Chapter 12: The Liberation of Nancy Steeple
MISS STEEPLE
"Describe curvilinear motion," I said.
"Uh..." was the girl's darling response.
I shook my head. It was Tuesday evening, and although I had allowed Debbie time to relax after school, and had given her a nutritious and energizing snack, she still had trouble focusing on her lessons. I raised my ruler to administer a purposeful admonishment, but was interrupted before I could deliver the blow.
"Oh, there you are, Debbie," Mrs Hammersmith declared sweeping into the room. "I've been waiting for you in the gymnasium!"
The girl had been looking towards the window, but at the sound of her mistress's voice, whirled around and almost fell out of her heels. Dianne laughed with delight at her awkwardness; I was not amused. It had been less than twenty four hours since Mr Hammersmith had left for his private trip, and already Dianne was becoming exceptionally difficult. This was to be expected, of course; she always became restless when he was gone, but this time it seemed worse than usual, and I suspected that the presence of Debbie had something to do with it.
Mr Hammersmith is a man of great power on many levels, and of course sexually, he is as insatiable as a satyr. He has his way with all his staff when he pleases, and I can say without modesty that I, as first among his staff, get the lion's share of that attention. Although I've never witnessed it, I know he also has frequent, and I imagine very wild encounters with his fierce, sexually charged Wardonians. Besides that, he has a number of acquaintances, women of substance and intelligence that he dallies with on occasion, but he has only one wife, who he lavishes constantly with firm and passionate favors. However, in my four years of service to him, I had never known him to have what I would call a protégé, which was what Debbie appeared to be.
I was poised to complete my blow, however Debbie managed to regain her balance and adopt the proper stance. "Ahhh, My Lady!" was her barely adequate response to the sudden, arrival of her mistress.
Dianne was clearly toying with her, for now she stood with a fist on her bare, cocked hip, looking her up and down with a stern face and a questioning eyebrow.
"Ummmm, I didn't know..." Debbie stammered. Her wide eyes were fixed on Dianne's face, but no doubt her mistress's lewd gym uniform was contributing to her confusion.
"What do you say to your mistress?!" I snapped.
"Uhh, good afternoon My Lady," she blurted and proceeded to bite her plump lower lip.
"Well, come along then. I have your uniform in the gym, and the others are waiting," Dianne said impatiently.
"Physical Training is not on her schedule for today," I said, quite unable to hide my annoyance. It was all I could do to prevent myself from angrily tapping my ruler against my side.
"Well, I have changed it," she replied breezily. "The poor girl needs exercise. How is she supposed to think locked up in a stuffy room like this?"
"Her training has been carefully devised, madam," I said through gritted teeth, wavering on the very edge of impudence.
"Including luncheons, al fresco?" she demanded narrowing her eyes at me. "Surely you managed to squeeze some lessons into that!"
That gave me pause. I had forgotten how much of a busybody she could be when she was restless. I managed to maintain a blank expression although I could feel the tension, and the attendant arousal creeping into my wanton pussy. "Mr Hammersmith approved the curriculum," I said, tapping my leg with the ruler, just as a cat will twitch it's tail before a fight.
"Well, I didn't. So, for heaven's sake, change it, Nancy," she replied with a wave of her hand. "Now get moving, Debbie, straight to the gymnasium," she added and gave her rump a good hard smack. Even though she was wearing a full skirt, the girl still gave a surprised little squeal.
"Go, Debbie," I said evenly, not giving Dianne the satisfaction of hearing any displeasure in my voice. My command was unnecessary, as the clever little girl had already started moving. It appeared that she was quite aware who the mistress of this household was.
I stood for some time staring at the empty doorway, wondering what was afoot, and reflecting on how I had come to be in the service of this remarkable household.
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I was living a colorless, pathetic life in a small New England college town. The changing norms of pedagogical practice, and my own enthusiastic adherence to the old ways had led to repeated indiscretions which forced me to withdraw from my life's work. I did so with great reluctance, and although I was compelled to live a quiet and discreet existence, I refused to feel the sense of shame society expected of me.
Nonetheless, I became a little mouse of a creature running a rooming house, living vicariously through my boarders, and taking care of my desires as best I could in secret. So tedious was it all that I had even begun to forget who I was and what I had been. The outlook was terribly bleak as nineteen fifty-three began, and I entered my forty first year.
One January night, as I sat at home alone, a handsome older man in evening dress knocked on my door. He apologetically explained that it was his driver's night off and that his cranky Bentley had broken down outside my door. He needed to use my phone to call for a ride, and more urgently, he needed to call New York on an important business matter. He offered to pay all the charges of course.
I left him alone, but discreetly eavesdropped, and heard him talking to the governor like an old pal; casually discussing some multi-million dollar deal that had to be wrapped up within the hour. I didn't recognize him, but he was obviously a man of considerable wealth and status. He had introduced himself simply as Mr. Hammersmith, a name that I heard spoken of only in whispers.
When his call was completed, we chatted pleasantly while he waited for his ride. He was charming, charismatic and relaxed, and I felt my heart flutter with hopeless desire. There was a great difference in our social status, and he wore a wedding band. The conversation turned to schooling, and here at least I could preen a little, having been associated with some very prestigious schools. At the mention of Ramsgate and Stonebridge, our conversation turned to corporal punishment of which I declared myself a very strong supporter. I alluded to the difficulties this had caused me, and he seemed sympathetic, although he didn't press me for details.
All too soon, he took his leave and I retired to my bed to try and stroke away my frustrations. The next day, to my very pleasant surprise, I received a "thank you" in the form of a bouquet of flowers, and an invitation to spend a weekend at his estate outside Boston.
It was as if I had entered the dream world of my imagination. On Friday night, I was taken by limousine for the three-hour trip to Hammermill Manor. There I was greeted in person by Mr Hammersmith and his beautiful young wife. On that very first night, I was thrilled to learn we were having a formal dinner just for the three of us, in an intimate dining room next to their quarters. The thought of being in their inner sanctum so to speak, quite overwhelmed my reason, and after dinner on my trip to the powder room, I found myself slipping into their bedroom.
With breathless, nervous fascination, I snooped about, and spied a beautiful diamond pendant left carelessly on Mrs Hammersmith's make-up table. Without hesitation I slipped it into the pocket of my dress. I simply had to have it. It was an impulsive act, the sort of thing that I had been punished for many times when I was young. That wicked behavior had been properly caned out of me, but recently it had begun to reassert itself.
My heart beat wildly when I returned to the library where we were to read some poetry aloud. Mrs Hammersmith rose to greet me like I had been away for a month, which did not seem so strange for her, odd, dramatic woman that she was. She bent down to give me a kiss on both cheeks, placing her delicate hands on my bare shoulders before sliding them down very purposefully to the front of my dress.
"What's this?" she demanded.
