The Girl in the Attic

The new governess affords her employer with fresh opportunities

Movement on the street below draws my eyes from the newspaper. Glancing out the window, I gaze down to the sidewalk below at the shimmering yellow satin gown floating along the walkway towards my house. The visionary woman’s face is hidden under her parasol which matches her frock. A favorable gust of wind catches her skirt and quickly lifts its hem to expose both of her ankles. Ah, the tender shapes shroud in delicate white stockings. My cock twitches as the woman quickly reaches down to smooth her skirt. As she does this, she lowers the parasol exposing her golden hair dressed in long spiral curls descending from her temples with her remaining hair tied back under a matching yellow hat. She is about twenty years old with a firm figure, soft breasts, and a round rump.

Standing, I watch from the second story window as she approaches my house. And then, my cock twitches again as the delicate creature turns to pass though my gate and up the walk to my front door.

Who can this young woman be?

I step out into the hall and stand by the head of the stairs to listen. In a moment, her sweet young voice radiates, “I am Miss Amanda Tidwell to see Mrs. Weststone,” she says to my butler Mr. Davis.

Mr. Davis begins to climb the stairs and I quickly duck back into my room.

Emma and I married sixteen years ago yet we remained to live in this house with my parents. When my mother died, my father surrendered their apartment to my Emma and me. These rooms consist of her bedroom and dressing area with a separate bedroom with dressing area for me. This was the first time I knew about the secret of this house, the reason why my father would never consider selling it. He showed me the secret panel in the back of what was now my closet.

My father had constructed the house with four vertical shafts along the exterior walls. These are hidden by the house’s construction, but three are well known to the house’s occupants. Two are chimneys for the fireplaces throughout the house and the cook stoves in the cellar. One is for the servants’ stairs. But the final one is known only to me. This is a shaft similar, but smaller than the servants’ stairway as it is a ladder that extends from the cellar to the attic with landing platforms and hidden doorways along the way. One of these hidden doorways is in my closet and now I enter it.

Quietly I descend the ladder to the landing behind the drawing room wall where a peephole allows me to observe the conversation between my wife and the yellow satin vision of a woman who had just entered the house. Miss Amanda Tidwell is seated in profile to me in a wingback chair. Her lace gloved hands are nervously folded in her lap. Her feet are flat on the floor exposing her black boots, but those delicious ankles remained hidden behind the ruffle of a white petticoat. She has removed her hat and now her golden curls of hair adorn her cheeks and neck.

My wife enters the room and Amanda stands up to greet her, “Madam, I am Miss Amanda Tidwell and I am most pleased to present myself and apply for the position you have… if the position has not already been filled?”

“You are a seamstress?”

“Yes, ma’am. This gown, if you care to examine it, is all from my own hand.”

This vision of the female form lifts the hem of her skirt for my wife’s examination. Once again her delicate ankles are exposed and once again my cock, having a mind of its own, twitches enthusiastically.

“It is very nice work,” my wife says as she lowers the hem.

“Thank you ma’am. And, I am skilled with children so I will be able to teach your daughters this sewing skill. Additionally, I can read and write both English and French and will teach these skills to all five of your children.”

That’s why she is here.

Emma wanted our two daughters to be educated in the art of seamstress so that they would have an easier time securing a husband and maintaining their own families. The job had been posted a month or more ago and several women had applied, but none honestly possessed the skills Emma required. As the weeks passed, I had forgotten about it.

“Please enjoy some tea and biscuits. I will be back in a moment,” she says, as she rises from her chair.

I pull back from the peephole and quickly climb the ladder back to my closet. Freshening my clothes from the musty air in the secret passage, I return to my newspaper and my chair by the window just as Emma enters my room without knocking.

“Yes, Dear,” I say, with appropriate boredom as she approaches.

“Charles, a young woman, Miss Tidwell, has come to inquire about the position. You remember, teaching the children — ”

“Yes, of course,” I interrupt, “sewing instruction for the girls and reading and writing for all of them. Yes, of course I remember.” It’s always good to impress Emma. “Would you like me to examine the girl?”

“Yes, Charles, if you could trouble yourself.”

“It’s no bother. I’ll be down in a moment.”

I wait a discrete five minutes after Emma departs before walking down to the drawing room. When I enter, Miss Tidwell is still seated as before with my wife on the couch opposite her. They are each holding tea cups, but they both quickly set them down as I approach.

“Miss Tidwell, I presume,” I say as I approach. She has removed her gloves and she now extends her bare hand toward me while remaining seated. I take the delicate soft warm moist hand in mine and electricity shoots through my body ending in my manhood. I hold her eyes to keep her from noticing that my rod is now straining to burst the buttons of trousers. “I am Charles Weststone.”

“It is a true pleasure to meet you sir,” she softly replies. Her voice is in itself a melody.

“The pleasure is mine,” I say with the fullest of honesty in my meaning, and then, I quickly step away in an effort to conceal and calm my erection. “I mean you no insult but in fairness, Miss Tidwell, I must submit you to an examination in your reading and writing skill before you can be considered for the position.”

“Of course sir, there could be no insult in that,” she quickly and confidently replies.

I select a work of William Shakespeare and she skillfully reads several passages. I select another French text and she somewhat more awkwardly, but still flawlessly reads it aloud. It had been my intention that she would translate it and read it in English, but I don’t stop her as her voice all but sings the language of love. However, after a few moments I do stop her saying, “That is very well, Miss, but could you translate the next two passages and recite the words in English.” She continues this time speaking the words in English.

“Excellent,” I say, with utmost pleasure, and direct her to the writing desk where I indicate the location of the paper, pens and ink. “I wish to dictate a letter to you. Do you understand my intent?”

“Certainly, sir.”

She picks up a pen and inks it and I begin reciting, “Dear Mr. Andrew Millhouse,” and I watch as she precisely writes the words as I continue to speak. She even correctly formats the words on the paper to fit the correct formation of a personal letter. Her handwriting is exquisitely graceful and completely legible. When she completes the dictation, I again exclaim, “Excellent.” Turning to Emma I continue, “My dear, I find this young woman to be most satisfactory and I believe you will be all the better for inviting her into your employment.”

“Well, Miss Tidwell, the position is yours,” Emma proclaims. “While this position is not one of servitude, the only rooms we have available in the house are in the servant’s quarters. You will have to share a room with one of the maids — ”

“Nonsense,” I interrupt, “that won’t do. Those are not quarters befitting this position. The apartment in the attic would be much more suitable,” I say, knowing one of the peepholes from my secret passage looks into the attic room. I definitely want to watch this woman undress and bathe!

“Charles,” Emma begins, “that room is so hot in the summer.”

“But, she will complete her work down here and only sleep up there and in the relative cool of the evening. Besides, August is nearly over. Miss Tidwell, I leave it to you. Would you prefer to suffer through a bit of heat for the more spacious and private attic apartment, or share the small room in the cellar with one of the maids?”

“Ah, well, it seems I should try the attic room and, if the heat is too unbearable, I shall sleep in the cellar for the remainder of the summer.”

“Excellent, I do agree with that plan.”

“Yes,” Emma attempts to regain control of the conversation, “now Miss Tidwell, you can use this drawing room for your instructions to the children. And, you will have full use of the facilities downstairs and take your meals in the servant’s dining room.”

“Indeed, madam, I am simply — and very happily — in your employ,” the girl cheerfully says.

After several hours pass and the servants retire for the night, I carefully open the small doorway leading to my secret passageway and climb the ladder all the way to the attic landing. I, ever so quietly, step onto the landing platform. The heat quickly consumes me as there is even less ventilation in this shaft than in the rest of the attic.

But, I endure my sweat as I carefully open the peephole to see what Miss Amanda may be doing — what she may not be wearing. To my complete astonishment, she is totally nude. With amazement, I watch her as I’ve not seen a completely nude woman for many years, not since I observed our maid Mary as she stripped down after being caught in a sudden rain shower. Thoroughly soaked to the skin, Mary had thought she was alone as she shed her clothes in the servant’s dining hall and walked to her room completely nude. My own wife Emma has not allowed me to see her nude body for at least ten years.

Now, I watch as Amanda’s entire bare body glistens with a sheen created from her sweat. Tiny droplets have formed on the tips of her dark nipples. Enthralled, I watch a bead of perspiration inch along a curved path from her shoulder down her chest and along her breast to join the droplet already clinging to her beckoning nipple. The engorged drop hangs heavy as I long to kiss and suck the salty nectar from her teat. She is sitting at the desk writing a letter and the chair is concealing her bottom my view, but I can see her delicate bare feet as her toes caress each other under her chair.

Before I drown in my own sweat, but after my male member explodes and spills its creamy seed into the lining of my own drawers, I quickly descend the ladder back to my room where I cool for several minutes before going to bed.

The following three days pass in a consistent and rather unremarkable way.

As I had done on that first night, I establish the nocturnal habit of observing Amanda in her attic apartment. The heat of the secret passageway is only tolerable for a few minutes, but I am consistently present to observe her unusual and unabashed habit of prancing about her apartment in the complete nude. I enjoy more then one opportunity to observe the gentle sway of her full breasts, the firm roundness of her bottom, and the delicate if not abundant blond curls which adorn her mons Venus. As she apparently takes her bath in the morning, I have yet to observe this activity. Nonetheless, I am afforded the pleasure of releasing the tension in my erect cock each time I observer her.

***

One day I hear a ruckus from the rooms below and I sneak down the secret passageway to observe the conversation in the drawing room.

“What do you mean it’s lost?” Emma shouts at Miss Tidwell.

“I’m truly sorry, madam. I’m sure it will turn up, but I have for now misplaced it. It was in my room where I was mending it, but now it is gone.”

“That was my favorite blouse and I trusted it to you.”

“I’ll continue looking for it. Perhaps someone else picked it up by mistake.”

“Are you now accusing my staff of thievery? Young lady — ”

“No, ma’am, not my meaning at all. Just that accidents do happen. I will ask the others and I search for it. I promise.”

“Find it today! If you have not found it by dinner time, you will receive a proper punishment. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Amanda sadly and quietly replies before walking away.

However, the blouse is not found and I am again waiting behind the wall of the drawing room watching Emma angrily pace while she waits for Miss Tidwell. The children have been in their beds for over an hour and the servants have been dismissed for the night. Like a lamb walking to its own slaughter, Amanda enters the room and closes the door.

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I’ve looked everywhere. The blouse is not to be found. I’m very sorry that I lost it.”

“Yes, you are a sorry sort for sure. Are you wearing drawers?” Emma asks, as she produces the paddle she uses for the children’s discipline.

“Yes.”

“Remove them and be quick about it.”

Amanda faces my wife which presents her backside to me; so, I have a full unobstructed view as she lifts the hem of her skirt to expose first her stockings and then her drawers. She unties the ribbon holding her drawers closed and lets them fall to her ankles. She steps out of them. Picking them up, she lets her skirt’s hem fall back into place.

“Put them over there.” Emma points to a table and Miss Tidwell does as instructed.

Emma then sits in the center of the couch, and says, “Pull your hem up to your waist and then lie across my lap.” Emma intends to humiliate the young woman by punishing her though she was a child.

Amanda does as instructed and I catch a glimpse of curly cunny hair as she positions herself facing me. Unfortunately, I will not be able to see her fanny as it becomes inflamed. Emma skillfully begins to smack Amanda’s tender bottom with the paddle. I watch as her face first grimaces — SMACK — SMACK — and then tears form in her eyes — SMACK — SMACK. Soon she begins to sob, but she does not cry out aloud or try to squirm away.

As the paddling continues, Amanda finally breaks down and begins to thrash against the strength of my wife’s experienced arms.

“Please, madam, stop before you make me bleed!” she begs.

But, Emma knows this is only a sign that she is finally getting her message across. After ten more firm whacks of the paddle, Emma finally stops. Miss Tidwell is panting, hardly controlling her breathing as she keeps her cries at bay.

“Miss Tidwell, I want to know that I can trust you with my possessions. I want to know that this will NOT happen again.”

“Yes, madam, I promise that I will take much greater care with your possessions. I will NOT let this happen again. I will not lose anything again. Please, madam, I am very sorry,” she stammers though her sobs.

“Yes!” Emma jabs a sharp fingernail into Amanda’s inflamed bottom and I watch her jump from the sting. “I see now exactly how sorry you are.”

Amanda lifts herself from my wife’s lap and reaches for her drawers.

“NO! Leave those with me. I have lost my blouse and you, until I decide otherwise, have lost your drawers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Amanda quietly says, as she walks away with a strained swagger.

Later, I peek though the tiny hole into Amanda’s room and watch as she lies upon her belly on her bed. She is still in her habit of sleeping nude though the air has cooled. I take heart as I see the redness is still upon her butt while she is apparently struggling in this posture to write a letter.

My cock veritably leaps from my trousers as I imagine being the one to spank the young woman’s bare fanny. The vision of me being seated on her bed, while she lies across my lap, instantly forms in my mind. I imagine my fingers lifting her hem to expose her stocking legs and drawers. After a moment of admiration, I will unite the ribbon and release the two halves of her drawers open exposing her bare alabaster fanny to my scrutiny. She will surely gasp and shiver with the exposure. ‘Miss Tidwell,’ I will say, ‘to spare you the full intensity of my means I will forgo the paddle and use only my hand. However, you can expect no additional quarter from me.’ She will plea for mercy and I will smack her firmly, and say, ‘Silence! This is what is due to you.’ She will squirm and shiver her hips over my cock as I mercilessly alternate spanking the round cheeks of her bottom. Ultimately, she will be unable to contain her misery and cry out, upon which I will say, ‘Cry out if you must. I understand that this punishment is more than you could ever endure in silence. Take solace as no one can hear your shrieks.’ I won’t quit until she is complete overcome and her struggles open her legs revealing the pink slit between her thighs. I will watch her flower open and, when I gaze upon the pink entrance to her womanhood, my firm rod will flow forth its seed and only then will I stop her punishment.

Ahh, I moan as my cock spurts uncontrollably.

THE END

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