by Ava Sinclair
“Come now, Dr. Abbott. It is hardly uncommon for a man to correct his wife,” the banker laughed.
“Indeed not, and often necessary,” Simon agreed. “It’s just that Lily seems too compliant. I cannot imagine her doing anything to warrant such a chastisement. The birch is a serious implement.”
Hugh Brownlow chuckled at this. “It is even more serious when several are bundled together and soaked in brine just for the occasion. But a little wife’s chief purpose in life is to be obedient, and when they disobey sometimes a harsher message is needed. The sweet little thing who comes to see you is made sweeter by a strict regimen of discipline, my good man. A good husband is responsible for his wife. She is a reflection of him, and welcomes his guiding hand. In fact, some women—the best of them, in fact—are not happy without it, and function best with a husband who takes on the paternal role. It is like that with my lovely bride. Is that not true, Lily?”
When Lily looked back at the banker, Simon noted the love swimming in his patient’s eyes.
“Yes, daddy,” she said.
Simon glanced over at the banker, wondering why—after all this time—he was finally giving him a glimpse into the odd nature of their relationship, a relationship he longed to have himself.
He continued to consider this as he lubricated a thick glass thermometer, parted Lily’s pert buttocks with one hand and pushed the bulb of the instrument against the crinkled pucker between her cheeks. There was just a moment of resistance before it slid inside. The little shudder she gave was, he decided, quite delicious.
“So, Dr. Abbott,” the banker was saying. “I hear you’ve taken on a ward—the fractious daughter of the late Malcolm Barrow.”
Simon cocked an eyebrow at the other man. “Word travels fast in this corner of London,” he observed drily.
“Yes, it does,” the banker agreed. “And forgive me, for I know you to be a private, stoic man, which I admire and appreciate. But in my business, any news involving sums of money has a way of making it to my ears. And let me just say, my good fellow, that what you have done is indeed a noble thing. However…”
“You have a concern?” Simon said.
Hugh Brownlow sighed. “The girl is willful, and from what I understand, has never been largely shut in. Those who have dealt with her remember an unpleasant, irascible girl who is far too blunt for her own good.”
“She had good cause,” Simon said, feeling suddenly defensive of Abigail. “Her father was not a kind man. He was terribly selfish and overbearing. He browbeat her weak-willed mother until she died, and my ward has languished without the parental guidance and love necessary to her development.”
Hugh Brownlow offered a knowing nod. “May I suggest you give her both.”
“That is actually my complete intention, Mr. Brownlow.” Simon removed the thermometer from Lily’s bottom, read it with a nod, and turned back to his patient’s husband. “In fact, I believe the type of oversight you enjoy with Lily would be perfect for my Abigail.”
Hugh Brownlow chuckled. “Nigel Portman told me of how you handled your ward’s initial disobedience, and of your plans to take her to wife, and so I thought we would be of like minds. If you’d be amenable to some advice from a man whose marriage has taken the same path…”
“By all means,” Simon said, “and then we can talk about treating Lily here.”
Hugh stood and walked over, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I feel you will be a natural at raising your little Abigail. But the proper raising of a little miss can be fraught with challenges. Women who express a childlike defiance are often asking a question that begs an answer, even if they do not realize it themselves. Your immediate correction of the willful Abigail was an excellent first step.”
Hugh looked down at his wife who lay obediently on the table, her striped bottom still on display.
“But consistency is key,” Brownlow continued. “A woman in the care of a man who assumes the role of both husband and guardian? That woman is a hothouse flower that only thrives in a climate of heat and cultivation, if you catch my meaning. Train her with strict dedication, doctor, and she will not only take root in this lifestyle, but flourish. But like a rare orchid, to suddenly tire of the intense cultivation will cause her to wilt. A man who dedicates himself to this kind of woman, to this kind of path, must be a perfectionist. I sense that in you.”
Simon offered a nod. “You are right that I am a private person, and as you are probably aware I do not look favorably upon Mr. Portman divulging details of what happened here in my home. However, I have treated your Lily for some time now and have come to think of you as a friend, Mr. Brownlow. And I am quite appreciative of your advice and can assure you that I am entirely dedicated to giving Abigail the kinds of guidance and limits I believe she is crying out for.”
“Good to hear, Dr. Abbott. Good to hear. And if I may be so bold to recommend that you seek out the company of other men who feel as you do, so that both you and your little Abigail can enjoy the sense of community the contact will afford? It is not the usual way of doing things, our methods, and it can be lonely for a woman who may find her obedience at odds in society where women are expected to gossip or chat about housekeeping. Our little hothouse flowers benefit from gathering together, to laugh and play while we menfolk enjoy a cigar and a good port. I do hope that you and Abigail will accept an invitation to come to my country house, should I send it. I believe the company you’ll find there will be… stimulating.”
“I believe we would like that,” Simon replied, and then turned his attention back to Lily. “But first we must sort your lovely wife. Her temperature is normal, but she does look pale. How has her mood been?”
“She’s been a bit fussy,” Hugh Brownlow informed Simon.
“And her appetite is off?”
“Quite.”
“Hmm. I recommend a thorough cleansing.”
The banker smiled at this. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said. “A good cleansing always puts my sweet Lily to rights.”
“Oh, daddy,” she said. “Must I? I promise to be a good girl.”
“Now, now. It’s for your health,” her husband said.
As Simon began procuring what he needed for the cleansing, Hugh Brownlow helped his wife into position, raising her bottom and tucking her knees to her chest, all the while telling her that what was about to happen was for her own good.
Simon could see the nervousness in the pretty brunette’s eyes as he hooked a bulging rubber bag of warm soapy water to a stand by the table and unfurled the colonic tubing at the bag’s base. As he lubricated the tip of the nozzle fixed to the end of the tubing, the banker grasped his wife’s cheeks and spread them apart. The little puckered hole between the striped cheeks winked a bit when he did so.
“You should find the insertion of the nozzle much easier today,” the banker confided. “I’ve been training Lily’s ass, and highly recommend you do the same of your little one. It makes taking a cleansing so much easier.” He winked knowingly and lowered his voice now. “It also facilitates her ability to take a sizeable cock, if you wish to explore relations with her back passage, something I also recommend.”
Just the thought of training his little Abigail’s virgin ass was enough to make Simon’s cock lurch against the confines of his pants. He was well aware of the practice of stretching a woman’s back passage with the use of plugs in graduated sizes. But he also knew this was not something Abigail was ready for. She’d not yet begun her sexual awakening. Once that was underway…
Ah, but the task at hand. He pushed thoughts of his comely ward from his mind and focused now on the dusky little rosebud awaiting the tube. Lily had had a cleansing just the week before, but like many doctors, Simon favored regular colonic flushes. He believed it had a beneficial effect not only on digestion, but also on female nerves.
On this occasion, the lubricated nozzle did indeed slide easily into Lily’s offered bottom. She whimpered a bit as Simo
n opened the valve, releasing the rush of warm, soapy fluid into her bowels. Moving his hand between her legs, Simon massaged her lower abdomen as it began to swell with the liquid. Soon she was groaning and begging to be allowed down so she could relieve herself, but the doctor informed her that she could not do so until the medicine had time to work.
“Listen to the physician, my dear. Or else I’ll stripe your bum before you’re finished.”
Lily moaned again, but this time as much from arousal as discomfort, and Simon could see that the pale pouch of her pussy could no longer hide the engorged inner lips that poked through the dewy slit. He turned away and picked up a plug.
“Shall I insert this to help keep the medicine in?” he asked her husband.
“By all means.” The banker’s eyes were fixed on his wife’s haunches, his eyes watching almost hungrily as the nozzle vacated her bottom only to be replaced by the much larger plug. The portion that went into Lily’s bottom was shaped like a rounded triangle, which widened at the base before narrowing just below the rounded flange. Now inserted, the plug kept the medicine in, the flange head keeping her cheeks slightly spread.
Both men stared approvingly at Simon’s handiwork, and despite Lily’s moans, her arousal was so copious that it dripped from the spread pussy like nectar from a ripe fruit. He’d detected signs of excitement in Lily before, but decided that the frank discussion on this occasion enhanced the exhibitionist tendencies of both her and her husband.
Simon found himself wondering if the fiery Abigail would be so amenable, whether she would find pleasure amid such a display of willful submission. He was looking forward to finding out. His little one was due for an exam, and he was quite eager to see that happen very soon.
Chapter Five: A Good Little Patient
“You didn’t finish your treacle pudding.” Nurse Trinket looked disapprovingly at the remains of Abigail’s dessert. “There are children just outside this door who would be grateful for even scraps, and here you refuse the finest sweets?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you unwell? Or are you displeased with the taste?”
“No.” Abigail answered the imposing nurse quietly. She was not unwell, and certainly not displeased. But she was unused to what seemed like an indulgent, sedate life so different than the one she’d left behind. It had been a week now since she’d become the ward of Dr. Simon Abbott. During that time she’d been fitted with a wardrobe, saw her nursery transformed with fine furnishings, books, and toys, and developed a pleasant roundness and healthy glow thanks to three full meals a day.
But the comforts came with daily reminders that she was no longer considered an adult, but a ward under the care and protection of Simon Abbott.
The painful caning followed by the cleansing tears and comfort that day in the parlor had left a major impression on the young woman. The dreary, thankless existence she’d endured with her bitter father seemed like a life that had belong to someone else. Now she lived in an almost idyllic world that offered her everything she’d been deprived—love, care, and the threat of just correction should she disobey. But even the latter had its appeal. She’d thought Dr. Abbott cruel when she’d first met him. But now she saw him as a man who not only saw her worth, but cared enough to correct her if she failed to hold herself to the same esteem.
That he had positioned himself as her guardian did indeed mean she lived by his leave, and Abigail sought to find contentment in a life she knew she could not escape. But she could not be completely happy, for guilt dogged her every waking moment. Even though she knew Simon Abbott had made the decision to take her in of his own accord, and had forbidden Abigail to see herself as anything other than a welcome member of his household, she struggled with feelings of unworthiness.
And there was something else, something that made her feel confused and ashamed.
When Dr. Abbott had caned her in the parlor, it had hurt so fiercely. But it had also made her feel other things—things that were unfamiliar and frightening. He’d allowed her a safe place to cry, and in his arms she’d felt protected and loved as he’d affirmed that his correction was born of caring. This paternal gesture had awakened her heart, but his correction had awakened another part of her, a secret part that ached and yearned for something she could not explain.
At night, when she was alone in the nursery, she would reflect on the slice of the cane, of her guardian’s complete control, and her fingers would stray to where that yearning was concentrating, the soft space between her legs that had begun to ache the day he’d punished her. She would find slickness there, and something else—a tiny hard pearl of flesh at the apex of her cleft that pulsed with want. And Abigail would close her eyes in the dark and press it with her finger, imagining… imagining… she did not know what. She only knew it was her guardian’s image that floated before her mind’s eye—the tall, handsome man who rarely smiled, but who made her feel love through touches that were in turns corrective and soothing. And then a wave of pleasure would wash over her, and she’d remove her hands from between her legs and ponder fingers slick and shiny with her virgin essence.
Dr. Simon Abbott had not been far from her thoughts since the incident, but her longing for him was frustrated by his absence just after the punishment in the parlor.
He had taken her in, and offered her guidance. So why had she not seen him since the day of the caning? Each morning she could hear him leave the house, only to return late each evening. Abigail had been loath to press the issue and when she asked, Nurse Trinket—ever the industrious nurse—only told her that doctors could be very busy and that her charge should be patient.
Abigail was about to break down and ask if something was amiss when the older woman finally announced that Dr. Abbott would be seeing Abigail that afternoon.
“In the parlor?” Abigail asked, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice.
“No. This will be a professional appointment,” the nurse said. “Dr. Abbott means to give you a full medical exam, and would have seen to it sooner but there has been an outbreak of consumption in the community. That’s why he’s been away—he’s been making house calls rather than seeing patients here.”
“Did he see patients here before?” Abigail asked.
“Yes,” Nurse Trinket said. “But that was before he had a little one. He is very protective of you and will not risk having anyone walk through the door who may infect you with illness.”
Abigail felt strangely touched by this, but somehow let down that he was seeing her in a professional and not personal capacity.
“Nurse Trinket?”
“What, dear?” The older woman’s tone was kind but curt as she looked through the wardrobe for a dress for her charge.
“Why does… Dr. Abbott… why does he seldom smile?”
The nurse draped a light blue dress she’d selected for Abigail over her arm and pushed the wardrobe shut with a soft click before turning to the younger woman.
“A child doesn’t need to concern herself with such things.”
Abigail stood from where she’d been sitting with a book and walked over to the older woman.
“I know I’m in the nursery now,” she said. “But he means to marry me some day. I would like to know that there is a chance that I can make him happy… if…” She dropped her eyes and chewed on her lip. “If he can be made happy…”
Nurse Trinket sighed.
“Your guardian comes from a good family who is well respected and socially connected. But his father was not an easy man. He wanted Dr. Abbott to go into law, and then Parliament. He thought medicine was beneath his son.”
Abigail thought about this. She could relate to having a disappointed father.
“Why isn’t he married?” she asked next.
“My, you are the curious one, aren’t you?” The nurse clucked disapprovingly. “Perhaps these are questions best put to Dr. Abbott, although I’d tread carefully. His mother has been all but begging him to wed, and his aunt has made it something of a personal
mission to arrange his union with her daughter, his cousin Susan, for over a year now, but to no avail.” She smiled at Abigail. “It seems that you, my dear, will be the one who produces the longed-for Abbott heir.”
Abigail tried to think ahead, to being married, to watching her belly swell with new life. She looked down at the dress Nurse Trinket had slipped over her head. It had a high waist and a satin sash. A child’s dress. How could she ever produce an heir for the man who planned to keep her in such a childish state?
But she said nothing. She was about to see her guardian, and even if the visit was to be of a clinical nature, she was secretly glad.
Abigail knew the exam room was in the back of the house, but she had never been there. Her movements had been confined to the dining room, the parlor, and the nursery.
She felt her heart begin to pound as they headed down an unfamiliar hallway, and she couldn’t determine if her nerves were due to fears of the exam or the expectation of his company.
She realized as she walked in that it was both.
Simon had his back to her, but even so Abigail could not help but admire his straight carriage, his broad shoulders, the way his brown hair curled at the base of his collar. When he turned to look at her, she felt a fluttering in her stomach.
“Little Abigail.” He walked over to her and crossed his arms. “Nurse Trinket tells me you’ve been a very good girl. Am I to assume that our encounter in the parlor left the desired impression?”
She flushed at his frank mention of the spanking. Did he think of it often, she wondered? Did he think of what he’d seen as she’d lain over the sofa arm, her legs spread and bottom bare?
“I asked you a question, Abigail.” His tone was gentle, but demanding nonetheless. She forced herself to look at him.
“Yes,” she said. “I am trying, Dr. Abbott.”
“I’d prefer you call me papa.”