Female Principals by Miss Irene Clearmont

Book Details

Female Principals – A tale of tales, a serpent that loops around and swallows its own tail. We open with Lydia, a young women who has met the love of her life, William, and is about to meet his aristocratic family for the first time. Heart in her mouth, she ventures into the world of old-money and arrogant aristocracy to discover that nothing is as she expected. Hestia, William’s mother, is a force to be reckoned with.

We take a ride with William and discover what he is really about and the evil people that he has on his books of clients. We see how he operates and works with Mistresses like Hestia, Elisabeth and Kathleen, how he works to satisfy his own urges as well as theirs.

The opening then takes us to the tale of John and Florence. A couple that will be tested by events beyond their control, how they stand and fall. And, slowly the tale takes the reader back to the beginning to close the loop and reveal how all of the tales are interlinked and how all the characters relate to each other.

This is a tale of lusts and domination, of aristocracy and lust, of chicanery and deviancy. Packed with endless FD situations and a full gamut of twists.

F/m, F/fm, F/f, M/m, Maid Service, Humiliation, Chastity, Corporal Punishment, BDSM, Slavery, Caging.

Strength 8/10 – 56,000 Words

Written 2016 Re-edit 2022

Excerpt: Female Principals

Female Principals

Strawberries and Cream.

Lydia’s long fingers smoothed over her skirt as she posed in front of the mirror. Under her fingertips she could feel the small metal clips that pulled her stockings tight and then the subtle line where the nylon lace merged into the taut skin of her thighs. The dress was smooth but rough! A tightly knitted mass of mohair that gave texture to her form, moulded over her and yet with an elusive texture of its own. She moved a little, twisted to allow her to see the view from the side. Flattering the figure that she was so proud of, the cloth pulled taut across the tops of her thighs forming a stretched flat expanse that hinted at her near-naked pussy without ever revealing the detail of its rounded shape.

Lydia had always felt that knitted wear was somehow an older woman’s fashion. An unflattering hand-made look that aged the wearer and turned a woman into a spinster in one easy step. After all, the end pages of the Sunday papers were filled with grey- and white-haired women in their fifties who posed in Lindisfarne and Scottish island-knits with castles and lawns in the background of the advert.

But, this is really quite sexy, she thought as she admired the way that it clung to her waist and breasts. Hopefully not too sexy for her fiancée’s parents! In the end she made the decision to buy the dress and rolled it from her shapely form with an almost regretful gesture. It would contrast so much with the rest of her wardrobe, amongst all of the fashionable jeans and leather trousers, the silk. The narrow skirts and the sheer blouses. All those outrageous stilettos and thigh-high boots that heaped in disorder at the bottom of her wardrobe.

Her fiancée, William, would be so surprised when she turned up to visit his parents dressed in such a restrained dress. Wine red, subtle hints of black mohair woven into its fabric and tight, but old fashioned.

It was so important this meeting, the first view that the rich and aristocratic parents would have of the woman who their son had chosen to be his wife. Lydia had always thought that first impressions count, and this one was so critical. Of course, William was a good little boy where his parents were concerned at least that was the impression that he gave. They paid for his rather loose life, they had paid for a rather unsuccessful education in Cambridge and then found him the senior post to which he was by no means suited. Now he had found a wife who would no doubt upset their honed sensibilities and make them cut back his stipend yet again. After all it is not often that a Viscount brings back a porn starlet and introduces her to his parents as a future marriage option!

Is it all just to do with titles, old-money and faded aristocratic mansions? she wondered to herself as she let herself into the small studio flat in Fulham that was her present home. As usual the flat was in complete disorder. Magazines lay scattered over the table and the floor in abandoned splashes of colour. The last fifty CD’s listened-to that lay scattered by the stereo and the fact that the sofa bed still lay ruffled, like a Tracy Emin installation that had been fucked over for a few casual hours.

William had told her so much about himself and Lydia had never doubted that a word of it was untrue. He had wooed her so intensely that just after a month she had accepted his proposal.

Over the mess in her single room were draped clothes and scattered shoes that had failed the choice test that she always applied before leaving her small apartment. Because, that was how Lydia Swinton lived her life. In a rush from one photo session to the next, each venture from the house preceded by a make-up session and a clothes-choosing crisis that ensured that she matched her surroundings, male ideas of sexual availability and magazine perfection. Even a trip to the local newsagent to buy cigarettes created a flurry of an hour’s decision-making that used every nuance of her ability to pose every second of the day, as long as the eyes of others were taking in her flawlessness.

Perhaps, ‘porn’ was a little too strong for her portfolio. ‘Glamour’ might have been a better word for what she did in front of the lens, graceful fetish photos, black and white, mood filled vignettes that revealed every detail, but were filled with shadows and erotic glow. But that was not how William’s parents would see it, should of course they find out how she earned her living. And they would.

The new dress lay draped over the only armchair in the room, tempting her to try it on again. Shoes to match in the half open box on the floor beneath it and a small black clutch bag to pair off with them. For a moment she stood contemplating the ensemble before she started to pack her overnight bag ready for the weekend adventure.

Two days in that Hampshire pile with William’s stuffy parents, finding the right moment to tell them that they planned to marry and then facing the silence of dislike and outraged sensibilities… It had been a whirlwind romance… Strange how after just four weeks of meeting William she was planning to marry him, not at all like Lydia to be impulsive!

*****
‘This is Lydia,’ said William to his mother by way of an introduction.

Lydia was almost overcome by an impulse to curtsey. William’s mother, Hestia, was almost exactly the picture of a lady of the manor. Grey green tweed jacket as though she was about to go on a pheasant shoot, all she now required was a broad brimmed hat to finish the aristocratic air.

‘William has told me all about you,’ said Hestia as she extended her hand. Lydia wondered just how much ‘all’ represented as she shook his hand and then was led into a house that was a monolithic relic of the nineteen twenties. A maid stood in the hall, waiting to take Lydia’s coat, all starchy black and linen white with a small cap perched on her head.

‘I am just organising lunch,’ said Hestia as she ushered Lydia and William into a sitting room filled with Chesterfield sofas and heavy furniture. ‘Perhaps you’d like a small aperitif?’

It was like entering a time warp. The small glass of sherry in her hands, the upper-class accents that could have cut glass and the maid with the tray, standing in the background awaiting her orders.

Hestia had a wan smile on her face, an almost predatory look that was focused on Lydia like a cat watching a mouse before the pounce and Lydia could see that in his parent’s home, William seemed like a little boy. Eager to please, eager to say the right thing at every opportunity and totally subservient to his stiff and proper mother.

The conversation was stilted and almost all directed at William who answered his mother’s questions about Lydia in a stuttering and almost evasive manner while Lydia was excluded, William being expected to fill in all the background about the young woman that he had brought to meet his parents.

The door opened and a butler in pinstriped uniform stepped into the room to announce that the dining room was prepared and that dinner would be served in a few minutes. The dining room was a

gloomy room, poorly lit even though the sunlight sifted into the room. Hestia turned in the doorway and welcomed her two guests into the dining room.

‘I’m sorry but my husband cannot be here…’ she said. Then she turned again to greet her guest and planted a small formal kiss on Lydia’s hand. Tall, graceful with a frosty smile on her lips, Hestia waved Lydia to the seat at the far end of the table before taking her seat again as the butler pushed it into place.

‘So, you are a photographic model,’ she said. ‘That must be such an interesting occupation.’ The stress on ‘interesting’ was more disdain than interest.

‘I enjoy the work,’ answered Lydia as she sat where she had been signalled to sit. ‘It’s difficult to find work at the moment, but it just about keeps me at the moment.’

‘I’m sure that it does,’ said Hestia as two maids entered the room with trays bearing plates of soup. ‘What sort of modelling work do you do?’

Lydia was about to answer ‘glamour’ but William got his answer in first. ‘Mostly artwork and clothes,’ he said. Hestia looked up from her soup and said, ‘So which is it? Artistic or clothes?’ The word ‘artistic’ became almost a sneer as Hestia drew the word out to become an insult.

‘Whatever I can get,’ answered Lydia. She could feel a flush in her cheeks. This was not at all the scenario that she had played out in her head as she was being belittled by William’s mother without him moving to defend her properly. ‘We modelled our home and gardens for ‘House and Home’ just three years ago,’ said Hestia. ‘They posed me on the front steps for the photographs so I suppose that I am a model too.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ answered Lydia. Inside she sighed. This was going to be so hard to do and she could not see how William was ever going to bring up the subject of their getting married with so much unspoken hostility to her.

The meal was five courses of fine food that was served lukewarm by servants who were silent statues while the actual eating was taking place. Conversation drifted in just two directions. Somewhat snide remarks from Hestia that never became insults but succeeded in belittling Lydia and other remarks that gave the impression that William was regarded as a drifting wastrel by his parents.

Finally it was over and William gallantly offered to show Lydia the house and gardens for an hour or two before tea was to be served in the rose garden at four.

*****

The interior of the house was much like the parts that Lydia had already seen. Dark and filled with mementoes of a family that stretched back through time to the powdered aristocracy that sprang up in Regency times. The room given to Lydia was small and at the back of the house. Undersized windows looked over acres of park land that stretched to a distant wall that marked the borders of the land that the family had held for generations. The bed was lumpy and decked with a lace cover and the furniture looked as though it had seen better times a hundred years ago.

‘When are you going to announce that we are getting married?’ asked Lydia as she looked around the small room with dismay.

‘Tomorrow, probably,’ said William with a shrug. ‘Hestia just have to get used to you in the meantime. Please try to do your best not to upset her!’

‘Huh!’ said Lydia as she unpacked her small case onto the rather uncomfortable bed. ‘What about your father, I mean where is he? I already feel that my mere presence has upset Hestia enough as it is.’

‘He’s away on Hestia’s business and I don’t think that she is upset by his absence!’

She wondered at the way that William always called them by their names. No ‘mum and dad’ or even ‘mummy and daddy’, just Hestia and Harold.

‘Just do your best to fit in and it will be all right,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘Hestia has her requirements, her word is law here!’

Excerpt from Female Principals