by Ava Sinclair
Judge Bonham returned to his desk and leaned back in his chair as his man took over. This wasn’t the first time he’d given a woman like Bonnie this choice. Women were deceitful, and deserved to be punished. His one regret with Lucy was that he’d not thrashed her bottom good and proper before sending her to the asylum. In fact, he thought of Lucy each time he indulged himself in this particular exercise, wondering whether her bottom would have blushed as rosy as the women unfortunate enough to find their way to his chamber.
Mr. Stiles had seated himself on a horsehair sofa facing the judge’s desk and Bonnie whimpered prettily as he guided her over his lap. She wore no undergarments, which was no surprise to the judge. None of the poorer women did. Her haunches were broader than he’d imagined, but still pleasantly shaped. It satisfied him to see this miscreant visibly shudder when Mr. Stiles’ large hand roamed her bottom. As he did so, the secretary looked at the judge and smiled.
It was another thing that Judge Bonham liked about Stiles. Just as Archibald Bonham believed himself to be the righteous hand of God, he believed his man to represent his hand whenever it corrected a sinful woman. Judge Bonham believed the system was flawed, and that stern correction at the hand of a man was the best thing for women like Bonnie.
He nodded at Stiles, who began to spank the woman over his lap. The blows were firm at first, and Judge Bonham could feel his cock struggling to rise as the spanks intensified, eliciting little yelps of pain from Bonnie Adams. Soon she was kicking her legs, and he could see between them, could see the slick petals of the woman’s pussy. She was wet—wetter even, he wagered, than when Stiles had touched her under her skirt.
Stiles had told him that this wasn’t uncommon, and Stiles was a consummate expert in the disciplinary arts. Bonham loved to see him work, loved to see him take a whimpering woman and reduce her to a well-chastened, sobbing wreck with a cherry red bottom. Bonnie Adams was close, howling piteously as Stiles’ punishing hand relentlessly peppered her bottom, concentrating now on the portion just above her thighs. He had a long arm around the woman’s waist, restricting her movements, and did not let up the spanking until his boss gave him a small nod.
When he did, Judge Bonham rose and walked over to where the weeping woman lay restrained across Stiles’ broad thighs. For a moment, he was silent and was forced to control his envy at the spectacle of his younger, stronger secretary with a pretty, contrite woman over his lap.
“Are you ready to confess that you are a whore?” he asked.
“B-b-but I’m not!” she sobbed.
“Really?” It was Stiles who spoke now, and Bonham felt his breathing quicken in expectation of what would happen next. He watched, slack-jawed, as his secretary’s long fingers entered the soaking pussy of the punished woman. She demurred at first, but as Stiles began to expertly manipulate her pussy, Bonnie Adams began to moan and buck against his leg.
“You’re a whore, aren’t you?” The secretary addressed her now. “My whore. Say it.”
“Oh, oh, oh… I confess!” she cried, and then her whole body shuddered as her pussy clamped down, milking the long fingers probing her.
The only sound in the room now was her ragged breath. A moment later, Stiles lifted her from his lap, giving her a wink and a pat on the bum.
“Look at me,” the judge said, and Bonnie Adams complied, her face flushed, her bottom lip slightly swollen from where she’d bitten it in her failed bid to keep from crying out her passion. “Say nothing of this night, or trouble will find you in some dark alley, understand?” She nodded. “Now go, child. Go and sin no more.”
She all but fled from the room, a free woman, purified by punishment. The judge walked to the window and looked down to catch her going around a corner in the street below. He thought of his Lucy, his faithless Lucy. If only it could have been so easy to save her soul, but to have treated her as he’d treated Bonnie Adams and the other women would not have worked. He could not have simply corrected her and kept her, for her presence would have been a reminder of his failure to perform, a reminder of the punishment God inflicted. Besides, she’d refused to break and admit she was a whore, and for that he’d condemned her to a life of punishment in the asylum.
He wondered how she was, but put the thought from his mind. It was of no consequence now. Lucy Priven was just where she belonged.
Chapter Seven: The Doctors’ Dilemma
“How did it end up here—the fly?” Lucy was holding a piece of amber from Thomas’ collection and peering at the insect trapped inside. They were sitting in the study, he on a chair and she cross-legged by the fire. It cast a glow around her pretty face. As she studied the amber, Dr. Allard studied her.
“The amber is tree sap, or resin,” he explained, his gaze following the tilt of her chin, the upturn of her nose, as he spoke. “Long years ago, before there were cities or farms or even people, that fly you’re looking at got trapped in a glob of the stuff. Over time, the sap hardened, preserving the fly in its perfect state.”
“It’s so beautiful, even for a fly.” She looked at him and smiled, her green eyes twinkling. In the three weeks since the exam, she’d flourished both mentally and physically under the care of her two physician guardians. She was happy and relaxed, and with each passing day had regressed seamlessly into the persona of a little girl. Thomas and Benedict had discussed this in private, and decided this change was born of self-preservation. What neither acknowledged was their growing enjoyment at having sweet Lucy as their little one. Both men were natural dominants and caretakers, and the addition of Lucy to their household gave them the opportunity to exercise their natural tendencies while healing a sweet young lady of her early sexual trauma.
“Do you really find it beautiful?” Thomas asked, leaning over and placing his elbows on his knees.
She turned the amber in her hand, continuing to gaze at the creature locked within. “Perhaps I am simply drawn to what it represents,” she said quietly. “I imagine the fly settled on the sap for sustenance. It is now forever fixed in what it sought for comfort.” Lucy looked up at him. “It will never have to change.”
He stared at her, realizing she was speaking now about more than just a fly trapped in amber. Thomas took it gently from her and turned it over as together they examined it from all sides. “But it never can, because it’s trapped. Would it not be better if it had the choice to fly free? Find a mate perhaps.”
She stood suddenly and walked to the fireplace. Her back was to him as she stared into the grate. “Perhaps it didn’t want freedom. And perhaps it didn’t want a mate. Perhaps it wanted the confines of the amber with its structure, its warmth.”
“Lucy.” He stood and walked up behind her, gently dropping his hands on her shoulders. “You are not a fly. You’re a young lady. You fear freedom because you’ve not tasted it. You deserve it. And you deserve a… mate.”
Why was it so hard for him to say those words? Thomas knew his role, as well as his colleague’s, was to remain objective. They’d agreed to use what they learned from Lucy to perhaps guide other physicians in helping other women whose early experience had marred their view of carnal relations. But with each passing day, with each sweet, trusting smile from Lucy, maintaining that objectively became more of a struggle.
Her shoulders slumped now, and his heart lurched almost painfully as he saw her blink away tears glistening in her eyes.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “You’re always right, you and Dr. Crane—my two heroes. My two papas.” She said the latter playfully, but there was no doubt to either man that this was how Lucy perceived them.
“Of course we’re right,” he said thickly. “Now, how would you like a sweet? I was in the kitchen earlier, and I do believe that I saw the cook making those little pies you adore. Shall we go nick one?”
Lucy giggled at this, and took Dr. Allard’s hand. As promised, half a dozen little tarts were cooling on the large pine table in the center of the kitchen. After taking one, Thomas settl
He found his colleague answering correspondence in his office.
“Thom!” The handsome face lit up with a smile when he saw his friend. “What have you been about this fine Sunday morning?”
Dr. Allard settled himself into a nearby chair. “Entertaining our little ward,” he said. When he grew quiet, Dr. Crane looked up.
“Is something wrong?”
“No… not really.” But Thomas was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Out with it.” Dr. Crane put down his quill as his colleague moved forward in his chair.
“Benedict,” he said. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? With Lucy?”
“The right thing?” Dr. Crane. “Can you even doubt it? She would have died in that place, Thom.”
Thomas held up his hands. “No, Benedict. I’m not talking about getting her out of St. Bart’s. I’m talking about, well, how we’re keeping her. Having her here, as our ward. I fear that she’s becoming too fond of the situation.”
Benedict Crane leaned back in his chair, eyeing his friend. “And why shouldn’t she be fond of it? She asked for a return to a childlike state. It’s allowing her a base from which to spring.” He paused. “Are you sure your fears are not so much for your attachment, rather than hers?”
“Nonsense!” Thomas Allard stood suddenly and walked a few steps before turning back. “If anything, I’m the more pragmatic of the two. True, we’ve both taken a paternal role with Lucy, but I’m the one guiding her, teaching her, telling her about the outside world. And what do you do, Ben?” He pointed angrily toward the door. “You play with her, for God’s sake! Or do you think I am oblivious to your little games of hide and seek. Do you realize I found Lucy tucked into the dumbwaiter yesterday, giggling? When I asked what she was doing there, she said you were looking for her! The two of you are always about some silly nonsense. And you dare to question my attachment?”
It was Benedict’s shocked expression that made Thomas realize he was doing something he never did—raising his voice. He instantly fell quiet and took a deep breath as he ran his hand through his thick sandy hair. Walking back to the chair, he sat down with a sigh.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do.” Dr. Crane’s tone was sympathetic. “You care for her, just as I do. We may be men of science, Thom, but we still have hearts. And how could we not lose them to so beautiful a girl?”
Thomas tapped his fingers on the chair arm and shook his head. “But how can we afford to? We took her in as a study subject. It’s unethical.”
Benedict nodded. “Only if we let it get out of control. I believe if we deny our feelings, it will only make it worse. What we feel—all three of us—is to be expected. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do what we promised Lucy, which is to give her the safety of paternal care until she’s strong enough to move on.”
“She says she doesn’t want to.”
Benedict brushed Thomas’ comment off with a wave of his hand. “She’s allowing herself the luxury of being childish. She doesn’t mean it. Not really. She’ll be ready to move on soon enough, and we’ll quietly guide her into an adult life. It’ll hurt like hell to see her walk away, but when we do it will be with the satisfaction of knowing we saved her, and gave her a future with someone who will love her.”
Thomas swallowed hard. A future with someone who will love her. He’d always been the reasonable one, and here was Benedict assuming that mantle as he sat feeling like a lovesick schoolboy. He wanted to tell his friend and colleague that no one could love Lucy as much as he did. But he knew to say so would be to violate the pact they’d made as doctors and researchers. She was their ward, their patient, their subject. His friend was right.
“Thank you,” he said, standing. “Sometimes it takes a more reasoned perspective to help one see things in a proper light.”
Benedict laughed at this. “That’s a first, me being the reasoned one.” He stood and walked over to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go for a walk? I’ll go check on Lucy. The fresh air will do you good.”
“Thanks, Ben.” Thomas reached for the coat by the door and pulled it on. “I left her in the parlor with orders to stay put. I’ll be back soon.”
Benedict watched his friend go, wondering how he’d managed to sound so sensible when he was suffering from the same affliction where Lucy was concerned. He tried to remain emotionally detached, but the truth was, he could no longer imagine life without the sweet blonde with the sea green eyes that lit up when she saw him. She was perfectly adapted for life as their ward, and he’d not been surprised that she didn’t want it to end. But Thomas was right; it would have to. But not today. Today he would go to the parlor and spend the afternoon reading with her or playing whatever silly game her child’s heart desired. He was looking quite forward to it, so it was with disappointment and confusion that he discovered that she was not where Thomas had left her.
He checked the study next; Lucy was fond of books, and of late had taken to curling up in an overstuffed chair with a thick volume filled with descriptions of birds native to the British Isles. But she wasn’t there, either.
After checking the kitchen, he went upstairs. At first he only heard the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall, but as he approached her room he heard something else. It sounded at first like she was crying, and Benedict hurried to her door. Usually he knocked, but concerned for her state, he opened it without warning.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Sweet little Lucy lay on her bed. Her head was to the side, and one arm was thrown across a face scrunched in passionate concentration. Her legs were spread, her bare pussy exposed to fingers working the slick folds and clit feverishly. He could not look away, and gripped the door, causing it to squeak on its hinges. Only then did Lucy look up and cry out, surprised and devastated to be caught pleasuring herself so boldly.
Chapter Eight: Lucy’s Secret
When Lucy was twelve, she’d been caught eating berries Mrs. Priven had intended to use for a pie. The kindly woman had not told Lucy she could not eat the berries, but their intended purpose was obvious from where they sat next to a sack of flour, three eggs, and a pitcher of milk. And the look of disappointment on the older woman’s face had filled her charge with an acute sense of shame.
That feeling was nothing compared to what Lucy felt when she looked up to see Dr. Crane standing in the doorway. She scrambled to sitting, her breath coming in gasps as she struggled to recover from the shock. How could he be there? He was in his office! Dr. Allard had said so, and had gone to join him. She was supposed to have an hour alone.
“Doctor…” It was the only word she could get out, for it was supposed to be the beginning of an explanation she couldn’t give. And what was she supposed to tell him, anyway? The truth? That she’d been touching herself to the memory of the examination and spanking she’d received?
“Lucy…” Dr. Crane sighed and shut the door. Lucy smoothed the skirt over her legs as he approached. She realized as she did that her fingers were still wet with her arousal. She balled her hands into fists and stared at them, too ashamed to look at her guardian. Lucy continued to keep her eyes lowered, even when she felt the edge of the bed sag as he gently sat down by her lower legs.
“Look at me,” Benedict Crane said. When she refused, he repeated the command with more force, and she complied, turning glistening green eyes up to his. “You were touching yourself,” he said.
She nodded, sniffling.
“Is this the first time?”
Lucy flushed scarlet. He was leading with the one question she feared the most. She did not want to answer, but was suddenly afraid that if she refused, she may be punished with a spanking. Even now the mere thought of being held helpless over his knee, her bottom bared as his hand rained down stinging smacks on her vulnerable cheeks, filled her with a conflicting combination of dread and carnal excitement.
She shook her head. “No, sir.” Her answer was barely audible.
Dr. Crane was quiet for a moment. “How many times have you… done this?”
She raised her knees now, hugging them to her as she summoned the courage to answer. “I do it almost every night.”
“Every night?” His tone was edged with disbelief.
She nodded, looking up at him now. Her eyes were so innocent as she continued her shocking revelation. “Sometimes more than once.”
He stood. “Lucy…”
She began to cry. “You’re going to send me away, aren’t you?”
“No…” He knelt down by the bed. “No. I’m not. We’re not. But… I want you to sit here and wait while I go get Dr. Allard. You are not to move, and you will obey me in this. Understand?”
She nodded, frightened now by the vehemence in his voice. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” he said with a reassuring tone. “And you won’t be so long as you obey, understand?”
Lucy nodded earnestly and watched as he hurried from the room, leaving her alone. Despite his telling her she wasn’t in trouble, she couldn’t help but to worry and she reached for a stuffed bear that Dr. Crane had gotten her a week earlier. Hugging it to her, she rocked back and forth on the bed, wondering if perhaps she was wrong to have been so honest. For the briefest moment, she’d thought to lie. But her doctor guardians had done so very much for her. How could she?
When Benedict Crane walked back into the room with a puzzled-looking Thomas Allard just behind him, she faced the men with deep trepidation as she looked from one handsome face to the other.
“You’re terribly disappointed in me,” she said.
“No.” Dr. Allard pulled a chair over to her bedside and sat down. “Not disappointed, but quite concerned. Did you misspeak when you told Dr. Crane that you engage in this activity not just daily but more than once a day?”
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