Daddies of the Castle

by Adaline Raine

  In my experience, people eventually decided it wasn’t worth dating someone who couldn’t keep up with their extravagant lifestyle. Fenton, my ex-husband, used to constantly criticize the comfy sweats I’d worn on writing days or lazy days off work. He wanted me to look perfect, always. I didn’t need people with money in my life. My income easily paid New York rent, which meant I wasn’t anywhere close to the poverty line.

  I wasn’t from a poor family, but we weren’t millionaires, either. Money had been available for anything I needed, and I’d let my brother take the brunt of my mother’s need to climb higher socially. My job had been to marry someone with good connections, and so I’d been able to go to college and major in journalism.

  Of course, no one had expected me to become the type of journalist who camped in a desert outside a dictator’s palace for thirty days to get an interview, but I don’t think my family fully understood that I didn’t have a desk job with regular business trips.

  I didn’t like people who relentlessly threw money around because they always wanted to use it to change the people around them. I didn’t want to change.

  Any attraction I’d felt for Idris today was rapidly wearing off. I’d never wanted to see a play partner after we’d finished playing before, so why did it still bother me to think about never seeing Idris again after this weekend? Ugh, the whole thing was so stupid.

  When he ladled out a very big helping of broccoli onto my plate, I mustered enough grace to say, “Thank you, sir,” but my effervescence from earlier was long gone.

  I wondered if I could talk to Mr. Collins about getting moved back into the dorm with Priscilla and Jemima. The idea wasn’t that appealing, however, and I found myself growing morose as I wondered if this was really about Idris.

  A lot of water had passed since I was last at the Castle. The Castle was almost the same, to the naked eye, but subtle differences occasionally drew my attention. I probably didn’t look any different than the last time I’d been here, either, but new scars had formed beneath my exterior. My relationship with this place had always been positive, but I felt like we’d grown apart.

  Now, I was wrestling with the fact I wasn’t content simply playing with my current play partner. I had looked for something more, found it, and decided it wasn’t a good fit. I never would have considered it in the past. Had I just changed too much to enjoy being at the Castle anymore?

  Idris

  As the dinner went on, I barely noticed anything going on around me. Ella and I ate in silence and went up to our room as soon as it was polite to do so.

  “That’s what I hate most about formal events,” I said ruefully when we were behind closed doors at last.

  “What?”

  “Every time I go to one with someone, it always ends with awkward silences.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said. “I just… anyway, it doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have withdrawn like that.”

  “It matters to me. I want to know why it happened.”

  She flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling while I sat beside her. “I was married. I got divorced over the past year, actually. He was a Wall Street executive with a big annual bonus. I went to the galas, the parties, the charity dinners.”

  “You didn’t seem flustered by the formal event,” I noted.

  “I was always fine with those. But Fenton would come home from work on an average day and lecture me for wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of being beautiful every moment of every day. I refused. He systematically threw out all my yoga pants, t-shirts, tank tops and hoodies. He filled my closet with more Chanel, more Valentino, more Dolce and Gabbana until I was ready to scream.”

  I had to state what seemed like the obvious. “Most women would—”

  “No, they wouldn’t. Most women hate their possessions being trashed and their image being criticized. He hired a make-up artist to follow me around because I wasn’t pretty enough. I sent her home, and I returned every dress he bought me. So he began to stray. You know how it is. Longer and longer evenings at the office. One excuse after the other. I was glad we never had kids because it would have hurt them way worse than me.”

  I let it slide that she’d interrupted me. Clearly this was a very raw wound, and I felt sad that she’d been hurt so badly.

  “I’m sorry you went through that.”

  “He used money to solve every problem, real or perceived. When you mentioned just flying to London so casually, it got at me.”

  “I don’t mean to be a donkey, but I’m not making the connection.”

  “It was the assumption that the reason I hadn’t done it was because I couldn’t afford it. Because, hey, I’m a submissive woman and cash is my issue. I have a very busy and unpredictable job that requires me to travel at short notice and to be away for long periods of time. That is why I haven’t been to see a real Shakespearian play.”

  I sighed and decided the best response was as her tutor, not the man who wanted to date her. “Young lady, you are jumping to conclusions without all the facts at hand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You simply assumed something about me without asking further questions. You decided that, since I offered to take you somewhere far away, I was doing it for the wrong reasons, and you then decided that made me just like your ex-husband. Not everyone with money is an entitled bell-end.”

  She stared at me in surprise. “What’s a bell-end?”

  “The tip of a man’s—” I began, but she interrupted me as understanding dawned.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s usually used as an insult for someone who isn’t even good enough to be called a penis.”

  “That pretty much sums up my ex-husband,” she said, nodding in agreement.

  “And you assumed the same thing about me,” I pointed out. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Her cheeks turned pink and she looked adorably contrite. I decided on the spot, her other cheeks were going to be reddened again, too. Perhaps then she would learn her lesson. Being spanked over the earlier caning she’d received… that was going to hurt her a lot more than it would hurt me.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said in a small voice.

  “I think that’s a punishable offence, don’t you agree?” I prompted.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I decided to go for the jugular.

  “Then you need to ask for it.”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “Ask? ”

  “Yes.” I stood my ground.

  “P-please may I… uh…” she trailed off and I gave her an expectant look. “Please will you spank me, sir?”

  “What am I spanking you for?” I had a small sadistic streak and wanted her to squirm a little before I punished her.

  “Jumping to conclusions instead of communicating properly, sir,” she replied.

  I nodded. She’d worded it better than I could. She was good at putting things into words, usually, which was what had surprised me about her sudden silence at the dinner table.

  “All right. Please change into your nightdress and bring me your hairbrush.” I didn’t want to wait for her to put her nightie on, but from what I knew of her, she needed the formality of wearing something , and the big gown she currently wore was completely inappropriate.

  “Sir?” she began hesitantly.

  I noted the submission creeping back into her tone already. I approved.

  “What is it?”

  “Can you help me take this dress off, please, sir?”

  “Of course.” I warmed to the fact she was asking for help. I unfastened the intricate buttons and hook-and-eye fastenings that held her inside the silky fabric. As more of her back was gradually exposed, I found my cock getting hard. It would be easy to call off the spanking and ravish her on the spot, but I controlled myself. I found somewhere to put her gown and at the same time, she followed my earlier instructions.

  Only after her dress was hanging on the back of t
he door did I look at her again, and by that time she was dressed in a gray linen long-sleeved nightdress that came down to her mid-thigh and had a bit of a V-neck, but not enough to show cleavage. She looked more like a schoolgirl than ever.

  She stood before the bed, holding something in both hands. I sat down in front of her and beckoned for her to give it to me.

  A rounded, but slightly square-ish lump of pink plastic landed in my hand, resembling nothing so much as a horse’s curry comb.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “My hairbrush, sir.”

  I examined it in my hands. It had the words ‘Tangle Teezer’ written on the back. I had to laugh, because there was no possible way I could spank her with it. For a start, it had no handle.

  I put it to one side and leaned over to look in the nightstand drawer.

  “Aha, that’s better,” I said, finding an old-fashioned wooden hairbrush with some weight to it. I straightened up and showed it to Ella.

  “I was going to spank you with your own hairbrush, but since it’s not really suitable, I’m going to use this one, instead.”

  “That looks medieval, sir,” she remarked.

  “I’ll wager it will make an impression,” I agreed. “Over my knee, please.”

  She got into position and the warmth of her belly over my thighs was enough to make my cock strain in my pants. Her posture was excellent. Fingers and toes touching the floor, bottom in the air.

  “I hope you’re wearing regulation school knickers,” I told her in a warning tone, centering us both on the scene that was playing out. My fingers caressed her rear through the fabric of her sleepwear and I heard her breath hitch in her throat. I picked up the hem of the nightie and slowly peeled it back.

  I gasped in surprise.

  “Young lady, what underwear are you currently wearing?” I demanded. I could see clearly for myself, but I wanted her to confirm it.

  “Uh… I’m not wearing any, sir,” she confessed with a little giggle.

  “Indeed, you are not. For that, I will add extra strokes of the hairbrush.”

  “Oh, please, sir, it’ll hurt worse with no panties anyway!” she complained.

  “Perhaps you ought to have thought of that sooner.” I placed the flat back of the smooth wooden hairbrush against her cheeks and slid it over her exposed skin.

  She moaned a little, and I knew she was receptive to whatever I chose to give her tonight. Seeing her like this, compliant, slightly apprehensive, and a little repentant, my heart ached to keep her forever.

  Chapter 5

  Ella

  I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be gentle. Something about his soothing voice belied the fact that he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security. My cane marks from earlier already tingled and he hadn’t even started my latest punishment.

  But the way he caressed my butt with the hairbrush elicited tingles across the surface of my skin that filled me with desire. Talk about playing dirty!

  When he lifted the hairbrush from my ass, I flinched. He hadn’t even done anything yet, and I was already on edge and desperate to find out how bad this punishment was going to be. Since it was his first time giving my butt a thorough work-out, I needed to know what kind of a spanker he was. Would he be gentle? Firm? Sadistic? Stoic? I had to know!

  The brush landed flat on my sit-spot. It was hard, but not as heavy as a paddle. The wood was unyielding and I guessed it had left a rectangular mark on my skin already. The buzzy tingle blazed fiercely where it landed, but the pain faded away quite quickly.

  I could handle this.

  Or so I thought.

  Unexpectedly, he brought down the brush on my defenseless ass at a rapid pace, and I squeaked as I tried to adjust to the quick-fire oblong explosions of pain. My legs kicked. My head shook, as if I could get the burn to tumble out of my hair like fallen leaves or something. I tried to stay in position but my spine arched and hips bucked of their own accord.

  “Be still, young lady, and take your punishment,” he said in a stern voice.

  “S-sorry s-s-sir; it hurts-s-s!” I stuttered because the brush kept making me gasp while I tried to speak.

  He kept up the pace, moving the brush all over my unprotected ass, and I clawed at the area rug as I worked hard not to evade my punishment.

  Eventually, I released a full breath I hadn’t known I was holding, and my accompanying heartfelt wail echoed around the room.

  “That’s it. Let it out,” he coaxed, and his voice was suddenly softer than before.

  It didn’t stop his hand swatting me constantly with the evil hairbrush. My wails turned into tears as I cracked and began to sob. The built-up emotions poured out of me like a burst dam and it felt so fucking good to let it all out, as loud as I liked, with no shame about crying or being in this position because we both knew how this went.

  He was perfect. And completely off-limits. I couldn’t take him home, and I couldn’t see this lasting very long beyond our weekend connection. I couldn’t fall for this incredibly suave, stern man who quoted Shakespeare as well as I could. I cried for what we might have had, if only things were a trillion times less complicated.

  And I cried for my own stupidity, in getting too attached, then appraising him as dating material and freaking out when he’d all but asked me on a slightly eccentric date. I had so many things to cry over. The tears just kept coming for what seemed like a lifetime, while my ass continued to get peppered with more of those vicious swats of the hairbrush.

  Eventually, he paused.

  “You’re getting extras for not wearing underwear, then your spanking is over,” he said, in that same softer tone. Was that… concern? I was too busy crying out my own sorrows to pay too much attention. I didn’t have long to contemplate any of it before the hairbrush landed again, alternating left cheek, right cheek, over and over, dragging out the last vestiges of sorrow from my heart.

  Finally, he stopped and the brush fell to the floor with a dull clatter.

  I stayed where I was, gasping for ragged breaths between soft sobs and sniffles. He didn’t make me move, didn’t even speak, until I’d settled down.

  “Good girl. You took your spanking well. Now it’s time to get onto the bed. I believe your bottom is trained, correct?”

  I gasped in surprise and a bolt of heat shot through my body. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I want you on your hands and knees, bottom in the air, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” I got up slowly with his help and moved onto the bed. My legs didn’t want to do anything because my butt was on fire and my glutes had understandably decided to take the rest of the day off.

  I wondered what he was going to do with my ass. Would he plug it? Or—oh my God, anything else—put ginger up there? My face burned as I contemplated all the naughty things he might be planning, and my clit began to twitch rhythmically as I got even more turned on just thinking about it all. I loved butt stuff, and guys so rarely put my ass to good use.

  When I was in position, I heard him unwrap a condom. My heart almost stopped. I felt thoroughly chastised already, but a hard, rough punishment assfucking was always something I craved. I wiggled my sore butt a little, feeling like one of those baboons in the wilds of Africa, waving my red bottom at a potential mate in the hope of some solid action.

  I didn’t have to wait long. The tip of the condom was cold and wet from lube when he pressed it against my puckered opening. It would be in my file that my ass was well-trained, and the fact he’d paid attention to small details made my heart tingle again. His hands parted my cheeks and I moaned slightly.

  “Already? But I’m not even entering you right now,” he remarked.

  “I’m thinking about how good it’s gonna feel when you do, sir,” I replied thickly.

  “There is one caveat,” he said, almost casually, and I knew he was about to demand something utterly sadistic and sexy as hell. “Since this is a punishment fuck, you’re not allowed to come.”

&n
bsp; “No!” I gasped, even as my core clenched in response to his rule.

  He said nothing more, choosing that moment to push his cock into me. There was resistance at first, as my ring of muscle protested the intrusion, but it wasn’t long before the wide head forced my butt open, and his shaft began sliding deep into my rear.

  The delicious, decadently perverse sensation of a cock being thrust into my ass was intense. Every single one of the billions of nerve endings in my opening and passage lit up as the movement aroused them. Sparks buzzed around his cock while he continued his journey deep inside me, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt.

  “How does that feel, young lady?” he asked.

  “So… fucking… good…” I murmured, halfway toward an orgasm already.

  His hand landed on my sore ass cheek and I squeaked, my attention firmly on him and what he wanted from me.

  “So fucking good, what? ” he prompted.

  “Sir. Sorry sir.”

  His cock slid out of me then pounded back inside me swiftly until he was all the way in again. The length and thickness made me gasp. When his abs touched my hot, spanked ass, I sighed at the cooling feeling of his hard, toned flesh against my tender cheeks.

  He moved in and out slowly for a few strokes, letting me adjust to his unbelievable size and giving me a chance to savor the sensations his cock elicited as he moved it in my ass.

  Gradually, he increased his speed, until before I knew it, he was pounding into me at a breakneck pace. All I could do was dig my fingers into the bed sheet and hold on for the ride as he fucked me hard.

  My butt chafed where his abs kept slapping against me. Breathing wasn’t happening much because I was too busy moaning in response to the naughty sparks of electricity flickering in my ass. Beneath everything, an orgasm built which threatened to make Pompeii look like a harmless mountain.