by Ava Sinclair
“Or maybe you feel nervous when your tummy’s sick.” He tipped her chin up until she was looking at him. “Just as your naughty bottom needed a good spanking, it also needs a good cleansing.”
“Cleansing?” She shook her head, confused.
“Yes, my little one.” He scooped her up in his arms. “We’re going to the exam room.”
“But why?”
“Shh.” He did not answer, just carried her through the quiet house as she silently clung to him.
In the exam room, Simon deposited Abigail on the exam table and he lit the lamps.
He rang Nurse Trinket and bade her fetch him warm water, which he mixed into a rubber bag along with some strong soap. He could feel Abigail nervously watching him as he attached tubing and a nozzle, and hung the bag on a stand by the bed.
“What is that for?” she asked.
“For cleansing the inside of your bottom.”
Simon continued final preparations while the nurse undressed Abigail and laid her down face first on the table. When the nurse saw the state of her charge’s red bottom, she scowled at her employer, who arched an eyebrow at her. Simon knew that despite Madge Trinket’s tough exterior, she had a soft side. He also knew that she’d taken a liking to his little ward. But that did not mean he would go soft on her. The nurse would see this young woman’s red bottom many times if she continued to defy him.
“What are you going to do to me?” Abigail was whimpering as she asked the question.
Simon let the nurse explain.
“The doctor will push that nozzle into your bottom and then release a flow of warm medicine, which will rush into your tummy. You’ll hold it in for a bit and then you’ll go to the water closet and expel it. Out will come all the bad and tension.”
“Noooo,” Abigail groaned at this revelation, and was rewarded by another smack on her bottom that made her squeal.
“Now hold still,” the nurse was saying as the doctor lubricated the nozzle. Simon looked down, enjoying the sight of her bottom, which had faded from cherry red to pink. With just a nod from her employer, Nurse Trinket spread the globes, eliciting a hiss from Abigail.
Simon positioned the tip of the nozzle against the dusky, crinkled pucker between Abigail’s spread cheeks.
“Breathe in and out,” he said. “You’ll feel a bit of pressure. When you do, pushing back against it will relax your bottom hole and the nozzle will go in easier.”
“I can’t!” She was crying again.
“You must and you will,” Nurse Trinket replied. “Cleansings will be a regular part of your routine now.”
Simon kept the pressure on the nozzle as his nurse explained the situation, and despite Abigail’s continued protests, soon breached the tight muscular ring to push the tapered device deep into her bottom.
“Nurse Trinket,” he said, when the nozzle was fully seated, and the older woman dutifully clicked open a valve on the bag that allowed the mixture to rush through the tubing and into Abigail’s bottom.
Simon watched with great satisfaction as she waggled her punished bottom back and forth, groaning as her belly filled with the cleansing mixture.
“It hurts…” She was whimpering now.
“Just a bit more.”
“No, please. Make it stop!”
“Now, now.” He finally withdrew the tubing and reached his hand out to the nurse, who was holding a lubricated plug. Abigail now looked from the nurse to the doctor with renewed apprehension.
“What’s that?”
“A plug,” he said. “I’m going to remove the nozzle and push this into your bottom. And it’s wider, so it will sting a bit. But your bottom will stretch to hold it snugly, and that will keep the medicine from coming out.”
Before she could protest, Simon had done just as he’d warned. No sooner had the nozzle cleared her bottom than he was pushing the narrow tip of the plug against her already greased posy. There was less resistance this time, at least initially. But just as he’d promised, the discomfort was more pronounced, and Abigail whimpered anew as he slid it in.
“Better?” he asked when the job was done. He looked down, appreciating the sight of her rosy nates slightly spread by the flange of the plug.
She sniffed adorably in response. “When can I go? It hurts.”
“I’ll go prepare the water closet,” Nurse Trinket said.
When the older woman had left the room, Simon leaned over until his mouth was inches from Abigail’s ear, where only she could hear his words.
“My dear, there are other benefits to this treatment. In time you will come to learn that your little bottom hole is nearly as sensitive as your pussy. Relax, my little treasure. Allow yourself to feel—to feel how full you are.”
He put his finger on the flange and then moved it lower, through the slick slit of her pussy, brushing the engorged petals of her inner labia. He heard her gasp when he slid a finger inside, and used another to circle her clit.
“See how full?” he said. “Concentrate on how your greedy pussy draws on my finger, how full your ass feels, how your little clitty thrums.”
“Oooooohhhh.” She arched her back toward him.
“Does that feel good?” he asked into her ear, his voice silky and deep. “Would my little girl like to come?”
“Oh, I can’t… Not like this. Not from this… It’s so… bad…”
“No,” he disagreed. “It’s perfectly wonderful. Soon enough, I’ll be training that little bottom hole by stretching it. My cock will go in it just as it will go into your pussy, and just as it will go into your sweet little mouth.”
He could feel the force of her orgasm on his fingers as she cried out, her toes drawing up and her pussy all but milking his fingers. When she was finished and lay breathing heavily, he called the nurse, who reentered the room. If Nurse Trinket was aware of what had just happened, she did not let on.
“Up with you,” she said, helping Abigail to shaky feet. In the water closet, the older woman deftly removed the plug and gave her charge the privacy to expel the solution.
Afterwards, she bundled the younger woman in a blanket and called Simon, who picked Abigail up again and carried her back to the nursery. It was all he could to keep from walking past it to his room, but Simon was traditional. Tomorrow was their wedding day. When the moon rose again, he would breach her sweet maidenhead and claim her as his own.
Chapter Nine: A Willing Little Bride
Abigail was married. Married.
Was she a conventional wife? She knew she was not. Her white dress did not touch the floor, and she wed with her hair unbound and a bow atop her head. She wed with her bottom still tingling from the spanking she’d received the night before her wedding. After the vows were read, her new husband leaned in to whisper in her ear before giving Abigail her first kiss as a new bride.
“I love you, my little wife, my little ward.”
“I love you, my husband, my papa,” she had replied.
It was clear to her that she was both wife and child, and that suited her. Within the confines of his guidance, Abigail had found her wings. Her husband had given her permission to revel in things that she’d always been told were wanton. And he’d given her limits, too. Where her late father had barked orders, Simon gave her structure. Where she’d once been cowed by cruel words, she was now shaped by painful spankings that left her feeling strangely loved in their aftermath.
She felt as if she’d emerged from the dull dream into an existence that gave her both the adult life she’d dreamed of and the childhood she’d missed.
“Where are we going? Why won’t you tell me?”
They were in a carriage Simon had hired and Abigail was becoming more excited as the city fell away to reveal scenic byways dotted with fields, cozy cottages, and stone bridges overlooking streams of clear water.
“It’s a surprise,” Simon said. “And if you keep trying to get me to tell you, then I’ll stop this carriage and cut a Hawthorn switch. Have you ever ha
d a Hawthorn switch applied to your pretty backside, my little child bride?”
When she shook her red curls in earnest, he smiled.
“I suspect not, because you’d have remembered. So stop your wheedling, unless you want to find out.” When Abigail looked slightly crestfallen, he softened. “Come, now. Just enjoy the scenery. And you can have a sweet.”
He produced a small tin of biscuits and soon the new bride put aside her curiosity about the surprise and enjoyed the trip. The countryside was green and lush, and Abigail discovered the joy of taking full, deep breaths of the clean air.
When the carriage finally came to a stop, it was in front of a quaint cottage.
“Is this the surprise?” she asked as her new husband helped her disembark.
“The first,” he said. “I’ve arranged with a friend to stay here for our honeymoon.”
“Which friend?”
“Oh, I think you’ll meet him soon enough. What do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” Abigail said, and it was. The stone cottage was roomy and airy, with a bright kitchen, cozy parlor, and charming fenced garden. Swans floated lazily on a pond outside. She had never felt happier.
Their host had thoughtfully supplied preparations for dinner, as well as the let of a housekeeper to tend to them during the stay. While Simon removed their luggage from the carriage, the kindly woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Phelps poured Abigail a cup of tea and told her about her home and family in the neighboring village of Brookshire.
When it came time to make dinner, the older woman asked Abigail if she’d like to help, and the two continued to chat while they prepared the meal.
Their first meal together as man and wife was eaten alone. Mrs. Phelps bid them a happy evening, and Simon and Abigail were left alone. After dinner, he told her he was going to stroll around the pond.
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“No,” he replied. “You’ll get ready for our wedding night. I believe Nurse Trinket has packed you something special to wear.”
It was then that Abigail remembered. The nurse had given her a package wrapped in string, and told her it was a special gown to wear only in the company of her new husband. Now as Abigail opened it, she gasped. The garment was cut in the nursery style—short and bell-shaped—but unlike the linen shifts of the nursery, this was made of a diaphanous material trimmed in the finest lace. It made her feel like a fairy princess, and she was twirling around in front of the mirror when she unexpectedly saw her husband standing in the doorway.
“Oh! You startled me!” She blushed prettily, and looked down at her bare legs, suddenly feeling exposed.
“I was watching,” he said. “I can see through your little dress. I can see your pretty breasts.”
Abigail flushed deeper, suddenly aware of the fabric grazing rosy nipples that had grown hard under his gaze. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling nervous.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
Abigail stole a glance at her husband, and nodded.
“It’s quite natural,” he said, walking over to her and cupping her chin in his hand. “But I am so looking forward to watching you awake to the wonders of your own body, to looking into your beautiful blue eyes as I fill you with my cock.”
“Cock…” She said the word slowly, as if weighing the mystery of it, and he chuckled.
“You won’t see it with my being fully dressed, will you?”
She realized then that he was still in the suit he’d been married in, the long waistcoat and pants making her feel very naked by comparison. Abigail watched her husband as he began to remove the clothing until he was divested of his coat and his shirt. She marveled at his broad chest, with a smattering of hair that trailed down in a thin line to disappear at the waistband of his trousers.
“I’ve touched your skin,” he said, walking over to lift her hand, which he placed palm down on his chest. “Now you can touch mine.” Abigail could feel his heart beating beneath the surprisingly smooth skin covering the firmness of his muscular chest. It felt intimate, and made her strangely happy.
“You’re soft,” she said.
“Ah,” he replied. “This may change your mind.” He stepped back and undid his trousers, pulling forth his fleshy length.
“Is that your…”
“Cock? Yes, my little treasure.” He stroked it as he spoke, and it grew before Abigail’s widening eyes as she wondered how the thick, veiny shaft would fit into her virgin passage.
“How…” she began.
Simon put a finger to her lips. “It will fit. It’s a kind of magic. Let papa show you.”
He picked her up then and carried her to the large poster bed. Sitting her on the edge, he withdrew her diaphanous wedding shift and tossed it aside before gently laying her down and stepping back to view her body.
Good food and care had filled out Abigail’s body, he noted. When she’d arrived, her hipbones had been more prominent, her legs thinner. She was still trim, but with a pleasant roundness to her curves that appealed to him. His eyes traveled up her white legs, past her pleasantly rounded belly to the shaved ‘v’ of her cunny. Her cleft was deep and long, and he knew when he touched her he’d already find her dewy with anticipation. His cock lurched at the notion that soon she’d be dripping wet and begging him to breach that delectable seam for the first time.
Her breasts. He’d not been making idle talk when he told her he longed to suckle them as a babe would. The full creamy mounds were crowned with large areolas and tight nipples that would lengthen with play.
But it was her eyes that excited him the most. The innocence in them was natural, and somehow Simon knew that innocence would remain even after he’d walked her over the threshold of full sexual awareness. There was a corner of her psyche that he knew would always remain sweet and untainted. He’d sensed it in her the day he’d met her.
His little Abigail. His child-wife. His little treasure. He would open her now, and claim what lay within. But first he would ready her.
She looked puzzled when he returned his ready cock to the confines of his pants and sat down on the edge of the bed, and gasped when he pulled her over his lap.
“What did I do?” she asked, her tone distressed. “Did I displease you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m beginning your instruction, my little one. And the first lesson you must learn is that your papa can spank you whenever he wants. He can spank you because you were cheeky, or because it’s Wednesday and he feels like spanking you. He can spank you to tears to make you obey. Or…”—and now Simon ran his hand seductively across her upturned nates—“he can spank you slowly, and build up the heat in your bottom in a way that makes your little pussy wet. Open your legs a bit.”
“But how…” she began.
“Abigail…” he warned.
She complied, and Simon answered her without words, beginning the slow smacks of her first non-disciplinary spanking. Abigail cried out at first, but soon he was interspersing the smacks with teasing rubs to the outer lips of her pussy. Within moments, rather than avoiding the smacks, she was pushing her bottom up to meet his downward blows, which were a bit harder now.
Simon was impressed. She was welcoming the pain; inviting it, even. When he next touched the pouch of her pussy, he found slick wetness there.
“Please…” Abigail pushed back, wordlessly seeking his fingers. Simon complied, putting the tips of two at her opening and allowing her to push back. Her hips wriggled seductively as she worked herself onto his digits to the extent her virgin passage would allow.
He withdrew his fingers, enjoying her little whimper of disappointment, and returned Abigail onto the bed. Reaching down, he captured her mouth with his, plundering it with his tongue. She moaned against the pressure as he reached down now to free his cock from his pants. She was so sweet; he wondered how long he’d last when he got inside her.
His tongue played with hers and now he was the one groaning as h
e imagined how it would feel darting around the head of his penis, how this warm, mint-flavored mouth would feel cradling his shaft.
He wrenched his mouth from hers and moved it lower, trailing his tongue down to her breasts. They were as delicious as he’d imagined. The nipples peaked in his mouth and when he suckled them, he felt the tremors of her first small orgasm, impressed that she’d come from his attention to her breasts. His little treasure was indeed a passionate find.
He could smell her arousal now, and followed the sweet tang of it down to her legs, which opened to him this time without hesitation. Abigail moaned with undisguised pleasure as Simon lapped up her slit, stopping just short of her clitoris. He was of a mind to tease her for a bit, and he did so now, running his tongue just up to and around the sensitive little nub until she was crying out in heated frustration. But he had a strategy based on his knowledge of anatomy—a plan to make Abigail’s first experience one that would fuse pleasure and pain indelibly in her mind.
Her head was thrashing about now, and she was more than ready when he slid his body up hers. Simon’s finger found her clit just as his cock slid into her, and her orgasm coincided with his sudden, swift breach of her maidenhead.
Abigail’s eyes flew open and she cried out from the conflicting sensations, her single exclamation of pain quickly morphing into cries of pleasure. Her pussy was pumping his cock, convulsing on it, her orgasm long and sustained. Simon felt his muscles grow rigid as he staved off his own pleasure.
When her rolling waves had passed, he looked down at her. “Well done,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“I feel… full,” she said.
“You are full,” he said. “You’re stuffed full of my cock. And I’m going to move now, back and forth. And it may hurt a bit since you are newly torn, but the pleasure will build again.”
He watched her face for reaction. There was a bit of a wince as he began to slowly thrust, but then she exclaimed—oh!—and to his amazement began to move with him in natural cadence. Simon could feel her nipples—hardening again—brushing his chest, could feel her little hands clutching his back, so sweet, so trusting. Her legs went around him, pulling him closer, and her wetness naturally paved the way for him to move faster.