Chapter 1
Serena gazed down the long white linen expanse of the dining room table at The Wall Street Journal. Behind the bold-faced predictions of financial disaster glaring at her in black, she could hear the slurping of her husband, savoring his coffee.
It had been two years since she had seen his face at the table.
"Yes, Marvin, thank you," she murmured to the immaculate butler, standing at her side with a silver pot of coffee. The butler poured and Serena stewed.
To her right and left, James Jr. and Leticia (named after her husband's miserable mother) made messes, carping at each other, and at their unheeding parents.
In the hall, the mahogany Grandfather clock, with the sterling silver pendulum, struck the quarter hour, as meticulously as Marvin poured, as meticulously as Martha, his wife cleaned, and as meticulous and drawn-out as her days were, planned to the last minute.
Serena yawned. Fifteen more interminable minutes before Marie, the new French governess, was to report to work. She came with the usual meticulous credentials, required in the Caruthers establishment. God forbid this mausoleum, this museum of wealth and taste should be called a home.
Even the ill-mannered, obstreperous children, were meticulously picked-up-after, so there were no clues around to remind Serena that she was a mother, as well as a wife, social surrogate, and family asset.
Serena gazed at the four-carat diamond, glittering on the fourth finger of her left hand. She twisted her hand, watching the facets pick up the light, flashing blue and pink and silver in the morning sun.
Serena had worked long and hard to get that diamond, and it was one of the joys of her life. She remembered how she had felt, the romantic evening that James had given it to her.
She hadn't loved James. She liked him well enough, and he was a gentleman, something that was very rare in Serena's rough-and-ready life.
He had taken her to a swank restaurant. Serena, at the time unfamiliar with social customs and fashions among the upper crust, had been gaudily dressed. Her tacky attire did nothing to hide her blatant tawny charms. Instead of being treated to the clucking of disapproving tongues, many of the upper-crust habitues of the restaurant thought they would give up a diamond, and an afternoon or two, to dress the woman properly, thereby enhancing her incredible red-headed beauty.
Serena yawned again. Where was that governess!
Serena couldn't seem to handle her children, and James and she had decided that they needed a firm hand. James's miserable mother had suggested a French governess.
The silver coffee pot flashed like a mirror in the morning sun.
The Wall Street Journal swatted to the table.
"Well, where is she!" Serena almost gasped. There sat her husband, flawlessly attired in his Pierre Cardin suit and his Lapidus tie. The jaw muscles on his lean, handsome face were working.
"I am late for work," he said, staring straight ahead, almost through Serena.
"I'm sorry, darling. She is due to report at eight, as I said."
"She could be a little early. I haven't left this late for the office since Leticia was born."
Serena smiled, and the doorbell rang.
A moment later, Marvin stood in the doorway. "Mademoiselle Marie La Follette." Marvin stepped aside with all the aplomb of a master of ceremonies, and ushered into the room a vision of feminine succulence.
Marie was tall-unusually so for her Gallic background-and built like a country-bred Swede. Her legs were long and shapely, her hair thick and reddish-brown. Her large blue eyes were fringed with the longest, thickest brown lashes Serena had ever seen.
Serena almost got jealous, and she was no mean looker herself!
But what arrested the attention of the family even more, as Marie glided into the room, was an air of authority that exuded from her.
"Bon jour, Madame," Marie said, extending her papers, as she approached Serena.
"Uhh, good morning, mademoiselle," Serena stuttered, flabbergasted with the woman's assurance. The agency, who had spent six months looking for the woman for her, had warned her that French governesses were very difficult to find, and harder to keep. They had warned her to step lightly.
But none of their warnings, of which Serena was already familiar from her friends, among whom she had asked about help for the children, had prepared her for the-well-the dominatrix who appeared before her now!
"Good morning," her husband beamed. Serena arched her eyebrows, as she watched her husband's eyes. Serena was well aware of, and resigned to her husband's playmates. She had decided long ago, that as long as he wasn't blatant, she could tolerate it.
What she wanted was a little more specialized, and therefore, harder to find, but this was no time for those speculations, thought Serena, reluctantly interrupting her stream-of-consciousness to study the papers which Marie had handed her.
"Bon jour, Monsieur," Marie said, "Et bon jour, mes enfants!" she said, greeting the children.
James Jr. and Leticia had been struck dumb by the apparition before them. They both looked at each other, and there was a note of fear in their faces.
They were not stupid children, just badly brought up, and they were both well aware of the latitude they had. They sensed the firmness in this woman, and almost simultaneously understood that a new order had come to the household.
Leticia was the first to act on her suspicions. Serena had looked up at Marie, suddenly remembering her manners.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she smiled. "Do be seated." She rang the crystal bell which sat by her plate, and Marvin appeared immediately.
"Yes, Madame?"
"Coffee, and breakfast for Marie. Marie, this is Marvin, our good right hand. Marvin, Marie is our new French governess."
"Good morning, Marie," Marvin smiled, grinning lop-sidedly at the two children. Leticia bridled, sensing the mockery in the smile. James, Jr. merely smarted under the grin, and plotted a subtle revenge. He was a chip off the old block!
While Marie and Marvin were exchanging rather formal greetings, Leticia, more like her mother in her heyday, picked up a piece of toast, and flicked it with deadly accuracy. It landed smack in the middle of Marie's forehead.
Marie looked at her with a calm, self-assured demeanor, and walked quickly around the table, to where Leticia sat. Pulling Leticia up firmly by the elbow, Marie sat in Leticia's seat, and pulled Leticia over her shapely knees, and with easy grace, lifted her skirt, and paddled quite firmly, five or six times, on Leticia's adorable, round bottom.
Leticia was too shocked to respond immediately, and Leticia was past mistress at the art of tantrum-throwing. As Marie lifted her off her knees, pulling her skirt down carefully, and patting it neatly into place, Leticia merely stood, wide-eyed, her jaw slack, staring at the lovely woman who was looking so sternly at her.
"My little one, you will never, never do that again. It is rude and boorish, and I will not have rude nor boorish charges in my care!" Marie got up, sat the stunned Leticia down in her seat, and went around to her own seat.
Marvin was twitching, his face jerking in funny little spasms, as he obviously attempted to suppress the laughter. But his eyes danced, all the same.
Mr. Caruthers had acquired a smug look. "Good, that's just what the little demons need.
You are welcome indeed," he said to Marie, his eyes at about the level of her well-developed breasts. Then he wiped his mouth with the white linen napkin, went over to plant a cursory kiss on his wife's cheek, and headed for the door, The Wall Street Journal tidily tucked under his elbow.
"I'll see you for dinner, dear. Goodbye James, Leticia. I know you'll be good today!"
He beamed at Marie, and sailed out the door, Marvin in tow with his hat and briefcase.
Serena had sat down. She, too, was shocked. Not that Marie had paddled her daughter for the first time in her young life. She was well aware that they both needed a few spankings to straighten them out. They were spoiled rotten,-and Serena just didn't know how to handle them.
What boggled her mind was the sudden resurgence of old feelings, old desires, and the memories of an old life, which she had abandoned for what she thought were better things. Serena was creaming in her panties.
Not that that didn't happen frequently, particularly when she was bored and her mind wandered, which it did a lot, since she was almost perpetually bored. But she had never felt such a gush of cream, such a spurt of longing for another woman, not since the day, after months of scheming, and lying, and finagling, that James Charles Simon Caruthers had planted the diamond on her fourth finger left hand, and asked her to be his wife.
But murder will out, and so will the natural bent of a human personality, and Serena was fighting that nature now. She looked at the well-endowed beauty, now sitting beside James, her eyes traveling over the large, melon-like breasts, down to the trim waist and the flat belly, to her hips.
She was fascinated and unutterably drawn to the woman. And she was unutterably upset She had sworn off her former, wild life. Serena the temptress, she of the insatiable sexual appetite, the hellion, the high liver.
Lowering like a ghost in the meticulously appointed dining room, breathing the hot air of sex down her neck, and causing her to perspire, was the dragon of her old life, the one she had foresworn to become Mrs. Caruthers.
Serena felt faint.
"Marie, Martha will show you to your room. Please make yourself at home. Children, I expect you to behave. I am ... err ... gbing to my room to prepare for the Ladies' Auxiliary meeting. We shall be using the drawing room."
She sailed out of the room, wafted up the lovely, circular staircase, and into her room. Once in the room, she slammed the door, and leaned against it, panting.
Her pussy was twitching. She was remembering times when she had been spanked, and she was no six-year-old girl. Her hand strayed to her pussy, and she touched it faintly through the satin dressing gown.
She went into the bathroom, closed and locked the door, and threw the gown off. She went to the full-length mirror, to look at her naked body. There she stood, glowing with a slightly-faded loveliness. Her hair was auburn red, her eyes large, almond-shaped, and deep brown. Her skin had a peaches and cream hue that was stunning, still.
But she winced, as her eyes traveled down. The incredible shape of her long-limbed, long-waisted body, with the full breasts and hips was slightly blurred, not so much with time, as with neglect. It had been months since James had visited her bedroom, and lack of care in him had caused a similar lack of care in herself.
She ate to feed her frustration, to soothe away the long, boring, idle hours. And she wondered at the choice she had made in life. She felt her eyes stinging with unshed tears, as she saw how dowdy she had become.
Superimposed upon the image in the mirror, she saw with a growing nostalgia, the adventuress she had once been. She was a dancer, and she spent most of her young adult years in cabarets all over the world. She had had a passion for traveling that almost equalled her passion for the opposite sex, and for her own sex.
And suddenly, as she stood, looking at herself in the mirror, she was transported to Paris-the Paris of nine years ago, at the time when she first met her husband. And the scene was typical of the old Serena-Serena Sawyer, from Chicago, the brash, glorious, daring dancer, who could strip as no woman could.
In her mind's eye, as her long, lovely fingers sought her steaming cunt, she was backstage, at intermission. She was sitting on the make-up table, her legs spread wide, and between her legs was a very busy, round little feminine face licking and biting her twitching pussy. Serena had seduced the little teenaged dancer, who was now eagerly licking out her twitching pussy.
Serena's head was thrown back in ecstasy, as she felt the soft, wet tongue flicking in and out of her sticky wet labia. Occasionally, the little teeth would nip at her clitoris, causing Serena to gasp sharply with pleasure and pain. And that was Serena's game, pleasure and pain. And it was that combination for which she strove in all her encounters.
Serena moaned, her fingers moving faster.
She fell to her knees on the heavily carpeted floor, as she felt the rising glory in her twat, as she frigged herself, felt the cream pouring from between her pussy lips. Her hand was a blur of motion as she strove to relieve the pent-up sexuality that had been stored so long, unused, unspent.
And the tears were flowing freely down her lovely face, tears of joy mixed with the tears of frustration. She moaned, and bent over, her forehead pressed against the thick carpet of the luxurious white marble bathroom.
Then she felt it, the small pinpoint of heat that spread in concentric waves up to her belly, causing small prickly sensations on her skin, making the goose bumps rise. And it wasn't enough. She pinched her clitoris hard with her two long fingernails, and winced as she felt the sharp pain skitter through her, until her ears were buzzing.
She gritted her teeth against the cry of pleasure she felt rising in her throat. Her breath was coming in quick, rasping gasps, as she felt the first heavy spasms of her orgasm.
Her body heaved over, and she landed in a twitching heap on the carpet, her legs jerking wildly, her face shining with sweat as she came in violent, spasms, which coursed through her body, like lightning courses through a summer sky.
Serena lay there, still rapidly fingering herself, as she felt the after-spasms of her orgasm rip through her.
She wasn't satisfied.
What was wrong with her, she thought, as her finger sought to further stimulate her still wildly twitching clitoris. She always loved sex, always achieved such magnificent orgasms, always looked forward to the next encounter, with an eagerness that was as attractive to the opposite sex, or the same sex bent on a lesbian encounter, as her obvious physical assets.
She could feel her clitoris climbing again, almost screaming at her in its demand for release.
Relentlessly, she tortured the little love button, harder and harder, trying to make it come quickly, and as violently as possible.
Serena longed to be possessed by a man, taken powerfully, and released from any need to play an active part. She wanted to be made to feel small, helpless, passive in the arms of some macho brute. And Serena's husband was no brute, nor any kind of macho.
She recalled the look on her husband's face, as he gazed at the French governess.
"No," she muttered to herself, her face a mask of lust as her orgasm began to peak, "he wouldn't shit where he lived. He couldn't, couldn't!" she wailed as her spasms crested.
"Ahhhh!" she gasped, her frigging finger slowing down, as the wave of passion subsided She lay, spent, listening to the sound of her breathing, enjoying the after-spasms of her climax, for a long time, until the demands on her time caught up with her sensuous wallowing in her own naked body.
She got up reluctantly, and turned on the shower. The ladies were due at ten-thirty, and she had to be there to greet them.
While she enjoyed the warm spray from the shower, her face became grave. Well, so the new French governess had arrived. And with one simple spanking, she had set Serena free from the chains of her long illusion, the sense that she was normal.
And Serena had paid the price for that illusion, in boredom, in a flabby figure, in the slightly smug, sour look that had settled on her face. Well, this could not go on. She did not enjoy bridge parties, backgammon, Ladies' Auxiliary meetings. Lately, she did not even enjoy her dull husband.
And as she soaped down, she realized that she had to do something about her life. Her anger rose as she thought of her husband's philandering. You'd think he would have learned something from those strumpets about pleasing a woman, she thought bitterly to herself.
As she stepped out of the tub, she turned to the mirror again. And now she was ashamed. Well, she thought, gingerly turning from right to left, noting the sag in her shoulders, the slight paunch to the belly, the lack of luster in the soft, deep brown eyes, something has to be done about it, and now. IT James flits around, maybe it's because there isn't too much, these days, to come home to.
And Marie. There was a quick flash in the dull brown eyes, a sudden twitch to the set mouth.
"All right!" said Serena, to her reflected image. "You will do something about it."
She positively smiled and purred. "You are what you are, darling, even though you have been hiding from it all these years, living such a lie."
Serena went up to the mirror, and pressed her body against it, and then pushed her mouth against it, flicking' her tongue out, feeling the cold kiss of the indifferent glass. She arched away from the mirror, pressing her hands against it, and looked down at her hips and legs.
"I want them both," she muttered, grinding her teeth. "I want both of them-Marie and James."
For a long moment, she stood there, trembling, feeling her pussy quivering, unsatisfied with the frigging she had just given it.
When she looked up, and into the mirror again, there was a hint of the old fire in Serena's eyes, a marked uplift to the face.
"And I'm going to have them both," she said simply, running her hands over her breasts, and her belly, lightly fingering her still quivering clitoris.
She turned abruptly from the mirror, and proceeded with another dull day, swearing to herself that this would be the last dull day she ever had.