(Part 1 summarised - 18 year old Amanda has recently moved next door to a single lady in her mid thirties. Lonely and insecure after recent parental divorce and lack of stability in her family, Amanda proves interesting prey for our beguiling 'heroine')
Part 2 - Home Territory
...Now what was I was saying before your deliciously round rear end so rudely interrupted my train of thought, Amanda?
Ah, yes, I was remembering my frustration - our initial acquaintance was at first, alas, all motive for me. There was no means of deepening the nascent friendship and certainly no opportunity, given your overwhelmingly shy nature.
On your home territory, I knew that you felt entirely safe and able to enjoy reading on a rug on the grass away from prying eyes. You could simply look out at the first yellow buds on the forsythia bushes and think beautiful thoughts, completely uninterrupted by the vicissitudes of others.
In fact, I noticed that you seemed to take special pleasure in the springtime, laughing softly to yourself as you discovered another hyacinth or tulip ready to burst into flower. It was as if the association with nature freed you from the shyness you exhibited with anyone other than James, your father.
James had found that home study was the only option for your continued education when he first arrived in Peddington. You had come to the town far too late to enrol in the local college and you were well over compulsory school age. I could have pulled strings with my ladies who lunch, but decided to let things take their natural course. Let people make their own mistakes, I say. They will eventually be only too glad to find me on hand to help them tidy everything up in my own way, when the time is ripe.
As such I was not at all surprised when one day late in April James took me to one side. He said that he was concerned that, without some tuition, your chances of academic advancement were slipping away. Home-tutoring for exams to be taken was seemingly impossible to arrange given his limited knowledge of the local academic scene.
James confided that you were an intelligent girl, but lacked discipline. He liked the way your friendship with Alexandra was blossoming, but had seen that you were gradually spending less and less time on your books. I smiled and nodded and warmly agreed that some young ladies do indeed need considerable amounts of discipline.
Other than this relationship with Alex, it was not as if you were particularly gregarious: the very opposite in fact. You had not sought out friends and would have found that difficult anyhow not being in a local school. You seemed to be lost in an escapist world: just like your father at times.
I promised to exercise some influence. That very evening, while Alexandra was engaged in teasing my clitoris in that oh so special way of hers, I told her to make herself scarce.
Alex looked up at me enquiringly for a moment, but with a tug of her blonde locks she was back to her duties, her clever young tongue probing and pleasing. I've trained her wonderfully well, so much so, that I was soon lying back on the settee almost swooning with pleasure.
(This girl loves it when you swoon with pleasure, mistress. It's as if all the seasons come together in a wonderful combination of the best things in love. This girl will do anything to make sure that you have all the delight that she can afford you.)
(You found her lost and uncertain. This girl found you at the heart of your desire. She wants to stay there forever, bringing you all the bliss that using this girl affords you.)
I know that Alexandra's disappearance left you quite abandoned, Amanda. There really was no need to go on so. Every tearful sigh you uttered, every sad face you pulled, made it abundantly clear that you were missing her as you hovered between your books, your father and me. I felt quite cruel at times, but needs must.
Then, as James' business picked up at my instigation, I found it increasingly easy to monopolise your time. Yes, that was the time of the creeping hand. Do you remember how it beguiled you? I had such pleasure slowly seducing you. And the exultation that I felt as I finally managed to slide under your skirt without resistance. I can hardly describe the warm freshness that lurked there.
(Your hands are so soft mistress. This girl loves the feel of them on her limbs. You made her want to spread her thighs and offer her all up to you from the very first time your hand toyed with the patterns on that lacy skirt. It was so clever of you to admire the pattern and to get this girl talking about needlework and design as you slipped your hand under there.)
(This girl was so carried away by the arts and crafts that she did not notice your intrusion until your possessive hand was resting firmly on her young mound.)
(Her heart stopped still and she could hardly breathe when she stopped her chatter. And then she found your fingers were playing over the tight little mons that you were soon to make sure was yours in every respect.)
Yes dear. Thank you for that stimulating thought. Now, as I was saying: James seemed pleased at my interest in you. You seemed to enjoy our conversations. And I, well, I have to confess now, that you filled my dreams and lay in my bed many months ago, your tantalising limbs bound to the bedstead as I dedicated myself to fucking you in my sleep, night in and night out.
James was rarely with us during those increasingly intimate conversations, but he trusted me by then. I didn't want you to read any disrespect for either him or yourself in my approach. I knew that any excess forwardness could be reported. And any report, no matter how minor, could ruin all my plans for my young ingénue.
My confidence in you was well rewarded though. Your responses to my gentle overtures, led me forward little by little. Eventually, you were quite comfortable to nestle in my arms or kneel at my feet to listen to whatever wisdom I was minded to convey to you.
Discretion remained my watchword as far as any admiration for your beguiling young form at that stage. (Of course it did, mistress - Don't be a cheeky bitch, Amanda). I don't think your father was at all conscious of my interest, even when I walked over to the windows when he was explaining the wonderful pictures in Paradise Lost to me in the most detailed fashion.
I looked over my shoulder at him and he just smiled vaguely, before turning back to the illustrations of Milton's wonderful work. I had other wonderful things to lure me away: his wonderful garden and his equally wonderful daughter to name but two.
I remember you telling me how you had always lived in small city centre apartments before you arrived in Peddington. The gardening potential was limited to flower boxes that you generally took care of. I think James was slightly lost at the thought of maintaining the vast garden that he'd acquired next to mine.
The lawn stretched out forever and, beyond its vast expanse, several old apple trees and a small south facing hillock, that abutted my own property, obscured the lake from view. The beds surrounding the lawn took a god deal of care and I don't think he had the least idea of how to tend the many shrubs that had been planted there over the years.
I, on the other hand, knew the garden and all its plantings very well indeed. I'd sunbathed on the hillock, picked apples in the little orchard and made love to Karen Kincaid, the former lady of the house over the past three years in all the more shielded parts and several of the more exposed locations too.
We'd kissed next to the first sticky yellow buds of the forsythia near the French windows. We'd held hands on the lawn and stroked one another to an apex of pleasure all through the summer.
We'd fucked in the shade of the apple trees in the autumn, with over ripe fruit rotting in the grass around us. And, even though she was five years older than me, I'd spanked her to a climax over my lap right on top of that little hillock.
The memories are so sweet: I'd sat on the stump of a fallen tree and let the sounds of my slapping hand echo far into the countryside when the snow fell in winter. I tell you, Amanda, I didn't stop until her bare bottom was redder than her tear-stained face.
Always remember, though, my dear: your elders are not always your betters. Some of them can be deliciously subservient beneath the mature veneer, no matter how sneeringly superior they seem at first glance.
Take that horrid wretch Veronica Smythe for instance. Alright, dear, I do know you've taken her, used her and delighted in humiliating her on my behalf on many an amusing occasion, but more of that later.
Right now I really need you to kneel up behind me and slip your exquisite tongue into my anal tract. I just love it when you rim me, Amanda, pet. It takes me to another level to feel your moist lips and your warm breath so close to my fundament.
And then to sense the sensual movements of your languid tongue intruding into my upraised arse: why it is quite the apogee of delight. I could lie here forever while you tease me like that, I really could.
(This girl's tongue is designed to tease you mistress. This girl knows it is her duty to lave you gently when you turn over and lie on your belly. She so admires your kimono and can only enjoy the touch of the silk as she raises it over your thighs, seeing the creamy expanse exposed.)
(This girl loves to massage you gently, mistress. She craves the feel of your womanly curves and the warmth of your seductive behind. This girl likes to spread you and open you, to see the tightness opening up to her as each lick delves closer and closer to the little brown ring that marks the centre of your desire.)
(Let this girl lick and taste and tease until she can feel you pressing back into her face. Let her tongue push past the tight anal muscles and delve into your fundament, pleasing you with each movement, her face captive to your most perverse desire, miss.)
Good girl! Time, however, waits for no woman. Back to the matter or, if you like, 'mater' in hand: Karen, as you know, is Alex's stepmother. She has the same blonde hair, the same dazzling smile and the same apologetic, effusive stream of consciousness when she is caught out.
Karen is also a secretary at the university college where I hold tenure. Her partner is long gone and she is reliant on the income her secretarial duties bring her.
Unfortunately criticism of her work at college some two years ago had culminated in a difficult incident, involving the accessing of an examination paper in her care.
I still remember how embarrassed she appeared to be when she came to my study that afternoon. Eventually I managed to get to the bottom of the matter (no, not your bottom dearest -- please don't get too obsessively anal!).
I could have been mean, but, knowing her situation, resolved to be supportive. I honestly wanted to be kind and reassure her, but she was having none of it, standing there shame-faced before me, her head bowed as if she were a naughty school girl.
She was nearly forty, some five years my senior, for goodness sake. Yet, there she stood that afternoon, her hands behind her back, babbling her sad little excuses incontinently until I finally lost patience and told her to shut up.
