by Lucy Wild
“Right, I see. Thanks but I’m not really dressed for it. Maybe next time?”
She went to close the door but his hand slammed into the wood. “You don’t understand, Miss Moncrieff. It wasn’t a request.”
“What are you doing? Let go of my door.” She tried to push his hand away but as she did so, two more men appeared next to him, neither of them smiling. “What is this?”
“The welcome committee,” the first man said, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her out of the house.
“Hey, stop that. Let go of me, what are you doing? Help!” She screamed at the top of her voice but nobody seemed to care. Her feet dragged through the wet grass as they pulled her struggling figure out of the garden and onto the path beyond. “Where are you taking me? My Father will hear of this! Let me go!”
“Oh, hush,” the first man said, hoisting her over his shoulder, ignoring her kicks to his back, her fists hammering on his chest as she was carried over the road and through a gate towards a Victorian village hall. The door was open, ready for her it seemed, and she was taken into a room filled with people.
No wonder no one came to my screams, she thought, they’re all here. The entire village seemed to have crammed into the hall, every silent unsmiling face looking at her as she was carried down the aisle and deposited on the stage next to an ancient figure seated behind a dark wood table.
The three men surrounded her, arms folded as she scowled out at the unnervingly quiet crowd. “What is this?” she asked, trying to push past the men but finding them as solid as brick walls. “What’s happening here?”
“Abigail Moncrieff,” the ancient man at his table boomed out, his voice echoing round the room. “You have been brought before the village court to face trial before a jury of upstanding citizens. How do you plead?”
“How do I plead to what? What the hell is going on?”
“You are charged with ruining the peace of the village, stealing an article of clothing, criminal damage, theft of an apple and theft of a bicycle. How do you plead?”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
The ancient figure nodded to the men holding her. One reached behind her and slapped her bottom, making her shriek in pain and anger. “Ow! What the hell are you doing? Did you see that? He just struck me? I’ll have you arrested for that. You can’t just hit someone, you all saw it. He hit me!”
“Silence!” the ancient man roared. “All I want to hear from you is guilty or not guilty. How do you plead?”
“I’m not putting up with this. I’m going home, get out of my way.”
She was spanked again, hard enough to make her feel very scared. The silent faces watching her did not move to help her. Nobody she knew was anywhere nearby. Her phone was at home, her father away for days. Her bottom stung from the first spanks she’d received since she was little. A thought of her mother came into her mind, the way she’d treated her when she was tiny, thoughts she’d long blocked out. Looking about her, she saw her mother’s face in her guards. She felt as if she were shrinking as she stood there, becoming smaller, more at risk of pain she did not deserve.
“Well?” the man asked her. “Guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” she snapped, trying to hide her fear by speaking louder, folding her arms, her feet pointing inwards. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We shall see. Call the first witness.”
An elderly woman stood up from the crowd, shuffling up the aisle to stand on the stage as the ancient figure addressed her. “You are Valerie Robinson of The Crescent Cottage, are you not?”
“I am, Mr Watson.”
“Tell the village what you saw?”
“I was having a breath of air by my back door just yesterday when I saw a little girl snatch my favourite blouse from the washing line.”
“And what did she do with your blouse?”
“She used it to wipe some mud off her shoe.”
“And what did she do with it after that?”
“She threw it back into my garden.”
“And do you see the little girl responsible for that heinous act in this hall today?”
“I do.”
“Where is she?”
“There, Mr Watson, right there.” She pointed at Abbey who shrank back before her furious glare.
“Thank you Mrs Robinson. You may sit. Next witness.”
A middle aged man in a checked shirt stood up, passing Mrs Robinson in the aisle as she returned to her seat. He climbed the steps to the stage, standing facing the crowd.
“Your name, Sir?”
“Anthony Carmichael.”
“And what did you observe yesterday afternoon?”
“I saw that woman there walking into my orchard without my permission.”
“And did anything occur whilst she was in the orchard?”
“She stole one of my pippins.”
“Did she indeed? You may be seated. Final witness, if you please.”
Another man stood, this one in shirt and tie. He strode onto the stage, shaking his fist at Abbey. “You deserve everything you’re going to get,” he snapped at her.
“I didn’t do anything,” Abbey said, a tremor appearing in her voice. “Let me go home, please.”
“Silence!” Mr Watson said. “Now, what is your name?”
“Richard Smith, Mr Watson.”
“Thank you for coming in, Mr Smith, I know yesterday was particularly traumatic for you.”
“It’s okay, Mr Watson. With your support, I’ll get through this.”
“If it’s not too hard, please tell us in your own words, what you observed yesterday afternoon.”
“That wicked child stole my daughter’s bicycle from my garden.”
“Did she indeed? Well, thank you Mr Smith, I know how hard that must have been for you. Please sit down.”
“This is ridiculous,” Abbey said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re all insane.”
“You have heard the evidence,” Mr Watson said, talking over her. “How do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty!” the room shouted in a single voice.
“Hold on,” Abbey said, holding up her hands. “Don’t I get to defend myself?”
“You have been found guilty as charged,” Mr Watson said, sitting rigidly upright for the first time. “For such crimes, you would normally be expelled from the village. But our own Papa returned just this morning and he has offered to handle your punishment. I sentence you to a week in his nursery.”
Chapter Five
When Mr Watson said, “Take her away,” Abbey almost collapsed, her legs losing their strength. A nursery? A week in a nursery? What on earth were they talking about? It had to be a dream, it couldn’t possibly be real. Nothing this bad ever happened in reality. She was stuck in the arms of the two men dragging her out of the village hall, a crowd of people lining the pavements to watch her go.
She was still in a daze when she was reached the lane at the edge of the village, a house looming large before her. It stood alone surrounded by a muddy field, no road leading up to it. Instead there was only a gap in the wall that lined the road and beyond that a worn track that headed up to the front door. The house itself looked ramshackle, loose tiles had slipped on the roof, ivy climbed over the walls, though the windows were untouched. The mud under her feet squelched as the men forced her up the track, not letting go of her until they were on the doorstep. “What do you expect me to do?” she asked, looking defiantly up at them.
“Knock,” one said. “Papa will be waiting for you.”
“Papa? My father is in there? What’s he doing in there?” She rapped on the door, shouting, “Father! Daddy, I’m here. Help me!”
The door swung open a moment later and she staggered back at the sight of the figure that appeared before her, falling into the arms of her guards. “You…you’re not my father.” She recognised his face. “Not you,” she muttered, remembering how he’d looked when she’d kneed him between the legs in t
he club. “Please, not you.”
“Hello, little girl,” the man smiled, a wide mouthed smile that looked like it might swallow her up like the wolf and Red Riding Hood, “I’m your new Papa.” He turned to her guards. “Bring her in.”
The men nodded, shoving Abbey in through the door, slamming it closed behind her, leaving her alone with the towering bulk of a beast in front of her. “This way,” the man said, taking her by the hand, his enormous fingers swallowing up hers, leading her through the house.
Abbey followed him, certain that if she tried to yank her hand free, he would tear her arm out of its socket without breaking into a sweat. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“To the nursery,” he replied, pushing open a door and stepping inside.
Abbey couldn’t take anymore. She had been tired when awoken, terrified by the insanity of the village trial, beaten by her guards and dragged in her dressing gown through the cold of the morning to this dark house and the sight of the nursery tipped her over the edge. The sight of a cot next to a changing mat, a pile of nappies besides a tray of dummies, all of it surrounded by light pink walls and murals of smiling dolls, it was too much. She burst into tears, sobbing her heart out as the man let go of her hand and turned to look at her, frowning as he did so. “That’s good,” he grinned. “Get that out of the way now and then we’ll carry on.”
“You monster,” she replied, glaring up at him through a fog of tears, hardly able to breathe.
“Because crocodile tears have no effect on me? Because I think misbehaviour warrants punishment? There are many monsters you will meet in life if that is the case.”
He took a step towards her and Abbey tried to run. She had barely leaned towards the door before he grabbed hold of her, bringing her close enough to his face for her to see the dark glint in his eyes, the sharpness of his teeth as his grin grew wider, the longer she looked, the less there seemed any humour in that grin, just power, cold, dark, power.
“I am your Papa until I see fit to release you. I don’t care about your past actions. I care only about your future. Now take a look around you. This room will be your home for the next twenty-four hours. Behave and you’ll gain access to the playroom.”
“This nursery? You are going to keep me in here?” Abbey cursed herself for the weakness of her voice but with his hand digging into her arm and his eyes boring into hers, she was more scared than she’d ever been in her life. He could do anything to her and she would be unable to do a thing about it. “You’re kidnapping me?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You are being punished for your crimes. Mark my words, if you behave, you will leave the nursery quickly. If you do not, you will be here for some considerable time. It makes no difference to me.”
“I’m leaving.” She tried to free herself from his grip but he leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath on her.
“You are going to do what you’re told, starting right now.”
“Or what?” Abbey regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth but something about that grin made her want to defy him, anything to stop him smiling.
“Or things like this will happen.”
Abbey was about to ask what he meant when he suddenly pulled her towards him, grabbing her round the waist and pressing her against him.
“Don’t,” she began and he just laughed. “Not again, please.”
“Don’t what? Don’t fuck you? There’s no need to worry about that. You don’t need fucking, despite your feeble attempts to seduce me. What you need is disciplining.”
“Disciplining?”
“Like this,” he replied, twisting her over his leg as he sank back into the chair behind him. Abbey fell over his legs, her hands brushing the floor, her head by his shins, only his hand stopping her from slipping forwards and off him.
“What are you doing?” she managed to ask as he grabbed her dressing gown and pulled it upwards. She felt his eyes on her legs as she kicked out and tried to free herself. Underneath the gown, she wore grey silken shorts and vest, the only night attire she’d been able to find in the pile of cases and boxes dumped in the house. Somewhere, her clothes were buried but she had not had time to find them before the villagers had come to drag her out of her new home.
He wrenched the shorts down to her thighs, exposing her rear to his gaze as she fought to free herself. “Let me go.”
“Feel free to cry again,” he replied, his hand slapping down on her rear. “If it makes you feel any better, you can scream too. That’s it, just like that.”
Abbey did scream. She cried out until she was hoarse but no one came to help. His hand slapped down on her bottom again and again, sending a heat burning through her that was matched by the heat of her shame, the feel of being so exposed and so helpless. It wasn’t just the pain of his spanking, it was the fact that he seemed to be enjoying it, pressing her down against his lap and humming to himself, as if it was just another mundane chore but one he was rather partial to carrying out.
“Please,” she muttered as his hand slammed down on her buttocks yet again. “Please stop.”
“Not yet,” he replied, his hand moving down so the next blows struck the tops of her thighs. “You are not quite red enough for my liking.”
“Oh for the love of God, please stop. It hurts so much.”
“It is supposed to. Next time you think about misbehaving, I want you to remember today, remember this moment, remember how this feels.”
He was mad. It was the only explanation. She had been handed over to a madman and there was nothing she could do to escape until he let go of her. Having had control of her own life since her mother died, Abbey was not used to someone else making the decisions, deciding what would happen to her. She felt scared and tired and in pain and ashamed all at once and underlying it all was the sense of injustice. She did not deserve this.
“There,” he said at last, his hand sliding over her rear, the tortured nerve endings so sensitive she could feel every ridge of his skin and her own. “That’s better. You look good with a little red to your cheeks.”
“You brute,” she said when he lifted her to her feet. She yanked up her shorts, wrapping the gown around her as her legs gave way and she fell to the floor.
“You might be a bit wobbly,” he said. “Always happens the first time. I’m guessing you’ve not been spanked before.”
Abbey’s face flickered just long enough for him to frown and look at her closely. “Oh, you have? I’m surprised. Who was it? Your father?”
“My mother,” Abbey whispered, not even sure why he deserved an answer.
“When you were very small, I presume?”
Abbey nodded.
“Well, what happens here will be quite different to the spankings of a babe in arms. Trust me on that one.”
“What…what does happen here?”
“I look after little girls like you.”
Chapter Six
When Papa told Abbey to lay on her back, she did as he asked. She didn’t think she had much choice. He was towering over her on the nursery floor and he looked so large, she felt he could probably squash her flat if he chose to put those boots of his on her. But he didn’t crush her. Instead his smile filled with warmth as she rolled onto her back and looked up at him, fear filling her at the sight of his joy. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her hands automatically folding across her chest.
“I’ve already told you, your Papa isn’t going to do anything like that. I’m here to teach you how to be a grown up.”
“By spanking me?”
“Not just that. First, I make you little, then I mould you into the right sort of big.”
“You make me little?”
“Exactly?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well first of all, I’m going to take your clothes off you.” He ignored her sharp intake of breath. “Then I’m going to shave you, powder you, put a nappy on you, give you a dummy and then put you
to bed.”
Abbey reeled as his words sank in. “You’re what?”
“You heard me. Now let’s begin, shall we?”
“No, please,” she muttered as he reached for her dressing gown cord. She tried to push his hands away but he ignored her, taking the cord and untying it, pulling the two halves apart to reveal her night attire. “Looks expensive,” he said, her hands still fighting his. “It would be a shame to have to rip it off you but if you don’t stop fighting me, I will.”
Abbey’s hands fell slowly away from his. “Please,” she muttered again. “Don’t do this.”
“You do not make the decisions anymore,” he said, pulling her arms so she was forced into a sitting position. He slid the gown from her shoulders as she looked up at him, willing him to stop. He might have said he wasn’t going to fuck her, but what was he going to do? As he took hold of her vest and slid it up over her chest, she tried to stop him, hearing the ripping sound of it being torn in half a second later. “That was your own fault,” he said, tossing the vest aside and shoving her in the chest, pushing her back down to the ground.
The touch of his fingers near her left breast as he pushed her made Abbey quake with fear. That was nothing compared to the turmoil of emotions that ran through her as he took hold of her shorts and slid them slowly down her legs, putting them aside with her dressing gown before glancing down at her body. “Keep still,” he said as her hands went to cover herself. “Arms by your side and keep them there.”
“Please, let me go.”
“You can go when you’ve learned your lesson. Now legs apart for me, bend your knees a little, that’s it.”
Abbey felt like she was stuck in the middle of the world’s most obscene medical examination. He was staring between her legs. “Looks like I don’t need to shave you,” he said. “That’s good, little Abbey. It’ll make this part quicker.”
Abbey glanced down at him. “What’s that?” she asked, staring at the tub in his hand.
“Just some powder to stop you getting a rash.”
“Powder? What kind of powder?” She didn’t even care. It was as if asking questions was her only way of maintaining any semblance of control, stopping her mind from breaking in two completely.