslaught.

“And I do believe he reiterated his insinuations about your naughtiness as he reached his climax, did he not?”

Mary nodded her head dumbly, but said nothing.

“I do sometimes wonder at your hypocrisy, young lady,” Jane continued, looking up briefly at her niece and then back to her pattern book to check the count for her next row.

“My hypocrisy?”

“Naughty by night and aspirant Madonna by day — how do you sustain such breathless double standards.”

“Everybody is entitled to their privacy.”

“Every adult may be.”

“I am an adult. I am thirty three.”

“So you are dear; so you are: thirty three and still having the same tantrums, as when you were eighteen.”

“You provoke me so, auntie.”

“You always were tantrum prone. I remember having to take stern action when I lived with your family before going to college.”

Mary remembered it too. She remembered the way Jane used to reduce her to tears with her whiplash words and worse. Jane had made Mary’s eighteenth year quite miserable at times by treating her like a juvenile delinquent. Mary could recall Jane shouting up the stairs and ordering her down to the study evening after evening and the worst days when Mary refused and Jane would send her step-father, Robert up to fetch her.

She remembered the harsh lectures and the slow clearing of the desk. She recalled the bending and the hiking of her skirts. She recollected the way she was sometimes compelled to choose the instrument of chastisement maltepe escort that Jane would use on her naughty little ‘bot-bot’. And all those memories excited her terribly!

“My cross little niece — you haven’t learnt have you, Molly, my sweetheart?”

“Perhaps not, Aunt Jane,” Mary conceded, smiling despite herself at the endearment.

“Now come over here and sit on the footstool. I would like you to help me wind my wool just like you used to.”

“Yes, auntie.”

“That’s a good girl. We can let the adults have the nice chairs when they come round to tea later.”

“The adults?”

“Yes. My friends: Megan Richards and Freda de Las Casas.”

“Oh no; why didn’t you tell me you were inviting them?”

“Because, Molly; naughty little girls are not generally consulted when auntie makes her arrangements for jolly soirees with her friends. Are they?”

“I’m not naughty.”

“I have already given you three proofs of your naughtiness and yet you persist. You are a very stubborn, naughty little girl, Molly.”

“I am not so.”

“Mrs. Richards and Senora de Las Casas might provide a fourth proof and more.”

“Megs and Freddie…” Mary paused seeing the stern look her aunt was giving her. She quailed inside: “Mrs. Richards and the Senora would say anything you asked of them.”

“Given Mrs. Richards was your sixth form teacher when you were the most mischievous girl in class and the Senorita the midwife who sorted you out when you failed singularly to take precautions prior to your flight to Gretna Green, I feel a certain amount of respect is due to them, Molly.”

“It’s been years since I saw either of them,” Mary retorted petulantly.

“I doubt if they’ve forgotten your extremely bad behaviour then. Your mother, bless her soul, let you get away with murder.”

“And sent me away to boarding school for years and years,” Mary grumbled

“As you presumably plan to do with Angela?”

Mary was speechless, caught bang to rights.

“Why do you think you were sent away? Or do you think it was just coincidence?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Petulant and thoughtless: I see the school did not serve you as well as your mother hoped.”

“I’m not thoughtless. Stop taking my words out of context, auntie.”

“I’m proving a point to you, Molly.”

“And what point is that?”

“That you are a very naughty little girl.”

“If you say so, auntie,” Mary sighed, giving in again. Mary was quite amazed at the discomposure her aunt’s repeated insinuations still caused her; but amongst other causes of disquiet, she dreaded the way that Jane seemed to be taking control of Mary’s life again. What had she meant by doing something about John? Oh why hadn’t she told him to be quieter and why was she, herself, so commonly anxious to please her mother’s youngest sister.

“When you were invited here, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know what you mean, auntie?”

“Besides using this as a packing off post for Angela on the way to that wretched boarding school — and she will have bad memories of this house and my apparent betrayal because of that — yes you may well blush, Molly; I do know you intended to use the back bedroom for your uxorious pleasures, and it really was too bad when you faulted my arrangements and moved Angela out of there and yourselves in there.”

“But you gave John and me the little children’s bedrooms.”

“That is because you are both little children, Molly; and you do have shown this by your disrespect at my carefully ordered arrangements, resulting in my having a sleepless night as you seemed to wish to copulate through to dawn.”

“I can’t help loving my husband.”

“I can’t help wishing your love was a little more discrete. Take your step-father for instance…”

“Never”

“That was your loss. I took him and he was wonderful. Robert had me over that very sofa you are sitting on.”

“Ugh!” Mary stood up and looked at the sofa with distaste.

“Sit down and don’t make a scene.”

“I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t try to shock me so.”

“You are far less easily shocked than you would have me believe, child.”

“Even so…”

“Even so, I believe that your step daddy was all excited by the way I had caned you for the first time. Do you remember?”

“I do remember you caning me,” Mary said frostily.

“And you deserved it. All that secretive kissing with John in the field — as if you were grazing cattle: such utterly shameless bovine behaviour.” “And you being fucked over the sofa by your sister’s husband is better?”

“Such naughty language: I may have to wash your mouth out with soap for that later Millie Molly Mandy.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me child. You know better than that. And you know that I had to cane you very hard to excite him. In fact I had to use far more force than I would have wished just to make sure your step-daddy needed to have his willy feel nice.”

“No wonder he was so eager to drag me from my room for you to brutalise.”

“You kartal escort loved every moment of it, Molly: from the first command to strip to letting your warm cunny come in your auntie’s cupped hand like a good little girl. And your step father loved watching his little Millie Molly being introduced to Sapphic pleasure.”

“How could you!”

“I think you enjoyed it most of all when Auntie used to take her panties off and put them in your mouth so that your mummy wouldn’t hear just how her naughty little girl was being punished.” Mary blushed again and started to tear up.

“I very reasonably hoped to have all my expectations of pleasure realised, having ascertained that your dear darling step-daddy was a lusting oaf who craved his little Millie Molly,” Jane continued relentlessly.

“I can’t bear this.”

“And yet you seem eager to hear more, Molly. Does it excite your naughty girly place?”

“Yes, auntie.”

“Does it make your cunny-wunny all dampy-wampy?”

“Yes, it does.”

“And does Molly like auntie making her pussy-wussy all moisty-woisty?”

“Oh auntie! Can your little girl come?”

“Don’t be so nasty, young lady. A scheme in which every part promises delight can never be successful.”

“But Auntie Jane…”

“General disappointment will only be warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation.”

“Are you vexed now, Auntie Jane?” Asked Mary, looking rather perplexed at Jane’s decision to hold her there, little realising that by accepting the restraint she was allowing herself to be seduced into obedience. But, as Mary looked towards Jane, who was now engaged with the complicated knitting pattern again, she began to suspect that every power of pleasing would fail her, real or imaginary, when it came to Jane’s insidious demands.

“I was certainly vexed last night with your rather exaggerated propensity for little Johnnie’s willy. Do you think it would make his willy hard to see you being spanked by Auntie Jane? What would you say to him? Tell auntie all about it.”

“I’d say ‘is your willy hard now, John’,” Mary said quietly looking down at her shoes guiltily, embarrassed to the hilt.

“Whose willy, Molly?”

“Johnnie’s willy, auntie.”

“See, you can be a good little girl, but do look at the wool. I don’t want it getting all twisted. Tell me all about Johnnie’s little willy.”

“It’s not little.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You are not going to see my husband’s willy.”

“Such a selfish girl!”

“I’m not selfish. He’s my husband.”

“He’s my guest — my disobedient guest too. A naughty little boy who deserves to have Auntie Jane pull his pyjama trousers down and to be taken over auntie’s lap.”

“You wouldn’t… would you?” Mary looked up at her aunt tremulously, already knowing the answer.

“What would you do to stop me, Molly?” Jane countered. “I think you are finding this very arousing.”

“I am not so.”

“Pull your skirt up and show me that your panties aren’t damp then. If you do it nicely Auntie Jane will let you put your hands in your panties while she tells you a very naughty story.”

“A very naughty story. auntie?”

“Yes. One to entertain us both while I knit the sleeve of nice cardigan; And I know you like your bedtime stories, Molly.”

“I’m not going to bed, Aunt Jane.”

“Little girls need their afternoon naps.”

“But, I don’t want to go to bed.”

“I’ll bring Mrs. Richards up to see you after tea. She may even bring her nice big toy willy for you to play with and so you can make her feel nice, just like she did when you were an innocent sixth former. Little Johnnie would love to hear that story I’m sure. It might even make his little cocky big and hard for auntie to play with.”

“You wouldn’t!” Mary blanched.

“You do remember don’t you, Molly? Would auntie telling that story get you into terrible trouble with your dear loving hubby? Would he like to know how his virginal wife-to-be was so especially nice to Mrs. Richard’s nice wet hole, in her lovely sixth form school uniform underneath her teacher’s desk? You know Mrs. Richards used to tell me how nice it felt. She loved the way Hadley Major could be so obedient, slipping her school knickers down and handing them to her teacher for the famous Richards’ collection.”

“Oh my god!”

“Do not blaspheme girl.”

“Sorry auntie.”

“And you know what else Molly?”

“No, auntie.”

“Apparently Mrs. Richards used to love sitting back and spreading her legs after you’d taken her grown-up panties down. She loved watching you bend your head down and blush, before using both your hands to part the sex lips; and, most of all, she loved the way you would press your face against her mound – the smooth skin of your cheek and the hot wet little tongue starting to lick around the sensitive puckered skin surrounding her womanly cunt. Wouldn’t hubby like to know what a naughty little lesbian schoolgirl you were once, Molly Hadley?”

“No, he would not.”

“Your blush gives the lie to that, pet. And I’ll bet he would like to know how your clever little kisses landed on Mrs. Richard’s cunny and how that wicked little tongue entered your teacher with its hot slippery-slappery tip lapping and probing, making all sorts of rude sucky and slurpy noises?”

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