Appearances
***
Heavily influenced by ladyvivien's fic Imperfect. This fic is dedicated to both ladyvivien for writing her brilliant fic, and violettavalery for putting the idea of Mrs. Banks/Mary into my head.
***
She suspected there was something different about her from the first moment they met. It was in the way she immediately took control of the situation, the ways she made them feel as though they were subject to her pleasure, not the other way around. It was her appearance – too proud, too perfect. It was her arrogance, which she wore as naturally as her clothes, in her scorn for all things imperfect. It was her imperious manner. Her big blue eyes that took in everything. Her hands... those slender yet strong hands, the whitest and softest Winifred Banks had ever seen...
She dreamed of those hands at night, those hands holding hers, undoing Winifred's elaborate hairstyle, unlacing her corset, exploring, caressing, touching...
She would wake up with a gasp, aroused and unsatisfied, feeling... unclean for thinking such thoughts. How could she feel this way about the woman whose hands dried her children's tears, took their hands as they crossed the street... the woman whose hands ran along the contours of her lover's body?
There was a reason Mary Poppins was only practically perfect. Winifred knew she was seeing Bert. Even Mary Poppins could not hide the pleased expression that always graced her beautiful, Dutch-doll face when Bert appeared. Even Mary Poppins could not hide that she was always in a better mood after her Second Tuesdays off. And, try as she might, she could not hide the physical signs of her love affair.
She had once – only once – returned looking less-than-perfect. Yes, her clothes were perfectly in order, her cheeks flushed slightly as usual, her blue eyes with a sparkle that only appeared after her nights with Bert – but there was a slight reddish mark on her collarbone, just visible through the thin white cotton of her blouse.
Jealousy overwhelmed Winifred Banks, the strongest emotion she felt in years. She bit her lip, hard, drawing blood – it had been so many years since she had been in Mary's position, so many years since she had been... loved.
No one noticed the scarlet liquid dripping. No one except Mary Poppins.
***
Mary Poppins' next Second Tuesday coincided with Winifred's most vivid dream yet. Mary's hands unbound her own hair this time, her hair soft and thick and heavy, with a substance and presence quite unlike her own blonde locks. The hair fell dark as night and shining around her face, curtaining her off from the rest of the world – except Winifred.
Those red lips parted and blue eyes sparkled as she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress, then began to unlace her corset. Her perfect breasts just emerged from her corset when George let out a grunt, and Winifred woke up.
She slipped out of bed and went downstairs. It was dark out, and for once Winifred's natural reserve abated for a moment. Opening the front door, she stepped out onto the veranda and ran right into Mary Poppins.
She was sitting quietly on her favourite bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the umbrella clutched tightly in her white-gloved hands.
'Hello, Mrs. Banks,' she said, not even needing to look up.
'Hello, Mary Poppins,' Winifred replied, feeling rather silly for using her full name. But she felt compelled to – simply 'Mary' would not suit her half as well.
They sat there in silence for quite some time, Winifred openly staring at Mary Poppins. Mary's gaze remained steadfastly fixed on some point ahead of her.
Suddenly, the sound of someone whistling began, followed soon after by footsteps at the end of the street. The closer they came, the happier Mary seemed to become, and by the time Bert was in sight, she was smiling widely.
Winifred watched her grow happier as each moment passed, burning with jealousy. It wasn't fair, she thought, Mary Poppins had everything.
As though she had heard her, Mary turned to her for the first time all night and said, 'I don't have everything.'
Winifred was shocked by Mary's unsolicited and out-of-character answer, although it was precisely what she wanted to hear. Winifred was even more shocked when Mary Poppins laid a gentle, white-gloved hand on her cheek. But despite her shock, she recovered quickly, resting her hand on top of Mary's.
However much Winifred wished the moment to go on forever, Mary gently extricated her hand.
'Some hot milk shall help you to sleep,' she said. 'Good night, Mrs. Banks.'
'Good night, Mary Poppins,' Winifred replied mechanically, her hand resting against the spot where Mary's hand had lain.
Bestowing Mrs. Banks with what might be a smile, she gracefully stepped off the porch to meet her lover.
She slipped her hand into his, giving it a warm squeeze. He beamed down at her, pleased that she was with him once more.
As soon as they returned to his tiny flat, they embraced, Mary's lips meeting his with a desperate passion. But as he returned her kisses with fervour, she thought not of him, but of Winifred Banks.
***
Winifred Banks did not take Mary Poppins' advice, instead choosing to remain on the porch. What was Mary doing now? Was she in bed with Bert? Was she allowing him to draw rough, indelicate hands along her skin? Did she sully her pale hands by touching him?
She burst into tears. How could she be so jealous of her children's nanny? How could she wish that those hands would caress her instead of Bert? How could she long to have Mary release her hair from its tight confines, unlace her corset... kiss her?
Maybe it was just loneliness, longing for any form of human contact. Her children did not seek her company, being well pleased with the companionship of Mary Poppins, and her husband was always so busy with his work.
Perhaps she was not cut out to be a wife, a mother. Maybe that was why she wasn't happy. But if she hadn't been so inept in her duties to her family she never would have met Mary Poppins. Would she be better off, not knowing Mary Poppins? No, she didn't think so. For all the jealousy she felt in regards to the nanny, she had opened her eyes, awakening her once more, making her aware of what was missing in her life.
The sun was beginning to rise – she'd evidently been outside far longer than she realised. Soon her family would wake up, the servants would begin breakfast, and her life would begin again.
Already Mary Poppins' caress felt as dim as a half-forgotten dream, though she tried desperately to hold on to the remnants of the sensations she had felt earlier that day. It was to no avail – the harder she tried to gather the fragile threads of her memory, the further they slipped away.
She walked inside, gliding almost silently up the stairs, to her bedroom. George was in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. As he hummed to himself, she realised that he hadn't bothered to look where she was. It hurt.
Didn't she come first for anyone?
***
'Mary mine,' Bert whispered as he began to kiss her passionately. It had been a month since they were last together, and he had wanted her. He hated sneaking around like this, but he knew she would never be happy to give up nannying. So he forced himself to be content with these stolen Second Tuesdays.
'Cor, Mary!' He nuzzled her neck as he backed her up against the wall, pressing himself firm against her. Her hips rolled against his automatically, her head dropping back to allow one moan to slip from her lips.
That was enough for Bert, and he swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed. As he dropped her on top of the covers, he took a moment to look down at her.
She was perfection itself. Her normally creamy skin was flushed, blue eyes dark with desire, lips rosy from kissing him, and her slim figure nearly trembled with anticipation. As she leaned forward to kiss him, he took the opportunity to begin to unbutton her dress, sliding the cotton frock off her body. Reaching beneath her petticoats, he pushed them up in order to remove her shoes. Next were the stockings, then the knickers, and finally her corset.
He was still fully clothed, but took care of undressing himself quite quickly. He never bothered her with the trivialities of removing clothes – he wanted her to have all the pleasure, for seeing her happy was all he needed.
She let another soft moan escape from her lips as he settled on the bed, pulling her on top of him. He was so handsome; strong, yet gentle, and she adored him.
As he ran his fingers along her spine, she shivered, pressing herself closer against him. She felt his erection swell, causing her to shiver once more. Very gently, he brought his other hand to her back, caressing, exploring. He was unable to hold himself back much longer, and so he gently parted her legs. She sat up, straddling him, in order to better accommodate him, and his hands settled possessively around her waist.
Placing her hands firmly on his chest, she began to move on top of him in a familiar rhythm, gasping as she grew more aroused. He watched her, and, as he grew closer to his climax, pulled her down on top of him.
Her hair, falling like midnight silk down her back, her now-flushed skin, her perfect figure made her look for all the world like a goddess. Even the many times they had been together did not make the sight any less powerful or arousing to Bert, who felt himself entirely privileged to be the only one to see her thus.
Her nails dug into his chest as she gasped, increasing her pace as she began to climax. 'Oh, God, Bert, Bert!' she cried.
He rolled her onto her back, careful to rest only the slightest amount of weight on her delicate form, and continued to thrust within her. He finally allowed himself release a few moments later, and rolled onto his back so he would not burden her with his weight.
As they lay together in his narrow, rather old bed, she traced the strong lines of his muscles with gentle fingertips. Even after the long years they had spent together, she could not help but admire the body that was so different from hers.
Almost unwillingly, the sight of Mrs. Banks' nude body rose in her mind, and, for a moment, Mary Poppins longed to run her fingers along the lines of her body, as she often did with Bert. She shook her head to rid herself of the image, which proved quite effective for the time being. After all, she did not love Mrs. Banks. She loved Bert.