by Ava Sinclair
Cody felt a moment of pity as Jenny’s eyes welled up with tears. He knew within her small frame was a fighting spirit; how else could she have weathered the trip to Coloma? But he also knew that curbing that spirit—demanding her obedience—was the surest way to keep her safe.
“Go on now,” he said firmly, nodding to the box. “Get dressed. If you don’t, we’ll dress you ourselves.”
There were still angry tears in Jenny’s eyes as she lifted the box from the table and took it to the bedroom they had given her.
“You’ve done the right thing,” Nigel said. “She’s headstrong, that one. It’ll take having her bottom smacked more than once until she realizes it.”
The memory of her first spanking flashed through Cody’s mind, the way she’d wriggled over his lap, the feel of her firm, round cheeks flattening under his hand. He’d felt the warmth radiating from the punished flesh, felt it through the thin fabric of her trousers. His face heated now at the recollection, and he shifted as he felt the tip of his hardening cock nudge against the front of his pants.
No. You have someone else waiting.
“Her brother was my friend,” Cody said, reaffirming aloud his noble reasons for taking Jenny in. “Will would have wanted me to keep her safe. And he’d thank you for helping.”
“It’s no trouble for me, mate,” Nigel said. “Obedience is a desirable trait in a proper young lady, and there’s no reason that our Jenny can’t be just that—even here in a mining camp.”
Our Jenny. Cody’s cock nudged again, and then grew even firmer as Nigel called to their new ward and she reluctantly walked back into the room.
The ruffled hem of the powder blue gingham dress came to the middle of shapely calves now clad in white stockings. The rounded collar and slightly puffed sleeves were not the fashion for grownups any more than the shorter hem; neither was the sash that tied in the back.
“You look just lovely, my dear,” Nigel said, walking over and taking her hands. “Cody has an eye for fashion, I think.”
“I look ridiculous,” Jenny said.
“Nonsense.” Cody walked over, too. “You look just as a ward should look.” His eyes scanned her up and down, and he couldn’t help but note how her full breasts strained slightly against the bodice of the childish dress. He lowered his gaze. “How do the boots fit?”
“They’re comfortable,” she said. “It just takes a bit of time to lace them up.”
“You’ve such lovely hair,” Nigel said. “I was so pleased when I washed it to see how golden it was. But look at it, all loose.”
“I have just the thing.” Cody walked back over to the other box and pulled out the spool of ribbon. Cutting a piece, he walked back over, pulled Jenny’s hair back, and bound it.
“There,” he said. “Perfect.”
“Our perfect little lady,” Nigel said. “Don’t worry, lass. I know you’ve been through a lot, but we’ll keep you safe here—safe and cherished.”
Chapter Five: A Taste of English Discipline
Seeing Jenny Beaumont walk out of the bedroom in her new dress was, Nigel Simms decided, worth all the trouble he’d endured since coming to America. Oh, sure, the adventures had been interesting, and it had felt good to defy the strict upbringing and expectations of his contentious family to strike out on his own—to take his chances in the California soil rather than the rigged gaming tables back home. The payoff here, if it came, would be so much larger. And would avail him of so much more.
But there were some things he missed about England. He missed order. He missed discipline. There were no servants to command in Coloma, no respect for rules. Here, he would at least have it in his house. He would have it from this beautiful, golden-haired woman-child who lit up the room like a ray of sunshine.
But there was more. His English reserve had allowed him to mask the attraction he’d felt from the moment he saw her. He’d not been surprised when the wrappings had fallen away to reveal firm breasts. He had sensed Jenny’s feminine softness even through the layer of filth. Bathing her, ridding her of that dirt and stress, had been the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced outside of actually fucking a woman. He’d fucked many, but he’d never wanted to fuck one like he wanted to fuck the innocent Jenny in her ridiculous gingham dress.
She was in mourning, though, and likely so was Cody, for she had lost a brother and he a friend. Nigel was used to observing such customs, but already told himself that once the appropriate amount of time had passed, he’d turn her from ward to wife. Of course, he’d have to get permission from Cody, but he did not see that as a problem. Cody had spoken of nothing but Matilda since he’d known him. Nigel felt sure his friend would be happy to hand off Jenny to his care once they’d made their fortune. With any luck, perhaps he’d give his blessing sooner.
He was outside chopping firewood on the second morning since Jenny had arrived. He and Cody had agreed not to leave her alone at first, at least not until they could trust that she’d not run off. They knew this meant less production, which was a complication given that they now had three claims to mine instead of two, but Nigel had assured his friend that he’d make sure Jenny understood the importance of staying in the cabin, and was confident that soon they could leave without coming home to find her gone.
Back inside, he found Jenny sitting by the fire in the nightgown Cody had bought her, her body silhouetted by the glow through the gauzy fabric.
Perfection.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Just barely,” she replied, looking through the window. “Do you always start so early?”
“Didn’t your brother start early on the ranch?”
She dropped her eyes and Nigel instantly regretted his words.
“William wasn’t really cut out to be a rancher,” she said. “I think he was cut out to be a poet or an artist. My brother was rash, a dreamer.” She smirked sadly. “Isn’t that the type who leaves everything to set out for the unknown?”
Nigel put the wood in the box and stood. “You tell me, Jenny,” he said. “You did the same thing.”
Her cheeks flushed at this.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have,” she said. “I wanted to escape the tyranny of one man. Now I have the tyranny of two.”
“Not tyranny,” Nigel countered. “Paternity. A tyrant demands without reciprocating, fair Jenny. Cody and I will demand obedience and proper behavior, but in return you will be protected and nurtured.”
“I should have a say in the matter,” she countered.
“Well, you don’t,” he said. “Little girls don’t get a say in what’s best for them. You’re our little Jenny now; it’s for us to decide.”
She fell silent, worrying her lip with her teeth, and Nigel had to suppress the urge to grin. He could almost hear the gears churning in her head as she tried to sort her way out of their control. He would enjoy blocking her every effort.
“Now,” he said. “I’m going to fix us a nice breakfast of eggs and ham. Why don’t you get dressed? I believe I saw a lovely pink frock in your new things. I fancy seeing you in it, and I think it would be best if you wore your lovely hair in braids today.”
“Do you now?” she asked.
“Yes, so run along and do as you’re told.”
Jenny stalked off then, and with her back turned, Nigel allowed himself to grin as he took in the womanly sway of her hips, such a pleasant juxtaposition to her girlish impertinence.
The sun was coming up over the ridge as he finished preparing the morning meal. Cooking had been a skill he’d learned quickly with Cody’s help. As a rancher, the American was skilled at cooking in line shacks or the open range when necessary. And since they shared chores, soon Nigel was proficient in preparing eggs, hominy, and even biscuits whenever they could get flour. He’d used the last of that flour supply this morning on breakfast for Jenny, but saved a few biscuits for Cody.
“It’s proper to be at the breakfast table when the meal is served,” he called over his sh
oulder as he put the last platter on the table. When there was no reply, he turned and walked to Jenny’s room, where he found her still sitting on the bed, and still wearing her nightgown.
“Is there a problem, Jenny?”
“Yes, but the problem is not mine.” She turned her head but did not look directly at him as she answered. The tilt to her chin suggested defiance. “You seem to think you can dictate what I wear and how I do my hair,” she continued. “I aim to prove otherwise. So I plan to stay in my nightgown today by way of protest, Mr. Simms.”
“Do you now?” he asked, and sighed heavily. “Very well. If you won’t take your gown off, I suppose you’ll have to just come to the table as you are.”
Jenny seemed almost surprised at his lack of resistance, and looked genuinely pleased as she rose and strode past him, her pert nose in the air. At the table, she sat down and was preparing to place one of the buttery biscuits on her plate when Nigel stayed her hand.
“Oh, dear. I’m afraid you won’t be enjoying the meal I prepared. As you’ve come to the table in improper dress, you’ll be taking a less than proper meal.” There was a pot on the stove containing the remains of the unsavory oatmeal leftover from Cody’s earlier breakfast. Now Nigel ladled an unappealing glob of the stuff into a bowl, and removing Jenny’s plate, put the bowl before her in its place.
Jenny stared at the oatmeal with disdain. “I’m not eating this.” She pushed it away.
Nigel pushed it back. “In this house,” he said, “you eat what you are given, even if you don’t want it. There are men out there starving.”
Jenny pushed the bowl away again. “How convenient,” she said. “Then you can give it to them.”
Nigel picked up the bowl and placed it on the stove. Then, without a word, he walked over, took Jenny by the hand, and raised her from her chair.
“I told you the day you arrived that I would not hesitate to punish impertinence,” he said. “There are rules for a young lady living in this house, Jenny. If you come to the table unsuitably dressed, you will not share in the prepared meal. If you turn down what is offered, you will get six strokes of the cane.”
“Cane?” Jenny abruptly sought to move her arm from Nigel’s grasp, but was unable to.
“Caning is the traditional punishment from my country, my dear,” he said calmly. “When I came here, I brought along a few sentimental items from my home, including the cane that once belonged to my grandfather. It is still most effective, I assure you, as you will soon find out. Now bend over the table.”
“Bend over…?” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with indignation. “I most certainly will not!”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes determined in his sharp-featured face. “Oh, but you will,” he said, and pulling over a nearby chair, he sat down and pulled his charge across his lap.
There was no preamble as he began to spank her, the hard crisp smacks quickly eliciting cries as they impacted Jenny’s upturned nates through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Within moments she was kicking and pounding her little fists against the legs of the chair helplessly. “Please stop!”
And he did, but only long enough to ask her if she was ready to comply. When Jenny told him he could ‘just go to the devil,’ he renewed his assault, and soon she was sobbing loudly under his punishing hand.
It took three rounds of hand spanking before the strong Englishman convinced Jenny that he would spank her indefinitely if that’s what it took to gain her compliance. By the time she bent over the table—her eyes just inches away from the tempting meal she’d forfeited by refusing to dress—she was already well punished.
But Nigel wasn’t finished. As Jenny lay sobbing and bent over, he retrieved a cane from a stand by the door. As he tapped it against his hand, he wondered if it wasn’t providence that had convinced him to bring such a curious item from his home. To him, the cane represented order and tradition. He’d told himself that if he ever married, it would be employed in the running of his household to assure adherence to his rules. Now as he took in the sight before him—Jenny bent over with her glowing posterior visible through the thin fabric of her gown—he decided if ever a woman needed a lesson, it was this one.
“You’ll get six with the cane,” he said.
Jenny looked back, her pretty face flushed and tear-streaked. “But you already punished me,” she said, the words quavering pitifully.
“No,” he said calmly. “I punished you for refusing to get into position. I told you that I would cane you, my dear girl, and that is exactly what is going to happen.”
Reaching down, Nigel lifted the hem of her gown and quickly felt her turn as she placed both small hands on his wrists.
“You mean to raise my gown?” she asked. Her teary blue eyes were imploring him as ardently as her words. “Oh, please, sir, I’m bare underneath!”
“A caning is most effective on the bare,” came the staid reply. “And remember, you were given two opportunities to avoid correction, and you turned them both down. Now turn back around, Jenny, and fight no more. Or do I need to put you back across my lap until you’re ready to comply?”
She shuddered then and shook her head, a fresh flood of tears erupting along with her sobs as she turned and leaned over. Jenny’s little fists were balled by her face, and she scrunched her eyes closed as if trying to shut out what was about to happen. The obvious signs of her fright touched Nigel, but he knew that to give in to pity would only reinforce her defiant behavior, so he raised the hem of her gown to just above her buttocks and stood back.
The sight that greeted him caused his cock to stir with longing. Jenny had a full, round bottom for one so small. Two adorable dimples graced the top of each plump cheek—both still cherry red from the hand spanking. He longed to kiss those dimples, to nip the soft, hot skin of each soft buttock.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind.
“Six,” he reminded her again, lining the whippy cane up to just touch her cheeks. He gave her two light taps before drawing back and leveling the first stroke. It wasn’t hard, but it didn’t have to be; he knew that from experience. Her already sore cheeks immediately bloomed with a faint red line, and Jenny wailed loudly as she slid from the table to the floor, cupping her sore bottom in her little hands as she looked up at him in disbelief.
“Owwww!” she cried. “It hurts so!”
“It’s supposed to,” Nigel said, and leaned down to gently lift her to standing. As he did, he pulled Jenny to him and held her as she sobbed into his chest. “But it is important that you know we mean what we say. It’s important to your safety, which is why we do this. It’s because we care about you. Now back over the table.”
Before the first lick of the cane, Jenny had kept her thighs primly clamped, but now that she knew what to expect, it was harder to keep her composure. She moved her bottom back and forth in fearful expectation, shifting from one foot to the other in a way that gave Nigel a glimpse of the fleecy pouch of her pussy. He tore his gaze from that spot and focused on her bottom, lining the cane up now just below the first mark.
She screamed with the second one, her legs stamping to expose more of her pussy. Nigel kept a hand on her back, but now stared openly between the apex of her thighs. Was it his imagination or were the inner lips slightly protruding? Yes. They were, the pink folds glistening and visible through tight golden curls. He wondered how she’d look shaved, but pushed that thought from his mind as he brought the cane down to mark the halfway point of her punishment. Jenny was wailing now, her hands flying back to try and rub away the hurt. A stern threat to double the punishment had her retracting them; she was a fast learner, and Nigel was pleased to see that punishment was indeed a deterrent for her.
The fourth lick of the cane fell purposefully low, just above the crease where her buttocks joined her thighs.
“Oh, please, sir!” Jenny cried. It was the second time she’d called him ‘sir,’ and the combination of her obvi
ously wet pussy and submissive language stirred a powerful need within the Englishman. He had two more strokes to deliver, but all he could think about was freeing his now-hard cock and plunging it into that slick velvet nest between her thighs. But he knew he could not do that; she was his charge, he was not yet her husband, and he could tell by her movements that she was an innocent, totally unaware of the affect her gyrations were having.
With a heavy hand, he pinned her in place again, this time leveling the blow directly on that tender crease of skin between her bottom and her thighs. Jenny, unable to slide backwards, shot forward, sending the platter of biscuits tumbling to the floor. Her legs were churning wildly, and Nigel could see everything now. With a gruff word for her to hold still, he brought down the cane for the sixth and final time, ready now to end both their misery.
“There, there,” he said as he tossed the cane onto the table and enfolded her in his arms. “We’ve no more need for such unpleasant business.”
She was sobbing against his chest so fiercely, all he could do was sink into the chair and pull her to him, swallowing hard as she immediately curled into his lap. He could feel the heat of her punished bare bottom pressing against his hard cock and shifted to alleviate the throbbing want building in his balls. She was seeking comfort now—innocent comfort—and nothing more. He held her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her blond head as he soothed her.
Nigel could have held her all day like that, but once again he told himself that the whole point of this exercise had been to teach her a lesson that was yet to be finished. Once her sobs had subsided, he tipped her off his lap and asked her if she’d like to try again to obey as he knew she could.