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Andrews UK - Hannah Lockhardt

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26 pages

English

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When her father sells their house overlooking the family's private beach, Millie fears she will never be able to swim the way she always has - naked and alone, and always dreaming of a mysterious figure. But on the family's last seaside excursion, a chance meeting in the hotel dining room will change her life forever, even if she doesn't quite believe it herself.

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Erotic literature

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	18 octobre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783333578
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
MILLIE
by
Hannah Lockhardt

Publisher Information
Millie
Published in 2013 by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Hannah Lockhardt 2013
The right of Hannah Lockhardt to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Millie
by Hannah Lockhardt
At the height of Midsummer, Millicent rose before dawn and - with an ear always cocked for the sound of her father wandering restlessly in his own rooms - slipped from the house down to the secluded stretch of dunes beyond the gates. First she stood at the water’s edge and in the burgeoning light, tried to glimpse her toes as it lapped to and fro. On sight of the sun itself she lifted her nightdress over her head and laid it on a cluster of rocks, then stood in stillness as the sun warmed her bones, half wishing for someone to catch her displaying her bounty before the glory of God.
For she adored bathing alone and bare as a water nymph, and this would be the last time she completed the ritual. In the morning, they would be moving to the town, and the bay would be lost to her forever.
***
Stifling, that’s what this is, thought Millie as she sat in the seamstress’s parlour, watching her mother finger fabric samples. They selected a swatch and held it against her shoulder, nodding.
“That will satisfy, I think.” Her mother passed the slip back. “And you’re sure it should take no more than two weeks?”
Mrs Prosser bristled at this perceived slight on her skills. “Quite sure, we run them up all the time. I dare say if you call in next week it will be finished, or close to. I’ll measure her now, if you don’t mind stepping from the room?”
“Of course.”
The door shut, and Mrs Prosser wielded her measuring tape like a circus master’s whip in Millie’s direction and gestured towards Millie’s outfit of choice - a Spring walking suit in a pretty shade of blue. “If you don’t mind, miss.”
Millie shrugged and began to unbutton her blouse, Mrs Prosser disappeared on some unknown errand and returned some moments later to the unholy sight of Millie’s pert, white backside presented to the fragrant air, her hands busied below her waist, rolling down her stockings. Behind her, Millie heard the strangulated gasps of the older woman and somehow realised she had done the wrong thing. Again.
“You knew full well she wouldn’t require you in a state of undress.” Her mother remonstrated on the short walk home. “You knew, and you did it anyway, regardless. And that poor woman. Quite how I’m to look her in the eye again, I’ve no idea. You cannot be trusted unless I am standing over you, and a girl of nineteen should not need to be chaperoned in the dressmaker’s studio.”
Millie remained silent, allowing her mother to grouse. After all, she was getting her way in the end, Millie would be forced to wear the damned bathing costume whether she cared to or not. The wilful misunderstanding in the parlour would be her last stand. From here on in she would have to be a picture of piety and chastity, become marriageable and dull.
The Brownes were once one of the premier aristocratic families on the coast. Millie’s Great-Great-Great- Grand-papa had made a tidy sum importing fine cloths from the Continent and had built Miranda - the house, named after his wife - with his first profits. It had been in the family ever since, though the business had been closed by her Grand-papa before she was born. Millie’s father was a doctor and a pragmatist who could not justify such a large dwelling for a small family and had chosen to sell it, moving the family inland to a town house, where they could still have a small servant staff, and Millie could be presented, if she ever pulled herself together. Neither her mother nor her father believed this would happen, she had missed the previous season’s deb ball by her own foolishness and they did not trust her to make this one without strong coaxing.
Since birth, Millie knew she had been nothing but a disappointment for her parents. Her first crime lay in being their first born child, her second in being a girl and her third being such a violent and traumatic birth that her mother had been instructed by her physician never to further her brood.
So Millicent Abigail was the sole heir to the Browne fortune, such as it was. When her father died she would take full control of everything, unless her parents could marry her off to someone who knew what he was doing. This was her fourth crime.
In deference to what she perceived to be their barely contained hatred, she became a water baby, in her early years spending hours being pushed through the dunes in her perambulator and venturing there on her own as she grew older.
Nanny had been a progressive sort who subscribed to a ‘healthful’ lifestyle. It was she who first encouraged Millie to take her tentative steps into the waters; and later hers was the body the girl first saw fully disrobed, on her own morning constitutional, when she thought no one could see her.
Millie had watched with interest as her guardian removed layer upon layer of underclothes until she stepped into the waters. A round spinster in her thirties, she nevertheless took care and attention over her body, and Millie admired her smooth, unblemished skin and her parts which, as she squatted to rub salt water into her skin, Millie noted were hairless. Despite her imperfections, which were numerous, she seemed unconcerned and proud of her body.
And so Millie followed suit. Or rather, sans-suit.
Though between themselves they maintained it was not really disregard for their only daughter that allowed her to explore alone - rather that the sand as far as the eye could see was theirs by law and there were few other inhabitants in the surrounding miles so they were assured no harm could come to their only daughter - in truth, this was not the case. They had no time for their daughter and so allowed her to do more or less as she pleased within the boundaries of their land.
This also meant they were not inclined to remind her she must wear a bathing costume.
After dinner, Millie made another effort to change her mother’s decision.
“You never made me wear a bathing costume at Miranda.”
Her mother sipped her glass of Madeira and waited for the tirade to be over.
“And I wouldn’t parade down the street naked if that’s what your assumption is. I’d do as I always do; find a secluded spot and take my swim there where no one can see.”
“Millicent, you know that it’s simply not possible to ensure you are alone when you are not on your own land. You must understand that. It’s unseemly to bathe... in the altogether. In public”
Millie changed her tack. “The material is awful, what if I come out in a rash?”
Mrs Brown did not look up. “Then you won’t bathe.”
“You couldn’t present me if I was covered in a rash. It might spread to my face.”
“Now you’re just being silly. I’ve had Jane run you a bath, It should be ready for you.”
Beaten, Millie nodded. “Thank you, Mama.”
She excused herself and had reached the door when her mother added; “But don’t linger. It will ruin your skin.”
In the bath, Millie soaped her arms and upper body thoroughly then rapidly lost interest in cleansing herself and leant back in the tub, allowing her mind to wander.
In the fantasy, she was standing at the water’s edge in her nightgown as she had done hundreds of times before. It was sunset and the air was warm. She peeled off the gown and stepped into the foam. When the water reached the backs of her knees, she felt movement behind her; the sound of the water lapping about her was louder. She wasn’t afraid.
He put his hands on her waist. He was naked as she was, she could feel him.
She got on her hands and knees like a dog.
In the tub, both hands travelled down over her stomach and between her parted legs. She smiled as her thumb fought through the thatch of hair to stake its claim.
He pressed up against her in the water, stroking the back of her knee, taunting her, and as she felt him push against her more forcibly she climaxed sharply and cleanly. Dunking her body under the water she wondered who the man could be.
A week later, in the dressmaker’s parlour, she found the garment to be even more objectionable than she could have possibly imagined.
As Mrs Prosser and her mother clucked over the design, she tried to picture herself swimming in this monstrosity, and only imagined her body sinking without trace under the weight of so much cloth and stockings thicker than she wore in winter.
“Need it-” The hens looked up sharply. She swallowed and tried again. “Need it be quite so... bulky? The stockings for example...”
“Necessary, Miss Browne. You could hardly be seen in public baring your ankles.”
“The thought of it!” Her mother echoed, visibly willing her daughter to cease this embarrassment.
As her mother haggled over the final sums and reluctantly withdrew the money from her purse, Millie studied her backside in the mirror. It looked huge. No one would ever marry her when she looked like she’d grown her own bustle.
“Is she courting?”
Hateful witch.
“Not yet, her father intends for her to be presented during the autumn. Within the