Mrs Pardoe's heart pounded like steam-hammer as she made her way to her room. It had been such a long time since she'd had a young girl to herself, to take command of, to admire and to love, and she knew Mrs Amos's niece Lizzie was a real doll.
On the way she passed the Joanna television-person ensconced with Gloria in the stair well of the third floor, both of them too preoccupied to notice her. The younger woman was teetering unsteadily against the sill of a window and moaning pathetically.
She continued to watch for a moment as the woman's battered face wobbled beneath a hairstyle that was becoming increasingly askew and she noticed that Joanna was gasping at the antics of the housekeeper, who's hand she had allowed to push up under her skirt.
"Oh, nanny, nanny. Oh how I love you. Oh how I've missed your finger in my tiny hole," she was mewling. "Only you know how to please a little girl properly."
"Behave yourself," cautioned Gloria, who'd never met her before in her life. "Yer twat's all hot an' drippy, but if you's a naughty girl an' does a cum too soon I'll have to take you to my room and spank yer botty."
"I can't help it," groaned Joanna fitfully, "Oh yes, yes that's it. Use two fingers and push them all the way up. Fuck me nanny."
The woman was out of her bloody mind with booze and dope and an easy mark for Gloria, decided Margaret. But she was far too excited by the pleasure awaiting herself to dally longer.
She almost ran along the corridor, pausing just a moment to check her face in a mirror, making sure her face and nose had not gone shiny. Then just as Mrs Amos had promised she found Lizzie Braithwaite seated on the couch in her sitting room.
From her vantage point by the door she watched, intrigued and slightly apprehensive. Despite the warm weather the girl sported a heavy black cardigan, longer at the front where she had made it sag with her habit of thrusting her hands deep into the pockets. She was beautiful. Auburn hair with golden lights that gave it a shimmering iridescence, languorous brown eyes, lips that were soft, pouty and pink, and with rosy cheeks that gave the appearance of a permanent blush.
Margaret's fingers tingled and her crotch seemed to melt. She generated the warmest greeting she could, "Hello Lizzie," and the girl smiled sweetly in return.
"Hi - are you Mrs Pardoe?"
"Yes, your Aunt Florence is busy and she said you'd keep me company for a while."
"I will, but Aunt Flo said I'd get a reward if I do."
The demand sounded mercenary but it helped Margaret to relax. "That's right, darling. I can be very generous with rewards if you agree to be a good girl for me."
"Oh, I can be a very good girl." Lizzie replied. The girl's enormous angel-eyes blazed with mischief. Little more than eighteen she looked so fragile at first glance, with a Dresden china-like delicacy in her features that contributed so much to her exquisiteness. Margaret felt an urge to rush across the room and touch her, but managed to hold back.
"Did your aunt tell you anything about me, Lizzie?" she asked.
"She said you like girls." her visitor responded somewhat blandly.
They were like two castaways, marooned on the moors. But although they had only just met, they were not entirely strangers. Margaret knew there was nothing to hide. The girl knew why she was there, so there was no need for timid, furtive glances; no requirement for anything other than frank appraisal. Everything had been efficiently arranged.
"Yes I do. I especially like pretty girls, and you're very pretty. Should I call you Liz or Elizabeth?"
"Elizabeth sounds too posh. Call me Lizzie."
It had been such a long time since Margaret had been given the opportunity to seduce such a luscious thing and she felt awkward and inarticulate for a moment, but her eyes soon became drawn to the girls legs - smooth and shapely glowing with a sunshine tan. With the girls appearance all the negative feelings she had carried for so long at Fairyfield were transformed. Here was the kind of thing she had yearned for throughout all the painful prior months, and it was unencumbered, unrestricted; not hedged in by petty rules.
They exchanged a warm smile, and Margaret locked the door behind her as she unpinned her chignon and let her long dark hair fall around her shoulders.
The girl stood up to shake off the cardigan. As it dropped she exposed her slender shoulders, and exposed also a pair of magnificent breasts, skimpily covered by an half-bra, in which pertness combined perfectly with generosity of proportions. Lower down she was wearing the tiniest of panties, miniscule white satin garnished with tiny silk bows.
Confident in her allure Lizzie writhed her body like a serpent and pushed out her chest, while her eyes narrowed in a way that was both thoughtful and seductive. Without invitation she sidled forward, arching back to cleave to Margaret's bosom and encourage the woman to pull her close. Sunshine tresses spilled around the back of her head and her porcelain fragile shoulders. Oh yes, she was warm and smooth to touch and just as lovely as Margaret remembered real girls to be.
Smiling, the visitors mouth opened slightly to show a set of pearly teeth, and she paused as if awaiting a burst of praise to which she thought herself entitled. It was almost as if she were conscious of how her beauty had power over people. "Take off my bra." she whispered heatedly.
It was not what Mrs Pardoe had expected. Yes, she had bargained for a girl, and yes she wanted the clothes off that girl and wanted access to all her naked charms, but she'd expected such things would happen gradually following on from shy giggles and sweet persuasion.
Lizzie was a cornucopia of intoxicating volumes and curves, and for a reverent minute she ran her fingers over the shapes of her body, revelling in finding the soft places and the firm places, the succulent , throbbing bounty she had not yet had time to examine. Her hands shook slightly, but the girl made no objection to being vulgarly explored, nor did she flinch when the catch of her bra became unfastened and the garment dropped away.
Margaret's face glowed with indescribable satisfaction on viewing the rich ripe, supple mounds of the girls breasts. The nipples were so deep with colour they could have been rouged. The texture of them was like an aphrodisiac, and as she stroked the bare flesh she felt moisture welling between her own legs, and had to restrain herself from licking her lips. She could smell the scent of the girl's skin and anticipated the taste of it slicking on her tongue. Lizzie would be sweet, with the kind of flavour only females could generate.