Caribbean Nanny (closed)
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon’s mornings were rituals in precision, having changed little since his days in the Queen’s service. The only major alteration had been in having a wife to wrap her arms around him and then lose that again. Yet, for the first time since losing her Jon wasn’t feeling the absence of Mary. Looking at the picture of her on his dresser the sensation of her absence was still keen but no longer summoned that sense of falling it had until recently. Instead Sir Jon finished dressing in a simple white suit and went down to the breakfast table, finding Jon Jr and Miranda already there. Greeting them both good morning he asked how they were doing and sat with them while they finished eating.
The table was set for his son and daughter but the other two places, his own and the nanny, Miss Harrison’s, were undressed. Accordingly proportions were also reduced. Both his children eyed him inquisitively but didn’t inquire. Somewhere between innocence and genius is a child’s thought, thought Sir Jon. A few minutes later the children finished and after coming around to give their father a kiss on the cheek before leaving they went to get ready for their special day. They were already giggling, looking forward to it.
Sir Jon took the opportunity to lean back and wait for Megan to show up. Her arrival had discomforted him in at first, as it was the first real change in the household in many years. But in the weeks since it had become hard to believe that it had only been weeks since she arrived. In a short time, Sir Jon had become accustomed to delaying his breakfast a little each morning to make sure he saw her before he left to attend to the plantation’s concerns.
Pulling out his favorite pocket watch, Sir Jon glanced at it and surely enough, like clock work, Miss Harrison’s steps could be heard descending the stairs. Sir Jon rose but continued to drink his coffee as Megan stepped into the room. Her gaze first went to the children’s empty places.
Looking at Sir Jon she was reassured that he didn’t look concerned so there evidently was nothing the matter but... “Where are the children sir? I had hoped to go over some additional lessons this morning with Miranda who...”
The thought was interrupted by Sir Jon who rose his hand to silence her and lowered his cup to the table. “It is the first Saturday of the month. The children will be helping other children clean the church. I’m afraid though,” Sir Jon smiled lightly “that it isn’t quite as disciplinary as it sounds. They look forward to it each month as its their only chance to reliably see and talk with some of the other children their age.”
“I see, Sir. Well, I guess I will find something to do.”
“No, you will not. Your time is already being accounted for. I have been a negligent host and will begin to account for myself this morning.”
Jon looked and Megan’s eyes and saw some confusion there. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, sir?”
She’s a little cute when she’s confused. “I promised to teach you the local geography on your first day here and have been too busy to continue your lessons. So, I have placed matters in the hands of my foremen and will take you on a field trip today. Our places here are unadorned as Anna has made us a brunch to take with us.”
As if on cue, Anna, stepped into the room carrying the large basket. She had been waiting to hear Megan enter before bringing it as a few things were being kept warm on the stove.
“Thank you, Anna.” Sir Jon took the basket and motioned towards the door, for Megan to proceed him. “Would you join me?” Sir Jon bowed his head just a little with the query and was delighted to see a small but definite smile.
“Yes, sir,” she said before leaving. On the front porch Sir Jon stepped up to her side and began leading her through the back trails of the estate in the general direction of the beach that she knew but he veered off left rather than the usual right. Eventually they came to a series of sand dunes where Sir Jon began leading her though the best place. Although not well attired for the feat Megan kept her silence and only reached out for his hand to help her steady herself twice and only when she realized that he seemed to offer his hand more readily than he needed to.
Presently they stepped out into a small space, too small to be a cove but identical in shape. No more than a hundred feet across the ground swung out from the beach, creating a perfect circular shape with only a tiny break near the beach itself. The perfectly still pool reflected the climbing sun. It was perfectly isolated with only a few waves striking near the beach and Megan could see brightly colored fish swimming in the pool, obviously protected from the seas’s more aggressive predators.
“Ojo del Cielo, Miss Harrison. Heaven’s Eye as the Spanish explorers of the island called it. Now, lets enjoy our brunch as a reward for our hike.”
Pulling out a large sheet, Sir Jon laid it out for Megan to gingerly sit down, spreading her dress as she sat to be decent and watched him unload the basket. Sliced guava and papaya were loaded out on covered plates along with more traditional items such as small sausages and toast. However, Megan’s eyes did wonder when Sir Jon pulled out a hatchet.
“Excuse me, as its quickly getting warm with the sun out, I’ll gather us a few coconuts for fresh milk.” Sir Jon stood and began walking toward a clump of tree just beyond the dunes.
Megan took advantage of being alone a moment and peeked into the basket, curious to see what else might be hidden. Several bottles of grape juice, or perhaps wine, were still in there hidden from the sun, but what caught here eye was an odd bulge wrapped in handkerchiefs. But before curiosity could over take her, Megan heard Sir Jon’s steps on the sand as he returned carrying four cocoanuts.
The table was set for his son and daughter but the other two places, his own and the nanny, Miss Harrison’s, were undressed. Accordingly proportions were also reduced. Both his children eyed him inquisitively but didn’t inquire. Somewhere between innocence and genius is a child’s thought, thought Sir Jon. A few minutes later the children finished and after coming around to give their father a kiss on the cheek before leaving they went to get ready for their special day. They were already giggling, looking forward to it.
Sir Jon took the opportunity to lean back and wait for Megan to show up. Her arrival had discomforted him in at first, as it was the first real change in the household in many years. But in the weeks since it had become hard to believe that it had only been weeks since she arrived. In a short time, Sir Jon had become accustomed to delaying his breakfast a little each morning to make sure he saw her before he left to attend to the plantation’s concerns.
Pulling out his favorite pocket watch, Sir Jon glanced at it and surely enough, like clock work, Miss Harrison’s steps could be heard descending the stairs. Sir Jon rose but continued to drink his coffee as Megan stepped into the room. Her gaze first went to the children’s empty places.
Looking at Sir Jon she was reassured that he didn’t look concerned so there evidently was nothing the matter but... “Where are the children sir? I had hoped to go over some additional lessons this morning with Miranda who...”
The thought was interrupted by Sir Jon who rose his hand to silence her and lowered his cup to the table. “It is the first Saturday of the month. The children will be helping other children clean the church. I’m afraid though,” Sir Jon smiled lightly “that it isn’t quite as disciplinary as it sounds. They look forward to it each month as its their only chance to reliably see and talk with some of the other children their age.”
“I see, Sir. Well, I guess I will find something to do.”
“No, you will not. Your time is already being accounted for. I have been a negligent host and will begin to account for myself this morning.”
Jon looked and Megan’s eyes and saw some confusion there. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, sir?”
She’s a little cute when she’s confused. “I promised to teach you the local geography on your first day here and have been too busy to continue your lessons. So, I have placed matters in the hands of my foremen and will take you on a field trip today. Our places here are unadorned as Anna has made us a brunch to take with us.”
As if on cue, Anna, stepped into the room carrying the large basket. She had been waiting to hear Megan enter before bringing it as a few things were being kept warm on the stove.
“Thank you, Anna.” Sir Jon took the basket and motioned towards the door, for Megan to proceed him. “Would you join me?” Sir Jon bowed his head just a little with the query and was delighted to see a small but definite smile.
“Yes, sir,” she said before leaving. On the front porch Sir Jon stepped up to her side and began leading her through the back trails of the estate in the general direction of the beach that she knew but he veered off left rather than the usual right. Eventually they came to a series of sand dunes where Sir Jon began leading her though the best place. Although not well attired for the feat Megan kept her silence and only reached out for his hand to help her steady herself twice and only when she realized that he seemed to offer his hand more readily than he needed to.
Presently they stepped out into a small space, too small to be a cove but identical in shape. No more than a hundred feet across the ground swung out from the beach, creating a perfect circular shape with only a tiny break near the beach itself. The perfectly still pool reflected the climbing sun. It was perfectly isolated with only a few waves striking near the beach and Megan could see brightly colored fish swimming in the pool, obviously protected from the seas’s more aggressive predators.
“Ojo del Cielo, Miss Harrison. Heaven’s Eye as the Spanish explorers of the island called it. Now, lets enjoy our brunch as a reward for our hike.”
Pulling out a large sheet, Sir Jon laid it out for Megan to gingerly sit down, spreading her dress as she sat to be decent and watched him unload the basket. Sliced guava and papaya were loaded out on covered plates along with more traditional items such as small sausages and toast. However, Megan’s eyes did wonder when Sir Jon pulled out a hatchet.
“Excuse me, as its quickly getting warm with the sun out, I’ll gather us a few coconuts for fresh milk.” Sir Jon stood and began walking toward a clump of tree just beyond the dunes.
Megan took advantage of being alone a moment and peeked into the basket, curious to see what else might be hidden. Several bottles of grape juice, or perhaps wine, were still in there hidden from the sun, but what caught here eye was an odd bulge wrapped in handkerchiefs. But before curiosity could over take her, Megan heard Sir Jon’s steps on the sand as he returned carrying four cocoanuts.
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coyotepondering
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Sir Jon returned with an armful of cocoanuts and deposited them on the blanket with a flourish to Megan’s playful clapping. Seating himself back on the blanket he sets the hard shells against a nearby piece of drift wood to brace them as he pulls back with the machete and proceeds to chop the tops of the cocoanuts off, making their milky liquid available.
"It's beautiful here," Megan said as her eyes swept the tiny cove and Sir Jon worked. "It's almost magical." Sir Jon nodded in agreement, pleased with her reaction and turned to look at her, watching her eyes move and the tilt of her head.
She ducked her head as she murmured, "Perhaps I've been reading too many fantasies to the children." She continued on, "I'm curious, Sir, why you've brought me out here. Not that I'm not enjoying it, of course,"she was quick to add, "But ... I... "
Sir Jon did not look at her as he spoke. “I wanted your company today Miss Harrison.”
With a smile Sir Jon stood and slipped off his jacket, shoes and socks, setting them inside the picnic basket to protect them from the sand. Deliberately walking towards Megan, letting the sand push up between his toes, Sir Jon avoided her eyes but let his hand hang low so that she could see the cloth wrapped shape draped over his hand. He had retrieved it from the basket when putting his jacket away. Instead of meeting her eyes Sir Jon scanned the tilt of her chin, the bend of her elbow, the delicacy of her skin and the rumple of her dress where she sat.
Kneeling behind her Sir Jon leaned forward so that his head was level with hers and pulled his arms around her, laying the wrapped handkerchief in her lap. Sir Jon’s fingertips slowly unwrapped it, corner by corner pulled away to show first one quarter than another of slight metalwork. The shape was circular and only as large as his palm. The glint of metal was silver and was hammered gently into a lattice work that supported an odd disk of reflective crystal at its center with four small white stones set around it. A delicate chain reached from two sides to a clasp.
Beside her she could hear Sir Jon whispering. “Look out there.” She turned and saw his arm pointing to her right, across the blue water. “In the mornings when the tide is low you can see the hint of the dark mass that was once an ancient volcano. A local craftsman pulls himself down by a rope attached to a heavy stone to chisel out volcanic glass like this red obsidian. He makes these necklaces to sell to sailors. I saw this stone in his shop last week and had never seen one so bright a red and immediately knew that it would look perfect beneath your hair. I had him use silver instead of steel and add these baby pearls into the edges.”
Reaching down Sir Jon lifted the jewelry by its chain and brushed aside her hair with one hand lifting it to her neck and closing the clasp behind her neck, his fingers sliding along the skin to close the clasp.
“I asked you to join me today. No, I manipulated it, because I wanted your company Megan.”
Sir Jon let his finger tips linger on the back of her sensitive neck.
"It's beautiful here," Megan said as her eyes swept the tiny cove and Sir Jon worked. "It's almost magical." Sir Jon nodded in agreement, pleased with her reaction and turned to look at her, watching her eyes move and the tilt of her head.
She ducked her head as she murmured, "Perhaps I've been reading too many fantasies to the children." She continued on, "I'm curious, Sir, why you've brought me out here. Not that I'm not enjoying it, of course,"she was quick to add, "But ... I... "
Sir Jon did not look at her as he spoke. “I wanted your company today Miss Harrison.”
With a smile Sir Jon stood and slipped off his jacket, shoes and socks, setting them inside the picnic basket to protect them from the sand. Deliberately walking towards Megan, letting the sand push up between his toes, Sir Jon avoided her eyes but let his hand hang low so that she could see the cloth wrapped shape draped over his hand. He had retrieved it from the basket when putting his jacket away. Instead of meeting her eyes Sir Jon scanned the tilt of her chin, the bend of her elbow, the delicacy of her skin and the rumple of her dress where she sat.
Kneeling behind her Sir Jon leaned forward so that his head was level with hers and pulled his arms around her, laying the wrapped handkerchief in her lap. Sir Jon’s fingertips slowly unwrapped it, corner by corner pulled away to show first one quarter than another of slight metalwork. The shape was circular and only as large as his palm. The glint of metal was silver and was hammered gently into a lattice work that supported an odd disk of reflective crystal at its center with four small white stones set around it. A delicate chain reached from two sides to a clasp.
Beside her she could hear Sir Jon whispering. “Look out there.” She turned and saw his arm pointing to her right, across the blue water. “In the mornings when the tide is low you can see the hint of the dark mass that was once an ancient volcano. A local craftsman pulls himself down by a rope attached to a heavy stone to chisel out volcanic glass like this red obsidian. He makes these necklaces to sell to sailors. I saw this stone in his shop last week and had never seen one so bright a red and immediately knew that it would look perfect beneath your hair. I had him use silver instead of steel and add these baby pearls into the edges.”
Reaching down Sir Jon lifted the jewelry by its chain and brushed aside her hair with one hand lifting it to her neck and closing the clasp behind her neck, his fingers sliding along the skin to close the clasp.
“I asked you to join me today. No, I manipulated it, because I wanted your company Megan.”
Sir Jon let his finger tips linger on the back of her sensitive neck.
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon watched as Megan squeezed her eyes shut and he saw the flush deepen down her neck and over her cheeks. Her thumb moved in almost nervous circles against his thigh. Sir Jon poured his sight into her eyes as they opened. Their green depths were dark and verdant like grass under shadows. Megan’s eyes hid her thoughts but she betrayed herself with a tremor that pressed her thumb harder against him. Suddenly his shirt felt tight and rough on him.
Sir Jon felt his fingers move, tracing his finger nails over the back of Megan’s hand and felt her skin twitch in response. With his free hand Sir Jon found Megan’s shoulder and ran his hand along it to her neck until his palm rested against her cheek, cupping it. With the heat of her face against his hand Sir Jon held her still as a slight panic grew in her eyes. Sir Jon could make out the faint glimmer of sweat on Megan’s skin as her chest pushed out against the loosened corset and laying on top of the treasure was a trinket.
Sir Jon returned to her eyes and smiled softly as he might to comfort, “I chose the right woman to wear the necklace. It needed a beauty greater than its own to bear it.”
With the surf audible but receding and the sun growing warmer on them, Sir Jon leaned in, tilting his head to the side to bring his lips to Megan’s. Under his fingers he felt her neck tense and her hand clamp around his thigh. Jon saw Megan’s eyes, wide as he leaned in and felt the first tenuous contact between his lips and her’s. As the skin of his lips touched hers he felt her mouth part and her breath wash over his lips. The rest of Megan’s body seemed immobile with tension. The barest of skin made contact before Sir Jon pressed his lips downward and kissed once lightly, triggering a surge in Megan’s blood.
However briefly it was, Sir Jon brushed his lips away from hers as soon as he kissed her. He ran the skin of his lips over hers and away, trailing them down her mouth so that the she felt the tips of his beard on her face as his lips caressed her cheek. And then Sir Jon kissed her cheek once there before leaning back. Sir Jon held her cheek, feeling the tension ebb from her muscles and temperature reduce to a crimson blush before he let her go. The moment of staring seemed to drag until he was only holding her left hand again, still against him.
“Sir, I, ....” Fumbling for words Megan struggled to say something but was cut off again by Sir Jon smiling.
“Don’t speak. I acted inappropriately in response to your shock. Don’t think too harshly of me, after all you’re a beautiful woman.”
“But, that’s..”
“Again, don’t speak. I understand, I really do but you can thank me for your present later. I don’t want your thoughts confused when we speak of this again. So, for now I brought you out here for brunch and we should have it.”
Reaching over Sir Jon leaned against Megan and felt her chest push against his as he picked up one of the opened cocoanuts from the blanket.
“Now, let’s have a drink and cool down. We never have this at the house as it is too hard to keep fresh. It is very sweet and after you drink the milk, the flesh of the fruit is wonderful to put your teeth to and nibble at, still dripping with moisture.”
Finally Sir Jon released her hand from his thigh but kept control of it and brought it up to hold the cocoanut.
Sir Jon felt his fingers move, tracing his finger nails over the back of Megan’s hand and felt her skin twitch in response. With his free hand Sir Jon found Megan’s shoulder and ran his hand along it to her neck until his palm rested against her cheek, cupping it. With the heat of her face against his hand Sir Jon held her still as a slight panic grew in her eyes. Sir Jon could make out the faint glimmer of sweat on Megan’s skin as her chest pushed out against the loosened corset and laying on top of the treasure was a trinket.
Sir Jon returned to her eyes and smiled softly as he might to comfort, “I chose the right woman to wear the necklace. It needed a beauty greater than its own to bear it.”
With the surf audible but receding and the sun growing warmer on them, Sir Jon leaned in, tilting his head to the side to bring his lips to Megan’s. Under his fingers he felt her neck tense and her hand clamp around his thigh. Jon saw Megan’s eyes, wide as he leaned in and felt the first tenuous contact between his lips and her’s. As the skin of his lips touched hers he felt her mouth part and her breath wash over his lips. The rest of Megan’s body seemed immobile with tension. The barest of skin made contact before Sir Jon pressed his lips downward and kissed once lightly, triggering a surge in Megan’s blood.
However briefly it was, Sir Jon brushed his lips away from hers as soon as he kissed her. He ran the skin of his lips over hers and away, trailing them down her mouth so that the she felt the tips of his beard on her face as his lips caressed her cheek. And then Sir Jon kissed her cheek once there before leaning back. Sir Jon held her cheek, feeling the tension ebb from her muscles and temperature reduce to a crimson blush before he let her go. The moment of staring seemed to drag until he was only holding her left hand again, still against him.
“Sir, I, ....” Fumbling for words Megan struggled to say something but was cut off again by Sir Jon smiling.
“Don’t speak. I acted inappropriately in response to your shock. Don’t think too harshly of me, after all you’re a beautiful woman.”
“But, that’s..”
“Again, don’t speak. I understand, I really do but you can thank me for your present later. I don’t want your thoughts confused when we speak of this again. So, for now I brought you out here for brunch and we should have it.”
Reaching over Sir Jon leaned against Megan and felt her chest push against his as he picked up one of the opened cocoanuts from the blanket.
“Now, let’s have a drink and cool down. We never have this at the house as it is too hard to keep fresh. It is very sweet and after you drink the milk, the flesh of the fruit is wonderful to put your teeth to and nibble at, still dripping with moisture.”
Finally Sir Jon released her hand from his thigh but kept control of it and brought it up to hold the cocoanut.
coyotepondering
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"Hmm, let's see, what other delectable things have you got for us today?"
Sir Jon settled into a relaxed position, sitting cross legged beside his nanny, as Megan sorted through the foods the cook had packed. Megan also sat but carefully smoothed out her skirts to cover her legs. Sir Jon watched her motions, thinking that she was a tad slow doing so, allowing him to see more of her legs than might be proper. As Sir Jon watched her do this he shifted his eyes up to hers, surprising her, causing her to blush. She had obviously expected him to keep his eyes lower than her face.
She’s teasing me now, just a little, Sir Jon thought. So, he settled back to enjoy the show of her working while he reached out and broke out the first of the wine bottles, a succulent cherry wine that was very rich but not very sweet. As he poured it Sir Jon looked up to Megan’s face to watch her and catch her eyes occasionally and then let her eyes follow his to her necklace and the bosom beneath it. And so it went for sometime, Sir Jon watching Megan dole out food and her blushing and turning away when she saw him watching her. Slowly the plates in front of them grew with an assortment of fruits and pastries.
As this game between them wore on the sun climbed into the sky and the heat gradually rose. The sea became a molten field of light as the sun bounced off it and Sir Jon was grateful for the cooling shade of the nearby trees. Sitting beside Megan, Sir Jon pulled off his vest, leaving only his thin cotton shirt on as he rolled up his sleeves. The motion distracted Megan who had been idly commenting on each dish she uncovered and Sir Jon smiled again, with that rough pull at the corners of his mouth that bordered on a grin.
Moving himself to sit so that his hip touched her’s Sir Jon reached out for on open plate. “Now, Miss Harrison, I know that this is improper as civilized diners but since we are having native foods, lets eat like natives.”
With that preamble, Sir Jon reached down and lifted from the plate a long slice of mango, its gold flesh still damp with its own fluid. Handling it between his forefinger and thumb he raised it to his lips and bit off a piece before offering it to Megan’s lips. Watching Megan’s eyes, Sir Jon let her lips close around the fruit, feeling them brush his own fingers where he held it as she took her bite. Pulling his finger back Sir Jon swallowed the last of the slice and brought the fingers to his lip. Taking his time Sir Jon suckled the juice off, running his lips over the fingers to dry them as Megan watched him from the corner of her eyes.
“I hope that wasn’t too disagreeable, Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon spoke with a bit a smirk in his voice but his tone was strong and soothing.
“No sir, it was quite... educational.” Although Sir Jon couldn’t quite read her still he could tell that Megan had collected herself a little.
Reaching down to pick up one of the wine glasses he had poured, handing it to her and keeping another for himself, “I’m glad. Now for a second tradition. The welcoming toast. We will use the wine since its already here. And its getting warm so a cool glass might be prudent.” With that he winked at h er and raised his own glass slightly, “Welcome, Megan Harrison. You’re welcome in my home for as long as you’ll tolerate me and care for my children as if they were your own.”
With that Sir Jon touched the tip of his glass to Megan’s and sealed the toast, watching her face for a response.
Sir Jon settled into a relaxed position, sitting cross legged beside his nanny, as Megan sorted through the foods the cook had packed. Megan also sat but carefully smoothed out her skirts to cover her legs. Sir Jon watched her motions, thinking that she was a tad slow doing so, allowing him to see more of her legs than might be proper. As Sir Jon watched her do this he shifted his eyes up to hers, surprising her, causing her to blush. She had obviously expected him to keep his eyes lower than her face.
She’s teasing me now, just a little, Sir Jon thought. So, he settled back to enjoy the show of her working while he reached out and broke out the first of the wine bottles, a succulent cherry wine that was very rich but not very sweet. As he poured it Sir Jon looked up to Megan’s face to watch her and catch her eyes occasionally and then let her eyes follow his to her necklace and the bosom beneath it. And so it went for sometime, Sir Jon watching Megan dole out food and her blushing and turning away when she saw him watching her. Slowly the plates in front of them grew with an assortment of fruits and pastries.
As this game between them wore on the sun climbed into the sky and the heat gradually rose. The sea became a molten field of light as the sun bounced off it and Sir Jon was grateful for the cooling shade of the nearby trees. Sitting beside Megan, Sir Jon pulled off his vest, leaving only his thin cotton shirt on as he rolled up his sleeves. The motion distracted Megan who had been idly commenting on each dish she uncovered and Sir Jon smiled again, with that rough pull at the corners of his mouth that bordered on a grin.
Moving himself to sit so that his hip touched her’s Sir Jon reached out for on open plate. “Now, Miss Harrison, I know that this is improper as civilized diners but since we are having native foods, lets eat like natives.”
With that preamble, Sir Jon reached down and lifted from the plate a long slice of mango, its gold flesh still damp with its own fluid. Handling it between his forefinger and thumb he raised it to his lips and bit off a piece before offering it to Megan’s lips. Watching Megan’s eyes, Sir Jon let her lips close around the fruit, feeling them brush his own fingers where he held it as she took her bite. Pulling his finger back Sir Jon swallowed the last of the slice and brought the fingers to his lip. Taking his time Sir Jon suckled the juice off, running his lips over the fingers to dry them as Megan watched him from the corner of her eyes.
“I hope that wasn’t too disagreeable, Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon spoke with a bit a smirk in his voice but his tone was strong and soothing.
“No sir, it was quite... educational.” Although Sir Jon couldn’t quite read her still he could tell that Megan had collected herself a little.
Reaching down to pick up one of the wine glasses he had poured, handing it to her and keeping another for himself, “I’m glad. Now for a second tradition. The welcoming toast. We will use the wine since its already here. And its getting warm so a cool glass might be prudent.” With that he winked at h er and raised his own glass slightly, “Welcome, Megan Harrison. You’re welcome in my home for as long as you’ll tolerate me and care for my children as if they were your own.”
With that Sir Jon touched the tip of his glass to Megan’s and sealed the toast, watching her face for a response.
coyotepondering
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Sir Jon sat on the blanket, watching the waves roll onto the shore and lap at Megan’s feet. He was still absorbing her casual reference to him as Jon.... a name he hadn’t heard a woman use without his honorific in a long time. Even the wives of his few friends called him Sir, always aware of the difference in station regardless of comradeship. To be honest it felt good to hear it from Megan’s lips.
Watching from the blanket made Sir Jon feel a little like a voyeur, watching Megan dance across the sand and into the surf. Some fey mood had overtaken her and she was delightful to watch. She giggled as the sea breeze whipped her hair about, strands settling across her face, forcing Megan to pull them aside and behind which Sir Jon could see her impish smile. Sir Jon watched her, illuminated by the sun reflecting off the ocean behind her.
As she turned away from him, Megan called over her shoulder, "Won't you come too?"
Jon stood and stripped off his shirt, leaving him only in his pants, the edges of which scraped against the sand. He could immediately feel the heat of the sun against his bare skin. He had been too long in the islands to feel the sun as an Englishman should. He knew that he could never live away from its warmth and the islands where he would one day be buried. But as he heard Megan giggle, the idea no longer seemed as dire as it had recently. He felt ten years younger as he stepped against the hot sand, looking forward to stepping into the surf.
As Jon walked forward he shielded his eyes from the sun, trying to watch Megan as the sun rose behind her, silhouetting her. Although his skin had long ago adjusted to the sun of the islands he feared his eyes never would. Walking towards Megan, she seemed like a nymph, a spirit of the ocean,. With the sun behind her, he could only see her illuminated edges. He could see strands of her hair and the white delicateness of her skin. As she spun Jon saw her face, a green flickering of her eyes as she pulled a strand away and the sun streaked across her cheek.
Reaching the line where the waves kissed the shore Sir Jon walked along that line, watching Megan and watching her watch him. Suddenly he broke into a short run and dove directly into the waves. By launching himself with his feet and cutting into the waves with his arms he found himself propelling underwater and turning around with his hips, shifting his weight around to flip himself underwater. He returned towards the shore with a strong scissor kick.
Of course Jon knew that Megan would watch him but lose track in the waves. Sir Jon rose suddenly out of the water immediately before her, his head rising out of the water beneath her eyes. She stumbled back, startled, as he stood ahead of her, gasping for air and pulling his wet hair back. Sir Jon smiled, amused, pressing drops of water out of his beard.
“One thing about the Navy. You get plenty of practice swimming if you want it.” He grinned in a way that reminded Megan of a school boy but instead of cocky it looked sage against Sir Jon’s weathered features, a simple self admission.
“Oh, sir, you,” Megan stammered and then composed herself. She looked up at him, taking a playful tone, “I’d forgotten that you take the children swimming. I suppose I should have remembered that someone had taught Jon and Miranda.”
“Guilty I’m afraid. Jon is still a bit weak in his long strokes and a wee bit over confidant but one day he’ll be better than me.” Sir Jon spoke with pride evident in his voice. He absently wiped the drying salt from his lips as held out his hand and took Megan’s. Sir Jon led Megan out a little deeper, letting the waves kiss around their knees, listening to her giggle as the foam tickled her legs.
“Now, a little known fact about the island, Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon pulled Megan around to face him as he stood facing out to sea, “The natives have a peculiar method of swimming from island to island, using the waves to propel them. Its made possible by every twenty first wave being particularly strong.” As he grinned Megan felt a wave strike her from behind, soaking her back and throwing her forward against Sir Jon, her bosom pressing against him, her little scream in his ear as she flailed.
Laughing, Sir Jon tried to right them to stand but Megan’s panicked weight falling against him pushed Jon off balance and he stumbled back several feet before falling to the sand with Megan in his arms, her landing on top of him. Disheveled, hair askew and laughing manically Megan looked at Jon.
“You beast! You knew!” Megan’s outrage was genuine but mollified by an obviously discomforted Sir Jon who hadn’t’ expected to end up in the sand from it. Looking at him Megan began laughing, a fact that he did not seem equally amused by. At that instant Sir Jon looked up, directly into Megan’s face. With only an inch separating their lips, his ragged breath washed across her face. Almost instantly his breath, quickened by the panic, slowed as Megan’s own chortling died into a dim convulsion as she became conscious her weight pressing against him and her return breath misting over his lips.
Eventually he found his voice at the same time that a grin over took him. Sir Jon raised an eyebrow as if questioning the accusation but the glare lacked conviction with the content smile accompanying it. “Here, let me help you up by way of apology for my little joke.”
Sir Jon moved his arms to lift at Megan’s hips, to push her off him but forgot where his hands were beginning and found themselves running her wet dress up her thighs, his palms sliding up towards her hips. Realizing his position, Sir Jon hurried his hands to her waist, already feeling her flush down her legs and helped her rise to her feet before he himself rose. Standing, again with the sun rising above her shoulder, Sir Jon reached over to help pull the strands of wet hair off her face, caressing it with the back of his fingers. He watched Megan’s eyes, orbs of green against a crimson flush.
“I’m sorry Megan,” Sir Jon pulled her face to his, “that it was an accident. Next time I touch you, it won’t be.” And Sir Jon leaned forward and touched his lips to her cheek before holding her chin up to see her smile.
Watching from the blanket made Sir Jon feel a little like a voyeur, watching Megan dance across the sand and into the surf. Some fey mood had overtaken her and she was delightful to watch. She giggled as the sea breeze whipped her hair about, strands settling across her face, forcing Megan to pull them aside and behind which Sir Jon could see her impish smile. Sir Jon watched her, illuminated by the sun reflecting off the ocean behind her.
As she turned away from him, Megan called over her shoulder, "Won't you come too?"
Jon stood and stripped off his shirt, leaving him only in his pants, the edges of which scraped against the sand. He could immediately feel the heat of the sun against his bare skin. He had been too long in the islands to feel the sun as an Englishman should. He knew that he could never live away from its warmth and the islands where he would one day be buried. But as he heard Megan giggle, the idea no longer seemed as dire as it had recently. He felt ten years younger as he stepped against the hot sand, looking forward to stepping into the surf.
As Jon walked forward he shielded his eyes from the sun, trying to watch Megan as the sun rose behind her, silhouetting her. Although his skin had long ago adjusted to the sun of the islands he feared his eyes never would. Walking towards Megan, she seemed like a nymph, a spirit of the ocean,. With the sun behind her, he could only see her illuminated edges. He could see strands of her hair and the white delicateness of her skin. As she spun Jon saw her face, a green flickering of her eyes as she pulled a strand away and the sun streaked across her cheek.
Reaching the line where the waves kissed the shore Sir Jon walked along that line, watching Megan and watching her watch him. Suddenly he broke into a short run and dove directly into the waves. By launching himself with his feet and cutting into the waves with his arms he found himself propelling underwater and turning around with his hips, shifting his weight around to flip himself underwater. He returned towards the shore with a strong scissor kick.
Of course Jon knew that Megan would watch him but lose track in the waves. Sir Jon rose suddenly out of the water immediately before her, his head rising out of the water beneath her eyes. She stumbled back, startled, as he stood ahead of her, gasping for air and pulling his wet hair back. Sir Jon smiled, amused, pressing drops of water out of his beard.
“One thing about the Navy. You get plenty of practice swimming if you want it.” He grinned in a way that reminded Megan of a school boy but instead of cocky it looked sage against Sir Jon’s weathered features, a simple self admission.
“Oh, sir, you,” Megan stammered and then composed herself. She looked up at him, taking a playful tone, “I’d forgotten that you take the children swimming. I suppose I should have remembered that someone had taught Jon and Miranda.”
“Guilty I’m afraid. Jon is still a bit weak in his long strokes and a wee bit over confidant but one day he’ll be better than me.” Sir Jon spoke with pride evident in his voice. He absently wiped the drying salt from his lips as held out his hand and took Megan’s. Sir Jon led Megan out a little deeper, letting the waves kiss around their knees, listening to her giggle as the foam tickled her legs.
“Now, a little known fact about the island, Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon pulled Megan around to face him as he stood facing out to sea, “The natives have a peculiar method of swimming from island to island, using the waves to propel them. Its made possible by every twenty first wave being particularly strong.” As he grinned Megan felt a wave strike her from behind, soaking her back and throwing her forward against Sir Jon, her bosom pressing against him, her little scream in his ear as she flailed.
Laughing, Sir Jon tried to right them to stand but Megan’s panicked weight falling against him pushed Jon off balance and he stumbled back several feet before falling to the sand with Megan in his arms, her landing on top of him. Disheveled, hair askew and laughing manically Megan looked at Jon.
“You beast! You knew!” Megan’s outrage was genuine but mollified by an obviously discomforted Sir Jon who hadn’t’ expected to end up in the sand from it. Looking at him Megan began laughing, a fact that he did not seem equally amused by. At that instant Sir Jon looked up, directly into Megan’s face. With only an inch separating their lips, his ragged breath washed across her face. Almost instantly his breath, quickened by the panic, slowed as Megan’s own chortling died into a dim convulsion as she became conscious her weight pressing against him and her return breath misting over his lips.
Eventually he found his voice at the same time that a grin over took him. Sir Jon raised an eyebrow as if questioning the accusation but the glare lacked conviction with the content smile accompanying it. “Here, let me help you up by way of apology for my little joke.”
Sir Jon moved his arms to lift at Megan’s hips, to push her off him but forgot where his hands were beginning and found themselves running her wet dress up her thighs, his palms sliding up towards her hips. Realizing his position, Sir Jon hurried his hands to her waist, already feeling her flush down her legs and helped her rise to her feet before he himself rose. Standing, again with the sun rising above her shoulder, Sir Jon reached over to help pull the strands of wet hair off her face, caressing it with the back of his fingers. He watched Megan’s eyes, orbs of green against a crimson flush.
“I’m sorry Megan,” Sir Jon pulled her face to his, “that it was an accident. Next time I touch you, it won’t be.” And Sir Jon leaned forward and touched his lips to her cheek before holding her chin up to see her smile.
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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The timbre of Megan’s voice echoed in Sir Jon’s mind as she ran off. Her eyes had been full of pain and confusion as she escaped from his presence. The quivering of her features was there in his mind long after he could no longer see her moving away through the dunes. He had stood by dumbfounded at her response and watched her leave, taking stock of his own senses and unsure of his will. Each awareness caught up with him in sequence until he found himself standing there, the sun nearly at its zenith, with events to reconcile.
I shan't forget it. she had said. Forget what, Sir Jon wondered? Had she been present during the same events or had her interpretation been that different? Have I offended? Am I the fool?
As Sir Jon stacked plates and emptied wine glasses he became quietly angry. A determined sort of motion over took him as the space was tidied and he redressed in his shirt and shoes, efficiently and without care. With his jacket and other minor articles stowed away in the basket Sir Jon began his trek back to the main house. The picnic basket was only marginally lighter now than it had been on the trip out and he carried it with less care and longer strides. The weight of it swung wildly in his hand but he ignored the discomfort.
Why am I so angry? This is madness at the least. Why am I allowing her to enrage me like this? The questions came rapidly and without restraint. Sir Jon did not like his own answers and choked them down.
Once at the house Sir Jon let himself into the servants’ entrance and deposited the basket where it would be easily found. Sir Jon navigated himself through the corridors and to his room on the second floor, shutting the door and moving to the wash basin. Still hot from the sun, splashing the cold water on his face felt refreshing and good. Accumulating his salt dried and sandy clothing on the floor Sir Jon washed himself, rubbing the wet sponge over his red skin to divest himself of the ocean’s dried crust.
I will not be taunted or have my emotions tested. Her lesson plans be damned.
He selected from the closet a dark brown suit, double breasted with a stiff collared shirt. Setting his tie into place with the tie tack Sir Jon rang the chamber’s bell. It was Abel who answered.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Deliver a message to Miss Harrison. She will meet me in my study at 3 pm before afternoon tea.”
“And if she can’t attend, Sir?” Sir Jon didn’t respond and after a moment Able left of his own accord.
Sir Jon walked to his study at half past two and entered, closing the thick wooden doors behind him. He stuffed his favorite pipe with weed and lit it, letting the thick smoke fill the room though he opened the windows to let it air a little. He gazed out, past the trees and low hung sky into the distance as he deliberated.
What will you say? Sir Jon leaned his head back and shifted his eyes from the blue sky to the raftered ceiling and its dark shadowed corners. I will lay things out between us.
And if she turns away? The answer was simple. I can bear that.
And if she mocks you? Sir Jon did not have an answer for that and it troubled him. His thoughts turned to the dark shadows between the rafters and he hid his heart from his own thoughts.
A short time passed and a hesitant knock broke Sir Jon's brooding. His response was short.
"Enter." The temptation was strong to avoid her but it seemed unwise. Sir Jon knew that he may proffer an apology before the interview was over but it would not be given in supplication.
Megan entered, redressed and cleaned. She was beautiful though wrapped up as if for a nunnery. Get thee to one, he nearly screamed. But no, he meant it no more than the prince had. His anger was still hot though a little moderated by her presence and the strand of loose hair above her ear that refused to obey. Sir Jon immediately sought out her neck and did not see the necklace though her high throated dress could have easily hidden it. Still, it wounded him a little.
Their eyes met and Sir Jon saw that same confusion there as before but also a certain anger of her own. Sir Jon slid one hand into his pocket to rub his thumb over the chain of his pocket watch.
"Miss Harrison," Sir Jon indicated a chair ahead of his desk, "do you have absolutely any glimmer of a conception of why I asked you here?" His voice was even but obviously strained with its restraint. He was not anticipating the response with any pleasure but bore his eyes to her to observe every flutter of her expression.
I shan't forget it. she had said. Forget what, Sir Jon wondered? Had she been present during the same events or had her interpretation been that different? Have I offended? Am I the fool?
As Sir Jon stacked plates and emptied wine glasses he became quietly angry. A determined sort of motion over took him as the space was tidied and he redressed in his shirt and shoes, efficiently and without care. With his jacket and other minor articles stowed away in the basket Sir Jon began his trek back to the main house. The picnic basket was only marginally lighter now than it had been on the trip out and he carried it with less care and longer strides. The weight of it swung wildly in his hand but he ignored the discomfort.
Why am I so angry? This is madness at the least. Why am I allowing her to enrage me like this? The questions came rapidly and without restraint. Sir Jon did not like his own answers and choked them down.
Once at the house Sir Jon let himself into the servants’ entrance and deposited the basket where it would be easily found. Sir Jon navigated himself through the corridors and to his room on the second floor, shutting the door and moving to the wash basin. Still hot from the sun, splashing the cold water on his face felt refreshing and good. Accumulating his salt dried and sandy clothing on the floor Sir Jon washed himself, rubbing the wet sponge over his red skin to divest himself of the ocean’s dried crust.
I will not be taunted or have my emotions tested. Her lesson plans be damned.
He selected from the closet a dark brown suit, double breasted with a stiff collared shirt. Setting his tie into place with the tie tack Sir Jon rang the chamber’s bell. It was Abel who answered.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Deliver a message to Miss Harrison. She will meet me in my study at 3 pm before afternoon tea.”
“And if she can’t attend, Sir?” Sir Jon didn’t respond and after a moment Able left of his own accord.
Sir Jon walked to his study at half past two and entered, closing the thick wooden doors behind him. He stuffed his favorite pipe with weed and lit it, letting the thick smoke fill the room though he opened the windows to let it air a little. He gazed out, past the trees and low hung sky into the distance as he deliberated.
What will you say? Sir Jon leaned his head back and shifted his eyes from the blue sky to the raftered ceiling and its dark shadowed corners. I will lay things out between us.
And if she turns away? The answer was simple. I can bear that.
And if she mocks you? Sir Jon did not have an answer for that and it troubled him. His thoughts turned to the dark shadows between the rafters and he hid his heart from his own thoughts.
A short time passed and a hesitant knock broke Sir Jon's brooding. His response was short.
"Enter." The temptation was strong to avoid her but it seemed unwise. Sir Jon knew that he may proffer an apology before the interview was over but it would not be given in supplication.
Megan entered, redressed and cleaned. She was beautiful though wrapped up as if for a nunnery. Get thee to one, he nearly screamed. But no, he meant it no more than the prince had. His anger was still hot though a little moderated by her presence and the strand of loose hair above her ear that refused to obey. Sir Jon immediately sought out her neck and did not see the necklace though her high throated dress could have easily hidden it. Still, it wounded him a little.
Their eyes met and Sir Jon saw that same confusion there as before but also a certain anger of her own. Sir Jon slid one hand into his pocket to rub his thumb over the chain of his pocket watch.
"Miss Harrison," Sir Jon indicated a chair ahead of his desk, "do you have absolutely any glimmer of a conception of why I asked you here?" His voice was even but obviously strained with its restraint. He was not anticipating the response with any pleasure but bore his eyes to her to observe every flutter of her expression.
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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"If I am here to hear your explanation and apology for your conduct on the beach earlier this afternoon, then yes, I do have a "glimmer of a conception.'”
Sir Jon’s knuckles gripped the arm rests of his chair, nearly bruising themselves with their tension. The skin was white and splashed with red veins where his skin drew taunt. He stood slowly, drawing himself up by his hands until his legs stood under him. Absent mindedly he straightened his vest as he walked the half a dozen feet around his desk to stand in front of Megan Harrison.
Peering down at his nanny, Sir Jon drank in her expression with his eyes. At another time he might have been impressed with her defiance. At another time he would not be looking at her, his dilated eyes locked to hers, sky blue to verdant green.
“I am not accustomed to explaining myself, much less apologizing, to any one Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon felt his voice rising but strained his throat, keeping it level. “And doing so to someone who has treated me with the kind of callous disregard for me that you have would be truly unique!”
By the end Sir Jon was a mild roar, mere inches from Megan’s face and he felt his stomach clench as if held in a fist.
Sir Jon’s knuckles gripped the arm rests of his chair, nearly bruising themselves with their tension. The skin was white and splashed with red veins where his skin drew taunt. He stood slowly, drawing himself up by his hands until his legs stood under him. Absent mindedly he straightened his vest as he walked the half a dozen feet around his desk to stand in front of Megan Harrison.
Peering down at his nanny, Sir Jon drank in her expression with his eyes. At another time he might have been impressed with her defiance. At another time he would not be looking at her, his dilated eyes locked to hers, sky blue to verdant green.
“I am not accustomed to explaining myself, much less apologizing, to any one Miss Harrison.” Sir Jon felt his voice rising but strained his throat, keeping it level. “And doing so to someone who has treated me with the kind of callous disregard for me that you have would be truly unique!”
By the end Sir Jon was a mild roar, mere inches from Megan’s face and he felt his stomach clench as if held in a fist.
coyotepondering
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The tone stung at Sir Jon, questioning his character. Although he had never been defensive about his nobility, this was not a questioning of the noblesse oblige, but his own actions. He knew that he towered over Megan but it gave him no comfort. His enemy was her pride and his own anger.
“Miss. Megan. Harrison.” Each word was forced. “You are correct that you are here to be a nanny but you appear to be under a serious illusion.” Sir Jon struggled with what to say next. He wanted to scream at her a dozen things but they were all a cacophony of noise in his brain.
“I do not invite whores into my company. No woman has laid in my bed since Mary died and until recently I could not imagine that another ever would.” Sir Jon’s voice was level and cold, his words lacking any premeditation. But, as he spoke his voice became more engaged. “And, if you think,” here his voice cracked for a second, “for even a single second, that I shop for gifts for whores then perhaps you are grossly mistaken about what a whore’s role is,” here Sir Jon paused trying to breathe, “and you need to be educated!”
As he stood there Sir Jon felt his arm tense and he struggled with his own will. Megan Harrison was probably unaware that the only thing that saved her from being struck in his rage was the hurt that he saw in her eyes and gave the little pause of reason in his heart, sickened by hurt.
“Miss. Megan. Harrison.” Each word was forced. “You are correct that you are here to be a nanny but you appear to be under a serious illusion.” Sir Jon struggled with what to say next. He wanted to scream at her a dozen things but they were all a cacophony of noise in his brain.
“I do not invite whores into my company. No woman has laid in my bed since Mary died and until recently I could not imagine that another ever would.” Sir Jon’s voice was level and cold, his words lacking any premeditation. But, as he spoke his voice became more engaged. “And, if you think,” here his voice cracked for a second, “for even a single second, that I shop for gifts for whores then perhaps you are grossly mistaken about what a whore’s role is,” here Sir Jon paused trying to breathe, “and you need to be educated!”
As he stood there Sir Jon felt his arm tense and he struggled with his own will. Megan Harrison was probably unaware that the only thing that saved her from being struck in his rage was the hurt that he saw in her eyes and gave the little pause of reason in his heart, sickened by hurt.
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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Sir Jon’s heart felt blackened, like a rotting vine was wrapping around it. He hadn’t felt this flavor of rage since Mary had died and he was shocked at the depth it stabbed into him.
Again his words were measured but they were poisoned to his own mouth and he felt his tongue slack. “You silly little girl. That book is a diversion and nothing more! You have a great deal, apparently, to learn about love.”
Sir Jon paused, drawing in several breathes before resuming, watching Megan’s unblinking eyes. He barely registered the flickering of gas lamps against the wood paneled walls and the scent of sandalwood mixed with the bile he felt form in his own stomach.
Continuing the soliloquy, “Miss Harrison, I would allow you, if I over stepped my bounds, to rebuke me. I would apologize if I acted inappropriately. I would even permit you to strike me if I took undue liberties. But, you have acted dismissively against the affections I feel for you and mocked the depth of them.”
Sir Jon closed his eyes shut for a second, trying to summon his will into focus before opening them again to Megan’s mask like face. “I have no one to blame but myself for acting like a school child but I will not allow you to act petulantly like a child and engage in the same behaviors you are to abjure my children against. And if you do I will treat you as a child and educate you with the bare of my hand.”
Again his words were measured but they were poisoned to his own mouth and he felt his tongue slack. “You silly little girl. That book is a diversion and nothing more! You have a great deal, apparently, to learn about love.”
Sir Jon paused, drawing in several breathes before resuming, watching Megan’s unblinking eyes. He barely registered the flickering of gas lamps against the wood paneled walls and the scent of sandalwood mixed with the bile he felt form in his own stomach.
Continuing the soliloquy, “Miss Harrison, I would allow you, if I over stepped my bounds, to rebuke me. I would apologize if I acted inappropriately. I would even permit you to strike me if I took undue liberties. But, you have acted dismissively against the affections I feel for you and mocked the depth of them.”
Sir Jon closed his eyes shut for a second, trying to summon his will into focus before opening them again to Megan’s mask like face. “I have no one to blame but myself for acting like a school child but I will not allow you to act petulantly like a child and engage in the same behaviors you are to abjure my children against. And if you do I will treat you as a child and educate you with the bare of my hand.”
coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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"You wouldn't dare!"
The thought had not been fully formed in Sir Jon’s mind until she said that. The threat had not been thought out but as she gathered her defiance against him and he watched it in the lines of her face the idea gained credibility.
If she wants to challenge my will she will discover my limits!
Sir Jon reached out to place his arms on Megan’s and pulled her to him, glaring down into her expression. The fear did not please him as it might have another antagonist,.but he was resolute to show her that her passions did not give her absolute rights to abuse his affections. Both her wrists were held in his single large hand. His strong fingers spread wide to grasp them both but held firm against her jerking. Leaning back against the desk he dragged Megan to stand next to him and then sat on the desk behind him. Reaching down he roughly pulled her skirts up. He drew their lengths up in his hands until the floor length cloth was at her waist, exposing her bloomers.
Jon released her hands but held tight to her arm. His voice was cold as if held to a course of action he did not relish but would see through to any bitter end. “Hold up your skirts Miss Harrison or have them draped over your head. Then bend over. Oh, and be prepared to count them off. I’m sure you recall the procedure from either your own days or your own wards.”
Sir Jon saw the emotions in her eyes but couldn’t read them fully. All he knew at that point was that the madness had partially consumed him and though he regretted it he also knew that if she did not bend over he would hold her down over his lap.
The thought had not been fully formed in Sir Jon’s mind until she said that. The threat had not been thought out but as she gathered her defiance against him and he watched it in the lines of her face the idea gained credibility.
If she wants to challenge my will she will discover my limits!
Sir Jon reached out to place his arms on Megan’s and pulled her to him, glaring down into her expression. The fear did not please him as it might have another antagonist,.but he was resolute to show her that her passions did not give her absolute rights to abuse his affections. Both her wrists were held in his single large hand. His strong fingers spread wide to grasp them both but held firm against her jerking. Leaning back against the desk he dragged Megan to stand next to him and then sat on the desk behind him. Reaching down he roughly pulled her skirts up. He drew their lengths up in his hands until the floor length cloth was at her waist, exposing her bloomers.
Jon released her hands but held tight to her arm. His voice was cold as if held to a course of action he did not relish but would see through to any bitter end. “Hold up your skirts Miss Harrison or have them draped over your head. Then bend over. Oh, and be prepared to count them off. I’m sure you recall the procedure from either your own days or your own wards.”
Sir Jon saw the emotions in her eyes but couldn’t read them fully. All he knew at that point was that the madness had partially consumed him and though he regretted it he also knew that if she did not bend over he would hold her down over his lap.
coyotepondering
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"Sir, you cannot mean to do this! I am not a child!"
“No, you are not a child. And that is why you are to be reminded of what acting like one gains you.”
Had Megan been able to see Sir Jon’s face she would have been surprised. A different visage than she imagined accompanied the stern tone. No longer confronting her eyes, his had lost some of their glazed rage. Although uneasy his arm tensed and he held his hand rigid, settling it to barely touch her bloomers. The hand was so close that Megan could not have helped but to feel the hand push against the bloomers though it did not actually touch her. Her entire body tensed as he did so.
“You have been warned Megan. Call out the strikes or you will get more than I have decided on. Any that are not called out do not count of course.”
With that Sir Jon pulled his hand back and ... stopped. He felt Megan shifting in his lap and the heat of her body against his hand where he held her down. He could not see her with her skirts lifted but could imagine the disheveled hair over her eyes and his heart ached.
I will not strike in anger. I will not behave like a savage.
Steeling his will, Sir Jon followed through, restraining his strike. The impact struck Megan's bottom with great force but though she may not know it, was spared the actual violence of his strength. He watched his hand make contact and listened to the sharp sound. Her flesh vibrated under his hand. Her body shook as she clenched her muscles. Sir Jon held his hand against her, giving Megan time to draw a breath again after hearing her hold it. He let the silence linger, feeling the seconds pass, waiting for her to call the number of the first blow. In the silence he could hear the gaslights burning and the night birds in the nearby jungle.
After time passed and she continued to hold her silence, he pulled back and struck again, bending his elbow and making the smack resonate in the small room. He hit the right cheek, feeling the smooth cotton against his palm and her jumping in her skin underneath him. A fourth time he struck, moving his hand again to virgin skin and letting his hand fall low, just above her thighs. Each impact was sharp, pounding her bottom with force and pushing her across his lap. Sir Jon's own hand was already pink.
With a sound choked by the tension of her throat, Sir Jon heard a single faint sob and the forced declaration, "One." Still indignant but a little cooled by fear, Megan's voice lingered in his mind unpleasantly.
Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves Sir Jon resumed his task. Pulling back only half the distance Sir Jon struck Megan's upraised bottom again, with only a fraction of the force of his first strikes. The strike still hurt but not with the severity of a brutal impact but rather with a sharp stinging that flushed the skin until it bristled to the touch.
"Call it." He said, his tone simple and subdued, when Megan hesitated at the change.
"Two," she paused and then added, "Sir." The tone was still defiant but venomous.
Each blow fell on a seperate space of flesh, bringing the intimacy of Sir Jon’s hand to every reachable inch of Megan’s bottom. Each strike hurt but the pain wasn't sharp. Instead it stinged and burned as Megan felt her skin's heat rise, as if she was too near a great fire.
"Three. Four. Five."
The blows came, spaced at exact intervals. Seconds passed as the flush deepened into Megan's body. Each strike vibrated her buttocks under his palm and each sounded in the small space though muffled by her cotton bloomers. Sir Jon's hand fell repeatedly, pausing only a few seconds between each strike as Megan called them out. Already, even, the bloomers felt rough against the sensitive skin.
"Six. Seven." Megan's voice was strong but faltered under the duress.
With each successive strike the pain faded and Megan felt a slight lingering after each blow. She would hear the sound of Sir Jon's palm, cupped and slapping, followed by the sensation of sharp impact and the swelling of blood into the slapped flesh. And then an awareness of pressure would follow that lingered for a second before he removed his hand.
"Eight. Nine." The numbers began coming fainter, as if Megan was fighting her own voice.
The blows kept landing, each blow hurting just a little less than the one before it as something else began over taking the pain. Sir Jon felt her shift under him, no longer recoiling so strongly from the blows. Each impact was still uncomfortable but some other instinct instilled her spirit as she shifted beneath him.
"Ten," she called, her voice trembling.
And the blows stopped, Sir Jon paused, acutely aware of Megan's very feminine form on his lap and the heat of her body. He measured his own breath, slowing his chest as he listened to Megan's breathing. He could feel the moisture of her breath against his leg through the cotton of his pants and imagined it rising up his thigh. He could hear her, ragged from the gasping she underwent with each strike. He brought his hand down again, prepared to begin the remainder of her punishment but instead of a stinging slap he struck lightly, on her already tender flesh and felt her push back against his hand despite the acute sensitivity she must feel from the contact.
“No, you are not a child. And that is why you are to be reminded of what acting like one gains you.”
Had Megan been able to see Sir Jon’s face she would have been surprised. A different visage than she imagined accompanied the stern tone. No longer confronting her eyes, his had lost some of their glazed rage. Although uneasy his arm tensed and he held his hand rigid, settling it to barely touch her bloomers. The hand was so close that Megan could not have helped but to feel the hand push against the bloomers though it did not actually touch her. Her entire body tensed as he did so.
“You have been warned Megan. Call out the strikes or you will get more than I have decided on. Any that are not called out do not count of course.”
With that Sir Jon pulled his hand back and ... stopped. He felt Megan shifting in his lap and the heat of her body against his hand where he held her down. He could not see her with her skirts lifted but could imagine the disheveled hair over her eyes and his heart ached.
I will not strike in anger. I will not behave like a savage.
Steeling his will, Sir Jon followed through, restraining his strike. The impact struck Megan's bottom with great force but though she may not know it, was spared the actual violence of his strength. He watched his hand make contact and listened to the sharp sound. Her flesh vibrated under his hand. Her body shook as she clenched her muscles. Sir Jon held his hand against her, giving Megan time to draw a breath again after hearing her hold it. He let the silence linger, feeling the seconds pass, waiting for her to call the number of the first blow. In the silence he could hear the gaslights burning and the night birds in the nearby jungle.
After time passed and she continued to hold her silence, he pulled back and struck again, bending his elbow and making the smack resonate in the small room. He hit the right cheek, feeling the smooth cotton against his palm and her jumping in her skin underneath him. A fourth time he struck, moving his hand again to virgin skin and letting his hand fall low, just above her thighs. Each impact was sharp, pounding her bottom with force and pushing her across his lap. Sir Jon's own hand was already pink.
With a sound choked by the tension of her throat, Sir Jon heard a single faint sob and the forced declaration, "One." Still indignant but a little cooled by fear, Megan's voice lingered in his mind unpleasantly.
Removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves Sir Jon resumed his task. Pulling back only half the distance Sir Jon struck Megan's upraised bottom again, with only a fraction of the force of his first strikes. The strike still hurt but not with the severity of a brutal impact but rather with a sharp stinging that flushed the skin until it bristled to the touch.
"Call it." He said, his tone simple and subdued, when Megan hesitated at the change.
"Two," she paused and then added, "Sir." The tone was still defiant but venomous.
Each blow fell on a seperate space of flesh, bringing the intimacy of Sir Jon’s hand to every reachable inch of Megan’s bottom. Each strike hurt but the pain wasn't sharp. Instead it stinged and burned as Megan felt her skin's heat rise, as if she was too near a great fire.
"Three. Four. Five."
The blows came, spaced at exact intervals. Seconds passed as the flush deepened into Megan's body. Each strike vibrated her buttocks under his palm and each sounded in the small space though muffled by her cotton bloomers. Sir Jon's hand fell repeatedly, pausing only a few seconds between each strike as Megan called them out. Already, even, the bloomers felt rough against the sensitive skin.
"Six. Seven." Megan's voice was strong but faltered under the duress.
With each successive strike the pain faded and Megan felt a slight lingering after each blow. She would hear the sound of Sir Jon's palm, cupped and slapping, followed by the sensation of sharp impact and the swelling of blood into the slapped flesh. And then an awareness of pressure would follow that lingered for a second before he removed his hand.
"Eight. Nine." The numbers began coming fainter, as if Megan was fighting her own voice.
The blows kept landing, each blow hurting just a little less than the one before it as something else began over taking the pain. Sir Jon felt her shift under him, no longer recoiling so strongly from the blows. Each impact was still uncomfortable but some other instinct instilled her spirit as she shifted beneath him.
"Ten," she called, her voice trembling.
And the blows stopped, Sir Jon paused, acutely aware of Megan's very feminine form on his lap and the heat of her body. He measured his own breath, slowing his chest as he listened to Megan's breathing. He could feel the moisture of her breath against his leg through the cotton of his pants and imagined it rising up his thigh. He could hear her, ragged from the gasping she underwent with each strike. He brought his hand down again, prepared to begin the remainder of her punishment but instead of a stinging slap he struck lightly, on her already tender flesh and felt her push back against his hand despite the acute sensitivity she must feel from the contact.
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coyotepondering
Guilded Pervert
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- Dec 14, 2003
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Sir Jon held his hand against Megan’s buttocks while holding her down. His strong fingers rubbed across her back between her shoulder blades, massaging the muscles and kneading their tension out. His hand pulled back and smacked her buttocks again, this time less a strike than a light slap. In and of itself the strike was hardly enough to sting unbattered flesh but Megan’s was already so tender that each slap sent bolts of sensation into her. Each blow caused her hips to shake and body to tense and relax in a small spasm that passed in the second it took to smack her bottom and remove the hand.
“Eleven!” Megan gasped, less from pain now than the sense of his hand against her tender skin.
“Shush.” Sir Jon’s voice was soft and sounded out of place next to the harsh sounds of his spanks and her own gasping. “No more counting.”
Moving his hand back only a few inches, Sir Jon struck twice more, quickly, feeling the heat of Megan’s skin through the bloomers every time he struck. He saw the redness of her skin through the thin cotton and watched his hand make impact. He felt her shake under him. Now, Sir Jon silently counted, keeping track of his strikes as Megan struggled with her breath and her chest heaved under him.
Each slap landed with a sharp sound and the feel of Megan’s flesh rebounding against Sir Jon’s hand. Twelve and thirteen. Twice he struck her cheeks feeling Megan wince a little and he could almost imagine that she was grinding on his leg to get away from his hand. Though she was no longer whimpering he could still hear her gasp as he struck her.
Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen.. Three more slaps followed, striking the crevice that split her cheeks and the flesh on each side. Sir Jon could feel Megan shift her hips under him as the sensation changed from pain to stimulation, from abuse to manipulation of her hyper sensitive skin. Another slap followed, striking the up curved turn of Megan’s rump near the small of her back. Seventeen. That was followed by two more with Jon’s finger tips landing on the far sides of each cheek and his palm landing solidly on the reddened skin and pliable flesh. Eighteen and nineteen.
One more, Sir Jon thought, only one more though she doesn’t know it. The rage had long ago left Sir Jon, he ran now on a mixture of instinct and ... something else. It was something like compassion and something like passion but he knew that both were only expressions of what he felt and that he would follow this even if it consumed him.
Twenty. The slap fell across her thighs, striking Megan where her bloomers tucked up between her legs and from the sudden jerk of her hips across his lap Sir Jon guessed where she felt that impact travel to, the vibrations rippling across her thighs as they were bent over his legs.
Are you all right, Miss Harrison? He should have verbalized the thought but instead Sir Jon’s hand moved of its own instinct. As his hand lingered at the junction of her thighs as his mind slowly acknowledge the subtle movement of her on his lap. He ran his hand over her thighs, his palm pushing the cotton cloth against her skin. His fingers gripped her and kneaded, moving up to the top of her thighs as he listened to her gasp in surprise. But, she did not move away from him. Pushing his hand between her legs Sir Jon ran his fingertips against the cotton and traced her inflamed and opening excitement. He cupped her heat with his hand and felt her involuntarily jerk and pleasureful sigh, her chest exhaling on his chest and surely feeling his own reaction against her. Her entire body was tense just as it had been when he had first struck her bottom.
Ssshhhh Sir Jon whispered to her.
Still running his hand up, Sir Jon’s fingers continued to trace the folds of the bloomer’s cloth until they reached the end of the cleft and the risen bud there. He was surprised to discover a swollen mass, excited and rigid. Reaching forward with his finger Sir Jon brushed over it as he reached the limit of his fingers. For a brief second he rubbed gently, holding cotton between fingers and the hard nub of her flesh above her folds, between the cloth. It made Megan suddenly moan and convulse. The moans continued, muffled by Sir Jon’s legs while her convulsions passed in waves a few seconds apart as each caused her to act as if in fits. As it passed she was no longer balanced on his legs but holding on and panting. It was quick but intense and left her too weak to stand, the violence of it surprising and pleasing Sir Jon.
Long minutes passed as Sir Jon waited and delicately rearranged Megan’s skirts. Finally, running his hands down the creases he came back up and raised her by her chin to see her flushed and tear blurred face. Megan looked away as he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to face him but she closed her eyes. I won’t let you run from me now. Leaning forward Sir Jon kissed her cheeks, placing his lips immediately under Megan’s eyes and kissing at her tears.
“Now Megan, go to your room and please prepare yourself. I will bring the oils to care for your skin.”
“Pre... prepare? Sir?” She looked bewildered again.
Sir Jon picked up his jacket and hung it on his rack. “Yes Megan. We will need to protect your skin to prevent it from blistering. I can care for it unless you would rather have someone else do it.”
Sir Jon wasn’t sure what the look in Megan’s eyes was but was afraid it was panic and so he grabbed her arm, holding it lightly, as she came near the door. “Megan,” he said carefully and controlling his tone, “if you refuse me into your room I will honor that but I will care for you, even if it means calling for someone else to act for me.”
“Eleven!” Megan gasped, less from pain now than the sense of his hand against her tender skin.
“Shush.” Sir Jon’s voice was soft and sounded out of place next to the harsh sounds of his spanks and her own gasping. “No more counting.”
Moving his hand back only a few inches, Sir Jon struck twice more, quickly, feeling the heat of Megan’s skin through the bloomers every time he struck. He saw the redness of her skin through the thin cotton and watched his hand make impact. He felt her shake under him. Now, Sir Jon silently counted, keeping track of his strikes as Megan struggled with her breath and her chest heaved under him.
Each slap landed with a sharp sound and the feel of Megan’s flesh rebounding against Sir Jon’s hand. Twelve and thirteen. Twice he struck her cheeks feeling Megan wince a little and he could almost imagine that she was grinding on his leg to get away from his hand. Though she was no longer whimpering he could still hear her gasp as he struck her.
Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen.. Three more slaps followed, striking the crevice that split her cheeks and the flesh on each side. Sir Jon could feel Megan shift her hips under him as the sensation changed from pain to stimulation, from abuse to manipulation of her hyper sensitive skin. Another slap followed, striking the up curved turn of Megan’s rump near the small of her back. Seventeen. That was followed by two more with Jon’s finger tips landing on the far sides of each cheek and his palm landing solidly on the reddened skin and pliable flesh. Eighteen and nineteen.
One more, Sir Jon thought, only one more though she doesn’t know it. The rage had long ago left Sir Jon, he ran now on a mixture of instinct and ... something else. It was something like compassion and something like passion but he knew that both were only expressions of what he felt and that he would follow this even if it consumed him.
Twenty. The slap fell across her thighs, striking Megan where her bloomers tucked up between her legs and from the sudden jerk of her hips across his lap Sir Jon guessed where she felt that impact travel to, the vibrations rippling across her thighs as they were bent over his legs.
Are you all right, Miss Harrison? He should have verbalized the thought but instead Sir Jon’s hand moved of its own instinct. As his hand lingered at the junction of her thighs as his mind slowly acknowledge the subtle movement of her on his lap. He ran his hand over her thighs, his palm pushing the cotton cloth against her skin. His fingers gripped her and kneaded, moving up to the top of her thighs as he listened to her gasp in surprise. But, she did not move away from him. Pushing his hand between her legs Sir Jon ran his fingertips against the cotton and traced her inflamed and opening excitement. He cupped her heat with his hand and felt her involuntarily jerk and pleasureful sigh, her chest exhaling on his chest and surely feeling his own reaction against her. Her entire body was tense just as it had been when he had first struck her bottom.
Ssshhhh Sir Jon whispered to her.
Still running his hand up, Sir Jon’s fingers continued to trace the folds of the bloomer’s cloth until they reached the end of the cleft and the risen bud there. He was surprised to discover a swollen mass, excited and rigid. Reaching forward with his finger Sir Jon brushed over it as he reached the limit of his fingers. For a brief second he rubbed gently, holding cotton between fingers and the hard nub of her flesh above her folds, between the cloth. It made Megan suddenly moan and convulse. The moans continued, muffled by Sir Jon’s legs while her convulsions passed in waves a few seconds apart as each caused her to act as if in fits. As it passed she was no longer balanced on his legs but holding on and panting. It was quick but intense and left her too weak to stand, the violence of it surprising and pleasing Sir Jon.
Long minutes passed as Sir Jon waited and delicately rearranged Megan’s skirts. Finally, running his hands down the creases he came back up and raised her by her chin to see her flushed and tear blurred face. Megan looked away as he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to face him but she closed her eyes. I won’t let you run from me now. Leaning forward Sir Jon kissed her cheeks, placing his lips immediately under Megan’s eyes and kissing at her tears.
“Now Megan, go to your room and please prepare yourself. I will bring the oils to care for your skin.”
“Pre... prepare? Sir?” She looked bewildered again.
Sir Jon picked up his jacket and hung it on his rack. “Yes Megan. We will need to protect your skin to prevent it from blistering. I can care for it unless you would rather have someone else do it.”
Sir Jon wasn’t sure what the look in Megan’s eyes was but was afraid it was panic and so he grabbed her arm, holding it lightly, as she came near the door. “Megan,” he said carefully and controlling his tone, “if you refuse me into your room I will honor that but I will care for you, even if it means calling for someone else to act for me.”
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