Harriet Marwood, Governess

Anonymous [John Glassco], Harriet Marwood, Governess (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1967).

Gary Switch writes that this is one of the top ten titles in bdsm literature but I was completely unware of Harriet Marwood, Governess until I found a copy at a library book sale. There are several different editions; what I have is the one published by Grove Press in the 1960s. Another, revised by the author, appeared a few years later and Olympia Press has an earlier edition, as The English Governess, available as an inexpensive download.

Trying to describe Harriet Marwood, Governess in just a few words is very much like trying to describe Story of O which it resembles in some ways, except to me the motives of Harriet are much more understandable than those of René or Sir Stephen. The Pullover was influenced by Harriet Marwood but that influence probably isn't that obvious.

Harriet Marwood, Governess, page 64:

"You understand now, I hope," she said to him quietly, "how your holidays are to be passed, and that I mean to use them to break you in properly. Here in the country, you see, we are free from interference or interruption, and at last I have the power, as well as the will, to deal with you as you need to be dealt with." She paused, and stroked his wet, quivering cheek gently. "You did not think of that, perhaps, when you told me how glad you would be to live alone with me! Now, I trust, you are beginning to know me and my methods a little better. And you will know still further before our holidays are over, for I must tell you, Richard, that we shall spend many other evenings like this together, you and I . . ."

He heard her voice, low and sweet, coming to him as if from far away, through the mist of pain, through the agony of his burning flesh, carrying in its tones a healing promise of better things, a guarantee of some unimaginable bliss that shone dimly before him from the horizons of a distant but certain future . . .

"Yes, yours is a bitter cup, Richard," the beloved voice went on softly. "You may pray, and pray again, in the months and years to come, that it may be put from you. But be sure of this, if you are sure of anything in the world, that I shall see that you drink it to the dregs. For I have but one end in view, my dear, and that is to bring you into the pleasant places prepared for you by your temperament and my love. Take courage, Richard: it will never be more than you can bear . . . And remember always, if you should doubt or grow fainthearted, that your happiness, the happiness of your whole life, is in the hands of one who loves you more deeply than a mother."

Harriet Marwood, Governess, pages 151-152:

"Oh no, Miss, no! Forgive me . . ." Suddenly his voice broke. "You shall whip me when — whenever you wish . . ."

Harriet, still smiling, kissed his smooth neck. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I shall. I promise you that." She raised her mouth to his ear. "And you would like me to," she whispered. "Would you not?"

Suddenly seized by a curious excitement, he met her eyes for an instant. "Yes, Miss," he whispered back breathlessly. "Oh yes, please."

Harriet's eyes flickered strangely, and her face flushed. Then she stood back, looking at him intently, concealing her pleasure in his admission under a sudden change of demeanour.

"I am glad of that," she said. "It shows you are sensible of your own needs. And in return for that admission, I will allow you a privilege — a privilege I have had in mind for you for some time, and to which your age really entitles you." She paused. "From now on, when we are alone together, you may address me by my first name, Richard. In public, of course, you will continue to call me Miss, — but in private, as we are now, I shall be — Harriet. Do you understand?"

His heart leapt up. "Oh, yes," he breathed. "Yes — Harriet." Never, he thought, had a sweeter sound passed his lips.

She gazed at him for a few moments, dissembling her own emotion at hearing for the first time the syllables of her name on the lips of the youth she loved. Then she hardened her glance. "And now — we will begin."

Harriet sighed deeply, luxuriously, drawing the whiplash through her strong slender fingers. "It is a long time, Richard," she murmured. "A long time since I whipped you, is it not?"

His reply, as softly uttered, fell on her ears like a caress. "Yes. Yes, Harriet . . ."

And then in this room, warm and dimly lit as if for the clebration of lovers' rites, there was heard the sibilant whistle of the whip and the sound of its burning kisses — kisses at first soft, gentle as if given by a passionate mouth, then growing sharper, keener and more urgent, filling the air with the music of a unique passion, a voluptuous ecstasy answered and accompanied by the chorus of sighs and moans breathed from two pairs of lips, like another and sterner orchestration of that motif which was still unspoken by either and which had joined them in a dumb, inarticulate rapture only a few minutes before . . . Ah, there are many languages for love to use! But this, this wordless music that quivered in the air between Harriet and Richard is perhaps the most eloquent of all. . .

In the semi-darkness Harriet was listening to it like a poem, her flesh throbbing in a slow crescendo of passion, her knees weakening with the sweetness of her sensations, her arm gradually losing its strength. Her blows came more and more slowly, and all at once they ceased; she swayed on her feet for an instant, — and then, pleasure threading her body like a tongue of fire, she sank back on the low ottoman, her knees pressed together, her breath exhaling in short sobs.

For a second only Richard gazed at her; then he sprang forward and threw himself on her, joining his lips to hers, pressing his naked body against the white robe through which the convulsive movements of his governess' body answered his own.

They remained clinging to each other for several minutes, shaken and exhausted by the beauty of the experience.

"Miss . . . Oh Harriet," murmurred the boy. "I am sorry . . ."

"Richard —" said Harriet; for a few moments she was unable to say more. At last she sat up, gently disengaging his arms. She tried to assume an air of disapproval, but found herself smiling. "Very well, Richard," she said quietly. "Now go, leave me . . . It is time you were in bed."

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