The Governess

The Governess




The Governess is one of the great classical character creations in literature today. Like some gray wrath of sexual vengeance, Aunt Mary slowly and obscenely corrupts the entire family. No one, nothing is sacred from her abnormal perversions. Her shocking lusts create, of the two children she should shelter, two creatures of excess and depravity. But more—her sensual hunger reaches out to capture and destroy the very fabric of the house that keeps her.

Once again Geoffrey Neal, author of the best selling My First Time, has brought to life a terrifying female of wantonness and vengeance. Bizarre lusts seem to flow from this creature to make of anything normal, doubting, accepting, and finally self-destroying in the wild orgies that follow. Like some haunting vampire of demanding fury, Aunt Mary listens, watches, then strikes with vicious corruption personified. A masterly portrait of a sex ridden shrew determined to destroy the enclosed world about her.



Publié par
Date de parution 10 mai 2013
Nombre de lectures 76
EAN13 9781626575226
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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The Governess

Geoffrey Neal

This page copyright © 2011 Olympia Press.

The Governess is oneof the great classical character creations in literature today. Like some gray wrath of sexual vengeance, Aunt Mary slowly and obscenely corrupts the entire family. No one, nothing is sacred from her abnormal perversions. Her shocking lusts create, of the two children she should shelter, two creatures ofexcess anddepravity. But more—her sensual hunger reaches out to capture and destroy the very fabric of the house that keeps her.

Once again Geoffrey Neal, author of the best selling My First Time, has brought to life a terrifying female of wantonness and vengeance. Bizarre lusts seem to flow from this creature to make of anything normal, doubting, accepting, and finally self-destroying in the wild orgies that follow. Like some haunting vampire of demanding fury, Aunt Mary listens, watches, then strikes with vicious corruption personified. A masterly portrait of a sex ridden shrew determined to destroy the enclosed world about her.

Chapter One. MARTIN

I'm a grown man now, successful in finance and love. The old house is gone, with the two warring specters who lived and struggled there. The family is scattered; mother to her eternal rest, Estelle to her own pursuits of the sensual. God alone knows what happened to the servants — except for one, the most important of all.

Today, as I pen these lines of yesteryear, it is difficult to recall the fact that I was indeed ever really a child — a little boy innocent of sexual pleasures and the consuming lusts which seem always to have so been a part of my basic character. But I was a child once and I surely must have lived, at least for a time, in a pure roseate world of dreams and innocuous play. I must have been a child, yet if such is indeed the truth, it was before the arrival of Aunt Mary.

Aunt Mary was the governess. She is also the woman to whom I owe everything I have! For she, more than anyone else, taught me the vital secrets of life reserved for only the few — secrets so precious that the knowledge of them has been of greater value to me than any legendary Arabian lantern or any fanciful animal's paw.

* * *

She's gone now; but she's alive. I can no more look at any woman and not think of Aunt Mary than I can control the rate of my heartbeat. Who was she? I'm still trying to ponder that. I suppose I always shall — for she was either evil and depravity incarnate, or a woman with a soul so big that it knew of no artificial rules.

And for me, Aunt Mary had the most priceless of gifts — a gift she bestowed freely. She and she alone taught me the secrets of sex. Secrets most men spend a lifetime trying to learn, only to find that their graduation day, so to speak, also brings with it impotency or senility or an inner rage and frustration born of the fact that their bodies are no longer the willing servants of their sexual desires. They have spent their time learning this from one partner, and that from another, until they learn all and are too tired with the learning of pleasure to practice it any more.

With me it was something else for I was schooled in sexual ways as carefully as I was schooled in Latin and as meticulously as I was schooled in mathematics. Also I know that my experiences with Aunt Mary were those that every boy and man envies. For the pleasures and secrets of my own and a woman's body were not hidden from me under a grey cloak of morality. They were shared and shared beautifully.

Evil? I don't know. What I know is only that the governess was my private tutor in things that are forbidden to others and that, like any dedicated teacher, she watched over and graded my progress until she knew I was ready to graduate. It is because of her and her alone that I have had a richly rewarding life in terms of physical and emotional pleasure. It is because of her that I, unlike some other men, have never been troubled with feelings of guilt because of my natural, God-given desires.

Yes, she taught me of sex, but she taught me of love. She explained how to love a person as a whole and also how to love that person as a series of parts. Because of her I can love the entire woman, but I can also love her fingertip and every delicate fold of her sexual parts. I know how to worship every pubic hair and every pore. I know how to kiss, yes, but I also know how to worship the lips and how to make them worship me.

It was not a sudden education at all, but one that was beautifully tailored to my desires and capacities. I know that others may condemn Aunt Mary — call her degenerate or hedonist — but they do not know! They can never know the delicate warmth of her empassioned vagina, the soft caress of her lips on my scrotum, or the power of release possible under her expert manipulations.

But these things are the results. The beginning was different! It was not a matter of passion, unless fear and doubt can be considered passion. It was a little boy and his sister pressed against a study door listening intently as their mother interviewed the new governess. It was only voices — one known, however slightly, the other new and oiled with a verbal lubricant that in itself caused strange mental colors to flow from brain to body and to center in a throbbing newness where leg meets leg to form not only the sexual parts of a growing man, but the seat of his desire as well.

“And you worked there how long?” I remember my mother saying.

“Four years.” The voice was submerged in that spiced honey note that even then held the promise of the erotic and mysterious.

I remember that my ear left the door and that I turned to look at my sister. I remember too, that before that exact moment she had been no more than an occasional playmate, a girl to be shunned doubly because of her sex and the blood relationship between us. But that first contact with Aunt Mary's voice made me turn and look at my sister in a way that even I didn't quite understand. My eyes met hers and saw them drop in her own form of blushing, understanding. Then, my glance traveled down the crouching length of her body, over the almost breastless torso, the slender, not-yet-developed hips and the sensual crease one bent knee allowed her childlike calf to press tight against a smooth thigh.

I stared at the creased meeting of calf and thigh and let my eyes try to press past and through the folds of her slip and dress that I knew hid her strangely desirable secret from me. It was only then that I too blushed in sudden embarrassment, for suddenly I realized the sin of my desire or, should I say, the sin of it then. There would come a time when such thoughts, such tactile and visual desires would no longer be sinful but rather a regular pattern of my life and a part of my daily education.

Embarrassed, still curious but no longer bold, I turned my head back to the door, pressed my ear against it again and was just in time.

I heard my mother say, “Very well, then. We'll do it on a trial basis for a month. Come, I'll show you your room and when you've had time to freshen up, I'll introduce you to the children.”

I almost fell over in my effort to get myself and my sister away from the door before we were discovered. But I managed to grab her slender bare arm just above the elbow and jerk her to her feet. Pulling her, I ran down the corridor out the back door of the house and into the play house where we sat for some time hoping that our mother would think we had been out there all that afternoon.

I must admit that we had both led a very — what is the word? — sheltered — life and were frankly quite unaware of what most children would assume to be the normal pattern of play. We did have playmates, it is true, but they were always carefully selected by mother to make sure we were not “contaminated” by the influences of what she called “riff-raff.” Because of the dearth of acceptable children with whom to play, we were often forced to share our own company and my feelings about such sharing were somewhat ambivalent.

As I have mentioned, at the time of my first contact with Aunt Mary, I was at an age when association with girls was thought to be beneath the sexual dignity of any male. The fact that the girl in question was my own sister made such association doubly degrading. But, if we were alone and if none of my male friends knew of this association, I could feel safe. I liked my sister quite a great deal and we shared several private games together although both she and I admitted to friends of the same sex that we were detestable to one another.

That afternoon in the playhouse marked one of our together periods hindered by no interference from my male friends or her female companions. But it also marked a vital turning point in our lives for, although nothing was really said or done, both of us could read the thoughts of the other and both of us knew — knew without really knowing — that something in the voice of the new governess had stirred hitherto secret desires within us.

For the first time in my life I considered my sister as a female. Not one to be jeered off a playground or to be teased but quite frankly, someone with something different between her legs than I. It was a fascinating consideration that I was barely able to admit to myself. Of course, I had never had a clear look at my sister's genitals. That would have been unthinkable under the circumstances of our household. But I had managed to glimpse her bare buttocks a time or two and had noticed that the soft curve of her pre-adolescent belly ended not in a penis as did mine but rather in what seemed like nothing at all. This fact, Nature herself, told me was wrong. Surely there was something there and now, in the playhouse I could not tear my mind away from the desire to lift her dress and drink in with parched eyes the unknown beauty of her ultimately female part.

And, although no words were spoken about it then or after I know, as surely as I know there is a sun in the sky that she knew my thoughts and possibly, in her own womanly — or should I say girlish? — way reciprocated.

Although I blushed at my own boldness of thought and although she blushed, too, neither of us could say the words that hung just out of reach because of the ignorance of our desires. Instead, the issue was circumvented, not completely, but in an honest enough way.

“My,” my sister said, “Doesn't she have the strangest voice?”

“Who?” My eyes were still on the soft material of her dress where her legs joined her torso and where the thrill of watching had increased a hundred fold because she sat Indian style in front of me.

“Why, the new governess, of course!”

“Oh,” I let my glance travel up the slim, taut line of her torso and noticed for the second time of my life that below her neck and between her arms, two soft bumps perhaps like the small slice of a lemon's end were pressing against the fabric of her dress. Finally, when I had almost reached a point where I could no longer speak, I swallowed a great breath, allowed my eyes to lift again to meet hers and said, “Yes, doesn't she. I wonder what she looks like.”

“She's beautiful,” my sister said. “I just know it.”

“How do you know?” I countered. And with that, we tried to cover from ourselves the exchange of unspoken lust that had so recently passed between us. She became the silly, unsophisticated girl again and I a boy and after all, as she put it, “What do boys know?”

Possibly because I knew the real meaning of our argument, possibly because I could not stand the degree of my own desires for her I slapped her — lightly and on the shoulder — and pulling myself to my feet ran from the play house across the yard and into the back door.

My face was to the rear from whence I had come and, because I knew the architecture of the house as well as the lines of my palm, I threw open the screen and literally plowed into the person standing there.

For an instant, no more, I was pressed into an eternity of pleasure the like of which I had never before known. My head sank between two hot globes, my chest pressed against a soft belly that radiated a strange kind of welcome and my groin hit a thigh so soft, yet muscular that, for an instant, no more, I had a partial erection.

Arms embraced me for a fraction of a second then moved so that long-fingered hands grasped my shoulders and held me away, but not before I heard again that syrup of spice-laden voice saying, “Oh!”

It is so difficult to describe that instant. Our physical contact had been due to my impetuous burst into the kitchen and, to any observer, her ejaculation had been due to nothing more than surprise, but that one syllable, “oh,” carried with it an illusion to every strange secret of the ages —every desire of every man and woman the world had ever known or will ever know — and —most important, every satisfaction of those desires.

As I was gently pushed away from the warmth of mature female body, I was overcome with embarrassment because of the strange emotions that surged through me. I took a pace back as my partial erection dropped and looked up, but to the side to see my mother standing beside another woman. But I only looked to my mother, who although not an unkind woman, rarely if ever smiled. Her face though stern, showed me that she was not about to condemn my rush into the kitchen. Still the humor of the situation was in her eyes alone; it was not on her lips.

“Well, Martin,” she said, “What's the rush?”

“Nothing, Mother. I didn't mean...”

“No matter! I'd like you to meet Mary. She's going to be your new governess.”

Almost terrified, I lifted my eyes to see for the first time the woman who was to affect my life more than any other human being I had known before or was to meet since. But then the terror left me, for what I saw did not, somehow conform to the dream and sensual promise made by the voice behind the study door and the hungry feel of flesh under cotton fabric which I had experienced just an instant before.

Aunt Mary was perhaps thirty or thirty one, a woman with raven black hair as dark as night and rich as velvet. Her body was taller than my mother's — remarkably tall for a woman — and its subtle proportions were modified by a stern uniform dress of black and white. But it was the mouth and eyes that fascinated me and again made me tremble with an unknown force within me.

The lips were thick and warm red without benefit of lipstick, and they parted to show teeth as white as mountain snow. When she spoke, she would wet her lower lip with her tongue and curl her words out over the soft flesh.

Her eyes, although I know the horror of the cliche were literally like pools, deep tropical wells of blue water so perfect yet so out of place with her black hair. And in them I saw things which while never frightening, made me tremble.

“Hello, Martin,” she said and the oil, the incense of her voice flowed over me surrounding me like a woman's vagina surrounds a man's sexual organ and his very soul, “I hope we shall be the best of friends.”

“Hello,” I mumbled fearful of extending my hand to clasp her outstretched palm because of the sensuous shock I knew I would receive from the flesh there. But I managed to overcome my shyness if you will and did shake hands — and did receive the rolling, tidal wave of shock that ran up my arm and spread in impact to hit brain and groin at one time. I was thrilled. I was terrified!

I pulled my hand away and dashed past her and my mother down the hall around the newell post and up the stairs to my bedroom. There, I threw myself on the bed, not knowing what I had experienced and too young to understand it if I had! All I knew is that I had experienced something that was frightening in its intensity because it was all pain and all pleasure in one. And it had come to me in a way I couldn't possibly have imagined.

I do not remember dinner that night. I am sure Estelle and I ate with Aunt Mary in the kitchen because those occasions when mother permitted us to share the dining room with her were so rare and special that each one stands out as a separate memory.

This, that first evening meal with Aunt Mary must have been so fraught with my own shyness and that strange invisible cloud of vague passion that surrounded the new governess that I pulled into myself. At any rate, I can't remember the food or anything that was said by anyone there. It was what happened later that registered in my mind.

In order to understand the happening, I must explain the room I lived in then and, to explain that, I must try, to explain my mother. I have only the vaguest remembrances of what she was like before father died. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a memory of candlelit dinners and evening clothes, of a tall and very handsome man and even, yes — the faint high crystal tinkle of my mother's laughter. Whether these memories are real reflections of what actually existed before my father's death or the romantic conjuring of a child's imagination, I shall never know. Certainly, my mother would have been the last person to ask for verification.

She had been married to a man of the old school who lived life to its full and who knew how to savor its joys and laugh away its sorrows. For a time perhaps, he might have brought mother some of his own laughter, but then he was ripped from her by the rude hand of death and she who had depended utterly upon him for every dash of spice in her life, was lost.

What had been rose turned to grey, what had been affection turned to sternness and what had been an easy, normal family life, turned into a sexual monster. And the strange part about the monster is that I never realized it was there until the governess arrived. By contrast, I could at last see and feel and touch the horrible Frankenstein monster of sex that stalked through every room of the house, lurked in every crevice and cried out in agonized frustration.

Because she had been denied the sexual outlets available to her while my father had been alive, my mother became a puritan. And because she became a puritan, she seemed to see the terrible threat of sex everywhere.

Nakedness or partial nakedness were terrible things and even closeness was something to be continually watched against. Fortunately, the house itself was built in such a way that it helped my mother save my sister Estelle and me from the evils of carnal lust. My room was separated from my sister's by the nursery and across the hall was the room occupied by our governess. Mother's room, the master bedroom, was in the other wing of the house separated from us by the stairs and the corners of the main upstairs hall.

Architecturally the plan was ideal, if one wished to keep lustful thoughts from the minds of the occupants. But now that the war of sex-denied, against sex-liberated, had begun with the coming of Aunt Mary, I noticed for the first time that the perfection of the old house, it could be a battleground that served both sides.

Aunt Mary had followed mother's orders to the letter. She had insisted that Estelle and I take separate baths and she had not presumed upon my privacy in the tub in anyway. After I had dressed in my pajamas and house coat, I combed my hair, brushed my teeth and went to the nursery where Aunt Mary told Estelle and me a short story of some innocuous kind. I don't even remember the plot or the characters because all I could think of was Aunt Mary's voice and the strange sensations it was making pour through me.

Finally, when the story was over, the governess announced that it was time for bed and that she would see Estelle tucked in before returning to my room. Her orders, I already knew were to lock the two doors of the nursery so there would be no chance of us meeting in the night without going out into the hall. These orders had long been in effect, but until that night I had never thought of them or understood their reason. Again, they were a product of my mother's sexual starvation.

I slipped out of my bathrobe, hung it over one bed post and slipped between the covers thinking perhaps that Aunt Mary would be with me in no more than an instant. But it seemed an eternity before she actually came. I couldn't imagine what she and Estelle had talked about for so long, but from experience I knew that other governesses sometimes spent longer with Estelle than with me. I had adjusted to the fact that women take longer to talk with woman than they do with men. It was a part of life. But this evening, the time seemed interminable.

Finally, however, I heard the first nursery door snick shut and lock. I waited, almost but not quite hearing the soft footfalls of Aunt Mary as she crossed the large room and came to mine. She closed the second nursery door, locked it and seemed to glide across the room to where I lay in bed.

As gently as a leaf supported by the air, her hand touched my shoulder and she said, “I know it's the first day, Martin, but I'm sure we'll be the best of friends, won't we.”

“Yes, Mary,” I said not quite understanding the strange tingles running from where she had placed her hand throughout my body. I stared into the strange blue of her eyes and saw a fantasy of emotion there.

“Why not call me Aunt Mary,” she said. “It would be so much nicer; almost as if I was one of the family.”

“Alright,” I said knowing that I was having some difficulty controlling my breath.


“Yes, Aunt Mary.”

“Would you mind if I gave you a good night kiss?”

I shook my head slightly.

“Just because I hope we'll be such good friends. Let's think of it as our special first kiss.”


She leaned forward slowly letting one gossamer whisp of her raven hair caress my forehead and cheek as her lips neared mine. It seemed as if her face would never arrive and that it changed with every centimetre of the approach. In the dim light of the room, I could see her rich lips part slightly and beyond them strong white teeth and the rose of her inner mouth. Then soft as a cushion of hot, wet rose pedals her lips, brushed onto mine sinking against my pliable mouth and running wet fire through my soul. They were parted when they met mine and they only held for an instant, but that instant was a delight I shall never forget for her tongue played for just a fairy finger snap against mine and then was gone. Her lips too were gone and when I opened my eyes she had already returned to her first position sitting upright, beside me on the bed.

“Good night, Martin,” she said. “Pleasant dreams.” Then she rose from my bed, crossed to the hall door and was gone.

I knew I had but a few minutes to savor the strange memory of that, our first kiss because the pattern would be the same as it had always been before. The governess would go downstairs and tell my mother that we children were ready for bed. Then mother would come to my room first, then to Estelle's and bid us both a frigid, emotionless good night.

I ran my own tongue over my still burning lips and tried, I suppose in a masturbatory way to recapture the sensation that had been planted there by Aunt Mary. Of course, it was no good, but I was still trying when mother arrived.

Almost like an officer on parade, mother crossed the room, leaned over my bed and pecked me on the forehead with her dry lips. By comparison, her affectionate kiss was like the single tap of an iced woodpecker.

“Good night, Darling,” she said.

“Good night, Mother,” I said... and she left. I knew her final act of the day with Estelle would be identical and then she would again walk the length of the hall and return to the downstairs part of the house where, if she had no orders to give to the cook, she would retire to the parlour and perhaps devote the next few hours to reading religious or temperance literature.

Usually, I fell asleep right away after that. There was nothing else to do. I knew the nursery was locked and that if I went out into the hall for no more than an innocent talk with Estelle, I would be under the surveillance of the governess. But tonight was different. I lay awake comparing the cold, almost sterile kiss of my mother to the sensations still rolling through me as a result of Aunt Mary's kiss.

How long I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to evaluate and understand the meaning of my feelings, I shall never know. It was perhaps an hour but I'm sure no more than two and then, in a semi-slumber of safe warmth I was stirred partially alert by the rich shaft of light that gradually poured through my room from the door that opened to the hall. I could see little of detail for the light was shining directly on me from the hall and between it and me was the most sensual and amazing silhouette I had ever in my life seen. It was a woman, I knew that. She was tall and rounded with soft curving hips and long perfect thighs tapering down to firm and beautiful legs. At first, I thought she was completely naked but then I noticed that she was covered by a translucent thin nightgown that fell to the floor but which allowed every part of her body to stand out in sensual silhouette.

“Martin?” I heard the oil of her voice flow through the room, filling every corner and crack, every wrinkle of bedsheet and every small pore of my body with its scented warmth.


“I think I'll leave the door open tonight, Martin. It's awfully stuffy to be locked in with no air.”

I grunted some sort of reply, but I doubt if I could have spoken articulately had I wanted to. My eyes were wide open now as Aunt Mary opened the door and turned slightly so that I could see the erect curves of her breasts and the soft tuft of her pubic hair.

“Good night,” she said for the final time and poised for a moment so that I could drink in every soft flow of her flesh, she finally turned and crossed the hall to her own room. As she stood at the door, she was no longer in silhouette having crossed under and beyond the source of light in the hall. For a second, no more, before she flicked the electric switch I could see the black film of her nightdress covering the soft twin globes of her buttocks and her raven hair, loose now as it cascaded like a waterfall of black velvet down the valley of her back. Her hips were wide — oh so wide — without being fat and I think, even as small as my hands still were, the two of them might almost have encircled her waist.

The light flicked out, her door opened and then partially closed and all I could see was the dim hall and the shaft of light that came from the room where I knew she was slipping into her own bed.

For the first time in my life I recognized a surge of total desire and I lay there in an agony of expectation not having any idea what to do with it. It was all so new to me and yet it was as if I was experiencing the oldest of nature's reactions. I wanted to rip the covers aside and cross the hall to Aunt Mary's room. I wanted to crawl into the bed beside her and feel the hot warmth of her barely clad body curled against mine.

I wanted more too, but specifically what, I shall never be able to explain. Except for my emotions, I was totally ignorant of matters sexual. Now, of course I realize that I, a boy of but eleven years wanted to know — to savor — the flesh of a woman in her thirties. What I could hardly have dreamed possible was that that woman, the new governess, also had her lusts after...


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