Page 10 of Scandalous Passions

“Lady Marjorie—”

“Just Marjorie. I mean, if you like.”

Janet nodded. “Very well. Then I’m just Janet. To answer your question, yes he kissed and touched me. Everywhere I desired. I always enjoyed my neck being massaged, but my favorite times were when he sucked my nipples and stroked between my legs until I coated his fingers in honey…oh dear. Your cheeks are as red as my gown. Should I stop?”

“No,” whispered Marjorie, squirming on her seat, her nipples now visibly pressing against the bodice of her gray gown. “Please don’t stop.”

…

This was wicked talk. The most scandalous of conversations.

Yet after a taste, Marjorie wanted so much more. To know all the secrets of love. Right here in the covered wagon that shielded her and Janet from the world like a cocoon, and right now before the king decided on her husband and yanked her away. This was not the day for retreat back to that little girl whose life had been governed by strict rules and the chime of bells but to try and become the woman she so wanted to be: one who made her own decisions and marched forth with great courage.

“Please don’t stop,” Marjorie said again, her inability to sit still nothing to do with the rocking, jolting wagon. Her body felt strange, like her gown was a full size too small, her breasts sensitive, her skin warm and prickling.

Janet smiled and leaned back against her seat. “I won’t. Prepare yourself, my dear.”

Her guardian was just so sensual. As Janet had taken off her hood to travel, her unbound hair fell to the small of her back like liquid flames. Her green eyes were glittering, and the red velvet gown with silver embroidery she wore had tucked up around one slender thigh, offering a glimpse of stocking and satin garter. Would her skin be as soft to touch as it looked? Was the bush between her legs the same hue as her hair?

Swallowing hard against the shamefully lewd thoughts, Marjorie forced a smile. “I’m ready.”

“Hmm. Where was I? Oh yes. An ode to being stroked between my legs. I often bring myself to release when alone, but it really is quite delicious when a lover does it. Do you touch yourself? I daresay you must. A body has needs.”

She blushed. “I…ah…”

Janet frowned. “Marjorie. Never say you’ve been denying yourself that.”

“It’s sinful,” she protested weakly. “The punishment was ten lashes.”

“Bah. If you don’t know your own body, what you like and dislike, how can you guide a husband? They must be instructed kindly but firmly, so when it is time for bed, it is something you delight in, not dread. An ill-prepared woman is one who will feel pain. Besides. If God did not intend for women to feel pleasure, He would not have furnished us with our own special little pearl.”

“Our what?”

Again, that husky laugh echoed in the wagon. “Pleasure pearl. That small bud between your legs with no other purpose than making you feel good. Forget everything else; this is all the evidence required that God truly loves us.”

Marjorie blinked in confusion. “I don’t…I don’t know what you speak of. I’ve only touched my breasts. Nowhere else. Apart from bathing, but that was too swift to feel anything.”

“That must be remedied at once.”

Excitement flared, so strong Marjorie almost whimpered. “You mean…”

“I mean,” said Janet, her eyes darkening to emerald as she flicked her lips with the tip of her tongue, “if you wish, I shall offer instruction on how to touch yourself and gain release.”

“Yes! Er…yes, please. I would like that.”

“Well then, my eager little student, raise your gown so we might begin.”

Marjorie gripped the folds of her kirtle and gown, which were once cream colored but now more gray tinged after frequent wearing and sponging…then stilled. If she raised them, Janet would see her bare thighs. They weren’t long and sleek and smooth but short, plump, and dimpled. Not to mention her rounded, fleshy belly. Would Janet be dismayed like the prioress and nuns had been, always advising Marjorie to fast, to work harder in the gardens, to walk another circle of the convent?

“I must warn you,” she said miserably. “I am—”

“Delicious. Curved and ripe,” replied Janet softly. “The way your hips sway and breasts bounce…I am envious. Dale to your hill. But whether we are tall and slender or petite and plump, we are all worthy of love, respect, and hours of tongue appreciation. Now, be a good lass and lift that gown.”

Marjorie shuddered, both soothed and stirred by the kind but unmistakable command, the avid interest in Janet’s gaze. “Very well.”

Slowly, awkwardly, she gathered all layers of fabric and lifted them to her knees, then higher, as heat scorched across her cheekbones. How difficult this was.

“Spread your thighs, my dear,” said Janet gently. “At once.”