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A chance meeting at the NAAFA Convention.
Squeezed against the window, pinning her with his body against her compartment, somehow he became stuck-- it felt as if a part of his uniform had caught on the window latch, perhaps. However it happened, the two of them in their massive, unwieldy winter garments were wedged together like a cork in a bottle.
She glared at him with utter hatred. He laughed at the sheer, humiliating mockery the gods were making of him. "My sincere apologies, madam," he said, tipping his hat and then giving the end of his mustache a rakish flick. She harumphed again and looked away.
He tugged at his coat, but it failed to release him. An idea occurred to him-- if he could raise her, slightly, the rest of him would probably slide by. It was a dreadful impertinence to touch her, but scarcely worse than the alternative, which was to be stuck with her all the way to Schmertzylvania. What the hell, he thought, and he grabbed her under each armpit and tried to hoist her upward.
She shrieked in horror, and seemed ready to faint, but at the same time the practical side of her seemed to sense that he had hit upon the only solution, and so, gritting her teeth and muttering a prayer to St. Volodymyr under her breath, she closed her eyes and let him continue. He gave her a tug upward; nothing. He tried several more times, putting the whole of his body into the effort.
And as he did so he began to sense the shape of the woman underneath all those garments. It was absurd, but he suddenly began to realize that in her roundish, pepper-pot way, the severe governess actually had quite a curvaceous, womanly figure. And something else happened as he threw his whole body into the act of trying to force her upward-- her breath began to become shorter, her head rolled back, and her face flushed as she anticipated each upward thrust of his torso. And then he felt her hands grasp his back, squeezing him with each thrust.
Now he felt her breasts, round and massive, under the coat. She squeezed his muscular buttocks. He planted a kiss on her round, flat face and she answered it hungrily, shoving her tongue into his mouth-- what, did she study in Paris too? He desperately wished to be somewhere less public than the aisle but feared that succeeding in his aim of dislodging the pair of them would break the spell of the only diversion the long train ride had offered.
The train suddenly settled fate for him. It halted, violently, and they were both thrown forward, him on top of her in the passageway. Clouds of smoke went past them-- fire! The boiler must have exploded. He opened the door to the compartment, gently picked up the sleeping charge of the frightened wet-nurse, and (cutting a most heroic figure, he couldn't help but think) led the four of them out of the compartment and into the snowy banks outside. He could see that the governess, looking at him rescuing the precious child who was her life's work and trust, thought he was a veritable gift from God, and that the liberties she had granted him in the passageway were nothing less than destiny's way of ensuring the safety of them all.
* * *
As luck would have it they were not far from the estates of Kronvek, a gambling companion of Firkovich's; of course Kronvek was nowhere near his own lands, being a man of society and position, but it was nothing for Firkovich to hire a sledge to carry them, to talk his way into the hunting lodge, and to ensure the child and the wet-nurse's care in the home of one of the serf families. Now the governess, her eyes glowing with admiration for him, and he had the hunting lodge all to themselves; and clearly she considered the sacrifice of her person the payment she must offer Firkovich for the debt of their salvation.
He stoked the fire till it roared enormously inside the old stone hearth, and she laid out, daintily, a series of enormous bear skins on the slate floor.