by River Belle
He stepped forwards, grabbing me in his huge arms, and pushed me down to the floor, so that I was kneeling in front of his bed. Then, he pushed my face down onto his mattress, and lifted my rump up onto the bed, taking my hips in his hands and placing me on the mattress on all fours now, and he climbed over me. ‘I’m only ever going to fuck you once as your fiancé, Nellie,’ he said firmly. ‘After this, every time I fuck you it will be as your husband. But I will never stop being your Daddy. Do you understand?’
Weakly, filled with lust and desire, desperate for his fleshy staff to pierce my kitty and make me his, I nodded.
‘But until you are my wife,’ he said, ‘you are merely my plaything, and that is how I shall treat you as I fuck you now.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ I said obediently, my rump in the air, my legs parting slightly, willing him to take off my diaper and touch my sex.
‘Good,’ said the Duke. ‘Then I shall make you mine.’ Swiftly, I felt him pull away my wet diaper, and pull the glass beads out of my cunt, making me gasp with shock as the cool air passed over my empty entrance, and then, suddenly, my entrance was filled with something else.
‘This is my cock, Nellie,’ he whispered into my ear. I felt the smooth tip of his cock push my soaking wet pussy lips apart tenderly, resisting slightly. And then, after a small bump of tension, and a little, tight pain, he was all the way inside me. I was totally full of him and it felt incredible. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said gently. ‘Daddy knows what he’s doing.’ Then, smoothly, expertly, he began to move inside me.
It was such pleasure, such unbelievable, powerful, bone-juddering pleasure. The little, tight muscles inside my slit gripped so hard, trying to keep him inside the whole time, begging him, with their grip, not to pull out. I felt like all that time spent with the beads inside me had made my muscles naturally tense, and from the way the Duke was growing it seemed that he was enjoying the tightness of my passage very much.
He pushed harder. It felt like his whole body was a muscle, was a cock, getting exactly what it wanted from me, from my womanly form. His hands were everywhere. In my mouth, on my breasts, stroking my naked left nipple, poking erect out from the torn fabric. He was holding me tight, pressing me down to the bed as he fucked me, made me his.
‘I’m yours, Daddy,’ I moaned. ‘Do what you want with me.’
I felt him shudder as I said this, and he pumped harder. He was so strong, moving me exactly as he wanted, and what he wanted was to get himself as deep into me, as much as he could. He began to get faster and faster and then, with a moan, he grabbed me and turned me so I was on my back. He took hold of my hips and lifted them up.
This time, when his cock slipped effortlessly into me, it felt even bigger. It was touching some other part of me and he just pushed more and more. It felt even better than before but totally different, as though he knew, just knew that this is what I’d wanted all along.
As he fucked me, I felt something different now. I felt the cold glass beads, which were soaked in my pussy juices, pressing against a new entrance. It was the tight little rosebud of my asshole. ‘Daddy!’ I shouted, but my protestation simply made him even keener to stick the beads inside me, and with one swift movement, at the same time his cock plunged deep within me, the Duke pushed the beads right up my back passage, making me ache with joy. He moved harder and harder, moaning, groaning, straining to get in and out of me and with every movement of his cock, I felt an equal movement in my backside, like I was being massaged in two different places, giving me twice as much pleasure, making me shout out twice as loud. I could feel my cheeks burning red, and then pleasure building up inside me, burning deep within my kitty, so that I was almost on the point of climaxing, when suddenly I felt this incredible build up of tension in the Duke’s cock. It seemed to pulse with a liquid, throbbing energy. He was spilling his seed into me!
The thought of this powerful man throbbing inside me drove me over the edge. In a fog of lust and passion, I reached my hand in between my legs and started to rub my nub soft then hard and, as he continued to burst inside me, I felt my own climax building inside. I screamed loud and said his name over and over as my body tensed and tightened. My pussy pulsed in time with the last few spurts of semen from his cock, and, just as my orgasm reached its strongest climax, the Duke pulled the beads out from my anus, causing me to scream in ecstasy as the wave of powerful vibrations moved over me. It was like my whole body was juddering with joy.
‘Daddy!’ I shouted. ‘Oh, Daddy!’
The Duke smiled, looking down at me proudly. ‘You know what, Baby?’ he said, panting, his cock still hard and spilling a little seed onto my stomach. ‘I think you can still be my plaything, even when you are my wife.’
‘Yes please, Daddy,’ I said, exhausted and sweaty. ‘I think I would like to always be your plaything.’
The Duke reached down and kissed me full on the mouth, and I tasted the sweet, salty richness of his desire on his lips, learning, finally, what it meant to become a woman - and how good it felt to know I could be a little girl forever. I was very much going to enjoy married life. And I was going to be the most obedient wife in the world. Most of the time…
PART TWO
REGRESSING THE HEIRESS
Chapter 8
‘Well my sweet darling heart, this is it. This is your home for the summer. I hope it’s to your liking.’
It most certainly was. The horse-drawn carriage ride had been arduous, but seemingly worth it. I’d never been to Bath before, and I was tremendously excited to see the beautiful buildings, all made from the same, ochre-coloured sandstone. It was just as I’d imagined it, just as I’d read of it in Jane Austen. Even the people seemed more beautiful! After a quick tour around the city centre, taking in sights like Great Pultney Street and the Royal Crescent, we made for the address my father and I had been heading toward. It was a cottage on the outskirts of the town, on a road which over looked a sweeping valley, verdant and green and luscious. I was amazed to see the size of the house at which I’d be staying. It was positively palatial, with strong, clean lines and large, south-facing windows.
‘It’s wonderful, papa,’ I said. Yuck! I hated my voice. It was so shrill, so high-pitched, so childlike.
‘I’m glad you like it, Clara. It’s quite expensive to rent during the season, but it will be worth it, I hope.’
My father was a wealthy man. Well, not only was he wealthy, but he was what you might call landed. That is to say, he was a landowner, and in fact he had a small little title in front of his name. You see, he was officially a Baron, although that’s not the way he’d been born. You see, papa had worked for all of the money he had. He’d started out in the property business, buying and selling houses and shops, when he was a little older than I was now, eighteen. He’d taken a little money that he’d inherited from his father, invested it carefully in up-and-coming areas and impoverished neighborhoods of London, and soon he’d transformed that seed money into one of the largest property empires in the country.
It’s difficult to say what effect being the daughter of such a powerful man had had on me. I suppose I’d only ever known life as an heiress, which made it difficult to compare to anything else. It had been peculiar, I suppose, and I’d never really gotten on with anyone at school. I’d never had many friends, and I think it was because of how closely my father had looked after me. Everyone used to call me a little papady’s girl, and turned their noses up at me. I was definitely spoilt, I knew that much. The other children used to tell me as much. But I didn’t mind, I loved my life with papady and those little oiks could take a running jump, for all I cared.
The spoiling had started shortly after mama had died. I’d been just four, and I had very limited memories of her, just things like her voice, the shape of her eyes. After she’d died of cholera while abroad on missionary work, my father had begun buying things for me. Expensive, fancy things. The sort of thing that most young people couldn’t even d
ream of.
I’d never really wanted for anything at all. I’d had the best food, the most delightful clothes, all of the things a young person could ever want. To give you an idea of the kind of thing I’m talking about, for my seventeenth birthday, my father had given a diamond ring worth £100, which is equivalent to the yearly salary of a very well of businessman! I’d received horses, French dresses, Italian shoes, and the most interesting things from all over the empire.
The only slightly distressing element of my life was a strange problem I’d had as long as I could remember. It didn’t happen regularly, but it was frequent enough to be a source of embarrassment and utter shame. Every few weeks, I’d have a dreadful nightmare. It was always about the same thing: My papa was dead or missing, and I was absolutely terrified. I’d be in a hedge maze, with monstrously high walls, and as the dream went on, I’d hear a ghostly woman’s voice coming from somewhere inside the maze, calling to me. Just before I got to her, I’d wake up.
And every time I’d wake from the dream, my bedsheets would be absolutely drenched in urine. Usually, by the time I woke, it was freezing cold, and I’d be shivering, from fear, shame and of course the temperature. I loathed the smell most of all, and I’d need to soak in a tub for hours just before I’d feel clean. I could sometimes remember waking in the warm and the wet, feeling to scared to get out of my own mess. I would just lie in the damp, getting colder and colder, waiting for the sun to come up.
I swore my servant, Betty, to secrecy about my little secret, but I always had a niggling doubt that she’d tell father. I’d sometimes even attempt to wash the sheets myself in my en-suite bathroom. We never spoke about it. I wondered sometimes whether, if mama had still been alive, it would have been something I’d have spoken about with her.
Chapter 9
On the morning of my eighteenth birthday, my father had called me into his office. I was excited, wondering what lavish gift he’d got for me this year. He’d always managed to top the year before. How was he going to top a diamond ring, I wondered.
My father’s office was severe, just like him. All of his fittings were made from incredibly deep, rich, mahogany. Two of the walls of the room were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and they were packed with books of all sorts; from decades-old political treatises backed in decaying leather to contemporary novels, his library was extensive. On his desk were document holders and elegant looking fountain pens, along with a momento mori, a skull, to remind him of his own mortality, and make him live each day to the full (or so he told me!).
I hardly ever came in here. My father was generally quite distant from me, and we didn’t spend much time together. It wasn’t that I wasn’t allowed or anything, just that we didn’t ever have anything to talk about. He was always busy with work, and I was always spending my time having fun, which is something he didn’t seem to understand.
So I felt a little nervous and uncomfortable standing in front of him.
‘Clara, thank you for your time this morning, young lady’ said my father in his usual, business-like tone, ‘I wanted to talk to you about your birthday present this year.’
A swell of excitement grew in me.
‘I’ve arranged something a little different for you for your eighteenth birthday. Every year until now, I’ve bought you toys, things to play with while you were a child. Now, you are a woman.’
I bristled with pride. Had my father bought me a carriage? Maybe he’d bought me a house!
‘The problem is,’ he said, looking me straight in the eye, ‘you don’t yet act like a woman. Your behaviour is immature, and childish. So I’ve arranged for something that will help you to grow up.’
Was he talking about my bed-wetting? I couldn’t believe he’d bring it up like this, and on my eighteenth birthday. I blushed deep red and looked shamefully at the floor.
‘Now my darling daughter, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We all have our little problems, and, to be truthful, even I acted in a childish way when I was younger. For many years, I acted like a little baby, in truth. You might even say that this kind of embarrassing situation runs in the family.’
My father got up from behind his desk and walked over to me. His stern, powerful face breaking into a happy smile.
‘This year, I’m sending you on holiday. And no ordinary holiday. You’re going to Bath, to enjoy the season.’ Bath! I couldn’t believe it! I’d always dreamed of going to that magical town, that ancient, beautiful place of romance and scandal, where marriages were made and love affairs were acted out in between the pleasure gardens and soothing spas. ‘Not only are you going to be in Bath, but you’ll be alone, as an adult, with just a very special butler to take care of you.’
A butler? If he was trying to teach me to be independent, giving me a butler to wait on me hand and foot wouldn’t exactly help.
‘I want you to spend the time thinking, reading, learning about being an adult, and I want you to learn to respect the butler, and do exactly as he asks of you. Yes, you are there to enjoy the city and take the waters, but the most important thing is your personal development, do you understand? It’s the only thing that can help you with your… problem.’
Chapter 10
When the key turned in the lock and we pushed the door of the house open, I was amazed to see that the butler my father had promised was standing in the middle of the large entrance hallway.
We stepped through the frame, and he bowed deeply to us. I was struck by how light and airy the space in here was. It was lovely, nothing like our tiny west-end house in London. The two huge windows on each side of the door let in a huge amount of natural illumination. The butler looked up at us. My goodness, he was a handsome fellow! He must have been around forty years old, but his face was stunning. He had a dark, strong jawline, with incredibly manly stubble over his chin and cheeks. I’d never seen a man with stubble look good before. Usually, only tramps and low-lifes didn’t keep their faces cleanly shaven, but on this man, it looked positively ravishing. His eyes were brown and soft, and he had long eyelashes which made me feel so strongly attracted to him, I could almost feel my body trembling already. What was my papa doing, leaving me alone in a house over the summer with this chap?
I couldn’t help but notice his body next, because his white butler’s shirt was pulled so tight around his arms, which were practically bursting out of his clothes. I could see how firm his body was beneath those garments. He had a small mole on his left cheek. Well, it was a beauty mark, really, and set off his whole face. His hair was brushed neatly to the side, strong and dark and thick.
‘Good afternoon, guests, and welcome to Warminster Manor. My name is Albert, and I’ll have the pleasure of being the young lady’s butler while she stays here.’
‘Thank you Albert,’ my father said, ‘Well Clara, I’ll be leaving you now. You’ll have to get used to the area, decide what to do, and generally, learn how to be a woman. Remember to respect Albert. He’s a fine butler. Good luck.’
He shook my hand, and turned to leave. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back round.
‘Albert, do make sure that you don’t hold back with her. She needs really good looking after. You need to make sure that she knows what’s what.’ And with that, he left. Why was my papa talking to the butler like that? What was he going to do? And what did he mean, what’s what?
‘Well, young madame, can I show you to your room?’
Albert held his white-gloved hand out, and like a dope, I walked toward him, expecting to take hold of it. When I reached out, he pulled back, with a stern look on his face, his handsome features twisted into an expression of concern and contempt. Ugh, I was so stupid, he was just gesturing towards the end of the hall.
‘Pardon me,’ I said, in my pathetic, high-pitched voice.
‘Oh, don’t worry, madame, a little confusion is nothing to be ashamed of.’ He turned, primly, and walked down the polished wood hall, hi
s shiny shoes making an austere clacking sound under his powerful legs.
The rest of the house was as impressive as the entranceway. When we got into the main living room, I gasped at the sight. The view from the large windows was beautiful; Sunlight and the valley, tough, weather-beaten trees and a sight of water at its heart, a stream carving the hills in twain. The house was configured in the modern style, with large open spaces and tasteful decor. I breathed in deep and smelled the fresh, country air filling up my lungs.
‘Do you like the view, madame?’ Albert said.
‘Very much. I’ve never stayed right int he heart of the countryside on my own.’
‘Well, you’re not entirely on your own now, madame,’ he said, flashing me a broad smile. ‘I’m going to take very good care of you indeed.’
Chapter 11