by Sue Lyndon
“It would make me very happy.” He reached behind her to work the closures on her traveling dress and when he did, it brought him ever so close to her.
The ninnies on her breasts got hard and rubbed against the fabric of her chemise and the tingly feeling got stronger. Papa had opened all the closures on her dress and slowly lowered it. Cammie’s breath caught in her throat as he worked the gown down her body, first revealing her shoulders and then tugging the sleeves until her arms were bare, leaving the bodice of her dress resting along her hips. Cammie snuck a peek downward, her breasts felt heavy and the tips ached. Why was her body acting so strangely? She swallowed hard and tried to compose herself.
Looking up into her papa’s face, she saw he was staring at her breasts. She worried her lip before whispering, “I am sorry, Papa.”
“Why are you sorry, sweet Cammie?”
“M-my ni-ninnies are all hard. It feels funny. I wonder if there is something w-wrong with me.” She turned her face away, unable to bear his scrutiny and horrified by what his response might be.
His fingertips brushed gently along the fabric over her breasts, sending a jolt of heat directly to her lady parts, and she squirmed in place atop the upholstered stool. “Oh, Papa, what is that? What is wrong with me?”
“There is not one thing wrong with you, my dear Cammie.” Papa’s voice sounded funny, sort of husky and emotional and Cammie saw him lick his lips while he gazed upon her fabric covered breasts.
“B-but, Papa,” she insisted, “I feel so strange, sort of hot and then tingly and I am sure I must have the flu or something. Oh, Papa, I am so sorry. Please do not send me back with Miss Wickersham. I am certain I will feel better in just a few days and then we can enjoy ourselves.”
Papa chuckled and cupped her face with his strong palms, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Do you feel tingly down between your legs as well?”
“Y-yes, Papa,” she said, shamefaced. “I feel like I am leaking down there too.”
“Hmm. You had better let me take a look.” He released her face and proceeded to lift her chemise from her ankles, to her knees and higher.
By the time he raised it and parted her drawers to expose her moisture laden lady parts, Cammie was in a frenzy of embarrassment and achy longing. She alternated between biting her lip and crying out in undecipherable moans.
When she stood before him and he had exposed her feminine parts, Cammie covered herself with her hands, but Papa gently moved them away. “You will not hide from me, little Cammie. All of your body is mine, and I shall gaze upon it whenever I so choose. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Papa.”
“Your body is beautiful, and it makes me happy to be able to look at it and touch it. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of.”
“Y-yes, Papa.”
She watched as her papa took her chemise and carefully lowered it toward her knees. She wished he would touch her some more, but she dared not say so, it would be too shameful to voice such things aloud. Besides, she enjoyed the opportunity to study him as he carefully moved the chemise down her stocking covered legs.
He reached up beneath her chemise and untied the ribbons holding her stockings in place and they fell around her ankles.
Chapter Six
Alexander, Lord Cavendish, had completely lost his mind. That was what he told himself and he tended to believe it. He had turned his back on her, in part to fold her clothes in a tidy fashion, but mostly to keep himself from taking her tiny little body and plastering it against his hard cock until he pounded into the sweet juices of her virgin cunny over and over again, breaking her in and making her his forever.
But he could not behave that way. Not yet, anyway. The poor thing had only been at his house for less than two hours and they had been alone for less than sixty minutes. Despite that, he felt an uncontrollable urge, as though he had known her his entire life, but that still did not allow him to forego all semblance of gentlemanlike behavior and act like a madman gone a rutting.
Particularly not with his sweet, delicate, little flower, Camellia. His Cammie. Blocking her view of him with his back, he buried his face in her clothing, inhaling the sweet scent of her, a combination of innocence and untried passion. He felt himself getting hard again and wondered how he would survive the few hours until Miss Wickersham returned with the vicar.
Giving himself a mental shake and an internal monologue of rebuke, Alexander completed the task of stowing her clothes by carefully rolling up her stockings, the delicate wisp of fabric which had encased her adorable feet, noting that she’d torn a hole in them, likely during her adventures outside. He decided not to mention it, as he’d already punished her for that episode of naughtiness. All had been forgiven, and to his delight, she didn’t seemed outraged in the least that he’d disciplined her.
Truly, she was meant to be his adorable little bride.
He sat on a nearby chair facing her, then patted his lap and she obediently stepped down from the stool, dressed in nothing but the thin chemise, and walked over to stand in front of him. He opened his legs and pulled her closer, taking her two hands in his. They were face to face and he could see she was upset, which surprised him, as he’d thought the matter of her shyness and modesty had been resolved and that he had given her sufficient assurances so she felt comfortable with him dressing and undressing her. Yet a small tear rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. He felt her inhale sharply and her face pinkened. Perhaps she was simply nervous, or embarrassed at being practically naked in front of him for the first time. She shuddered and gave a little gasp.
“Does my touch excite you, my sweet Cammie?”
“I-I do not know,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. “When you touch me, I feel warm, all over. And sometimes I have a funny tingly feeling in my tummy. And my ninnies. They tingle and ache even worse than earlier. Oh, Papa. It feels as though my body has a mind of its own and I cannot manage it. Are you certain I am not ill?”
“No, little poppet.” He cupped her face in his hands, “You are not ill. This is called arousal. It is what you ought to feel for your papa.”
“B-but, I felt it before I met you, too. It started yesterday and maybe the day before, when Miss Wickersham told me I had a papa, but I did not know you at the time.”
“Well, it sounds as though you have a desire for a papa to take care of you and to help you make that tingle go away, at least temporarily.”
She squirmed from side to side. “The tingle is getting worse, Papa.”
* * *
Cammie leaned her head on Papa’s shoulder and sighed contentedly after he pulled her onto his lap. His arms wrapped around her like a warm blanket of safety and peace. He smelled good too. Like soap and fresh air. She slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled as close as she could.
Papa seemed to like that because he tightened his grip too, though he also moved around a little bit on the chair. There was something hard in his trousers. It poked against Cammie’s bottom and it made her want to squirm.
Papa still had not told her how he was going to make the tingling in her kitty go away, and the tingling had morphed into an urgent longing spreading all through her body. It seemed that sitting on Papa’s lap, especially with the firm rod that she could feel through his trousers, made everything heat up and throb.
It made Cammie feel unsettled, verging on out of control, characteristics which Miss Wickersham and others at Talcott House had put forth significant effort to abolish in all the residents, including Cammie. A proper lady was placid and refined in all her actions and thoughts. She must always give the outward appearance of serenity.
That particular lesson had been one of the most difficult for Cammie, but she worked hard and had believed she had mastered the technique of a tranquil ladylike demeanor. But ever since her visit to Nurse Lister’s office, there had been an awakening of new urges and yearnings, aches in her ninnies and kitty that seemed to have taken over her ability t
o think clearly or behave as she had been taught. The urges had caused her to break one of the most important rules of Talcott House. Miss Wickersham had very strictly monitored her girls and she did not permit any touching of their private parts other than for the most perfunctory needs. Dire warnings had been given of the results of not obeying that rule that were enough to keep Cammie from exploring, though she suspected others had tested the limits of the rule based upon some of the wriggling and moaning she sometimes detected from the adjoining beds after lights out.
Until the night before, Cammie had been too fearful of the repercussions. She had carefully scrutinized her friends and none had exhibited the hairy palms or blindness which had been predicted. Still, she hadn’t dared to take the risk until recently. Miss Wickersham had promised to find the best papas for her girls who obeyed the rules and Cammie was certain her papa was the best of the best. It made her proud that she had behaved—most of the time, at least. Now she felt ashamed for having touched herself in secret underneath her covers on her last night at Talcott House. But more than that, she feared for the fact that she no longer had dominion over her body and its reactions.
Miss Wickersham had worked hard to train her to behave as a proper lady ought. Much of society believed that breeding and lineage determined whether someone could move in the upper circles of society, but Miss Wickersham believed anyone could become a member of high society with the proper training.
Cammie had only been away from Talcott House for a few hours, and already her ladylike demeanor was slipping away. How could she ever be a proper wife for Lord Cavendish? Could she truly live up to the title of Lady Cavendish?
Papa had said he knew what to do about the tingling and the jittery sensations she had, though she dared not ask him to relieve them lest he know how little self-control she had. But it was getting stronger and stronger. Would he touch her directly on her kitty again? Or was there another way to make the aching stop? It seemed, despite Papa’s explanations and her rather enlightening trip to Nurse Lister’s office yesterday, there were still many mysteries of the body she didn’t understand.
Cammie clenched her thighs together creating pressure on her kitty and that seemed to alleviate the tingling some, but not all of it. She noticed that when she wiggled over the hard thing Papa had in his trousers, the tingling seemed to get better and some of the ache inside of her calmed.
She continued rubbing back and forth on the solid rod beneath her, and she had almost forgotten about Papa, the feelings flowing through her veins were so intense. Suddenly Papa grabbed her by the upper arms and set her on her feet in front of him.
“Camellia!” he said, his face flushed and eyes wild. “Have mercy on me.”
The tingling was forgotten and she gaped up at Papa. “W-what have I done? Oh, Papa, please do not be angry with me.”
She stepped back from him and took in his entire countenance. His hands were clenched at his sides, and he appeared to be biting his lip as though forcing himself to retain his composure. Oh dear. Surely she had done something to infuriate him and he was on the verge of exploding in anger. Would he give her another spanking? Or would he decide she was too much trouble, after all, and send her back to Talcott House?
Too frightened to think or know what to do, Cammie ran from the room, through the large dressing area, past all of the pretty dresses, capes and shoes, and through the door at the other side. The room she entered was completely unexpected.
Inside the room was a huge bed which seemed to take up the entire room, though, of course, it did not. This room was large and masculine, filled with leather covered furniture and clothing which was undoubtedly manly. Cammie stopped short when she crossed the threshold and gaped at the sight before her.
Papa was soon at her side, his hand resting gently on the lower part of her back, just above her punished bottom. “This,” he said in a raspy whisper, “is my bedchamber. Here we will spend our wedding night, and all of our nights. This is where you will become my bride, my wife. As a woman. Not a little girl. Do you understand, Cammie?”
A bout of anxiety rattled her body and Papa’s hand at the small of her back seemed to burn through her chemise and heated her flesh all over the skin below her waist. “I-I believe I understand, Papa.” She bit her lip and then turned to him. “Nurse Lister explained to me about the-the penis and my kitty, but I am beginning to believe there is more to it than that. I-I trust you to help me with the parts I do not understand. You will help me, will you not, Papa?”
The smile that spread across his face and lit up his eyes filled Cammie with joy. “Yes, Cammie, I will absolutely help you to understand. I want nothing more than for you to be happy, particularly in my bed.”
* * *
Alexander could barely tear his gaze away from his little bride and forced himself not to toss her upon the bed and defile her. Christ. And she was wearing nothing but a thin chemise. If he managed to leave her unclaimed before they actually spoke their vows, it would be a miracle. Still, he resolved to be a gentleman, even if his balls had tightened something fierce and his cock kept lurching in protest.
“Miss Wickersham and the vicar will be here soon, Cammie,” he said. “We must get you dressed in a proper gown for your wedding.”
“Oh yes, Papa.” She clasped her hands and turned to face him. “Thank you ever so much for all of the beautiful clothes. You shall spoil me.”
“That is my intention,” he said, leading her back into the dressing area between their rooms and lifting her to stand upon the stool. He whisked away the chemise and allowed himself the briefest of glances at her nudity. His breath caught in his throat and heat fired in his loins, but he forced himself to gather up clothing and cover her as quickly as possible. Once he had covered her with a chemise, stockings and other proper undergarments, he felt he could look upon her without losing control of his lust.
He knew precisely the dress he wished for his little bride to wear and found it quickly. White with handmade lace around the collar, hem and cuffs, the dress had cost him a small fortune, and he had quickly had it altered in the two days since Miss Wickersham’s visit in order for it to fit his precious Cammie. Sliding the garment over her head and pulling it closed, he said a silent prayer of gratitude to the seamstress who had fitted the dress perfectly without a body to use as a model.
His fingers shook as he tightened the closures, and he reminded himself that in a short time he would have the opportunity to reverse the procedure and reveal his bride’s body to his touch.
“Oh, Papa,” Cammie said, smoothing her hands down the length of the skirt. “This is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. I feel like a princess. Thank you, thank you. You are the best papa ever.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and with the assistance of the stool, she was the proper height for their lips to meet for the first time.
Her lips were soft against his and the contact startled Alexander. He had not planned to initiate any sort of touching such as this until after their wedding, not wishing to frighten his wee bride, nor did he trust himself to refrain from plunging ahead much too quickly for an innocent miss such as Cammie. But, when her delicate hands rested upon his chest and her mouth met his, a swirl of warmth and longing spun through him the likes of which he had never experienced before. The kiss, their first kiss, was a gentle affair with Cammie experimenting with the feel of contact between them. Holding himself back as much as possible, he allowed her to lead in this instance and though his lips responded to her touch, he did not intensify the contact.
To his surprise, his diminutive bride-to-be slid her hands from his chest to around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers while she moved her mouth beneath his.
“Damnation, Camellia, how am I to behave when you do such things,” he said, pulling away from her and resting his mouth against her forehead.
Cammie stiffened in his embrace and used her hands to push away from him. “I-I am sorry, Papa,” she whispered, hanging her head.
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br /> * * *
Cammie could scarce believe the mistake she had made. She had never kissed a man before and clearly did not know what she was doing, why else would her papa react in such a dramatic manner? Had she behaved like a doxy and shocked and shamed her papa?
She hopped off the stool, rushed into her bedroom and crawled onto the bed, buried her face in the pile of lace pillows and sobbed.
She had no idea where the wave upon wave of sadness came from, but they swept over her in a rush and, before she knew it, she had nearly soaked one of the pillows through. Her nose was running and she sat up to look about for a handkerchief when one magically appeared and she glanced up to see her papa standing over her, sadness and concern etched on his face.
“What is wrong, little Cammie? Did something frighten you?”
She reached for the monogrammed square of linen, but he ignored her movements and sat on the bed next to her, taking her upon his lap and holding the soft fabric to her nose. “Blow,” he said and she complied with a noisy honk that made him chuckle. “Good girl.”
“Now,” he said, situating her upon his lap, “why the tears? Did you not enjoy kissing me?”
“Y-you said a foul word, Papa.” She stared at the frilly coverlet of her bed and worked some of the fancywork edging between her fingers. “Oh, Papa. I-I must confess something to you. It is something I have never told anyone before, but I feel I must tell you before you commit yourself to me forever.”
Papa’s eyebrows shot up and his head tilted to the side, but he quickly composed himself and set her out upon his knee so he could get a proper look at her face. “If you have something important to tell me, Camellia, then I shall give you my full attention.” He brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. “What troubles you, my little bride?”
She studied his features and her heart cracked with pain, but she forced herself to confess the thing that had been niggling at her conscience. “Papa,” she whispered, “I-I have memories of my mama and...and...I think she was a-a p-prostitute.” She said the word and then let out a giant breath she had been holding. “Wh-what if I am like her? I cannot control my urges, even after all the years Miss Wickersham spent making a proper lady out of me.”