by Ava Sinclair
“You’ll look so lovely in your frock,” he said. “So why don’t you go get dressed, and if you’re still hungry, we’ll put this whole matter behind us.”
Jenny stood, clearly defeated, and nodded her head. She sniffled sadly as she left the room. Nigel retrieved the biscuits from where they’d fallen, suddenly grateful that both he and Cody kept a tidy house. Back home, he’d have never entertained the thought of consuming something that had touched the floor. But here, where food was scarce and there was no guarantee that flour would be available, they couldn’t afford to be picky.
He was dusting the last of the biscuits off when Jenny finally reentered the room. He’d not called after her this time, knowing she’d be wearing the dress he’d picked. As expected, she looked lovely in her pink frock that matched the flush in her cheeks. She’d even managed to braid her hair, tying a little bow at the end of each braid. She was, he decided, the perfect picture of a chastened little girl as she walked stiffly and painfully to the table.
“May I eat standing?” she asked, her manner sedate. Nigel noted that she did not meet his eyes, but seemed unusually shy.
“No,” he said firmly but gently. “If you disobey, you endure the full effects of your folly.” He pulled the chair out and she glanced up at him with trepidation before sinking onto the hard seat with a pitiful whimper.
They ate in silence, and Nigel was pleased to see that Jenny cleared her plate. The diminutive waif he’d scrubbed and spanked had a healthy woman’s appetite for food. As he pondered the glimpse of her wet pussy, he wondered if that appetite would extend to more carnal fare.
He was eager to find out once he could establish himself not just as her guardian, but as her suitor.
Chapter Six: Twice the Confusion
When Nigel had sent Jenny to her room that second time, she’d shut the door and walked immediately to the looking glass that stood in the corner, seeing herself as she decided the Englishman saw her; with some strands of her long hair plastered to her flushed face by tears, her red-rimmed eyes, and childish nightgown, she looked every inch the chastened little girl.
“They treat me like a child,” she said to the forlorn reflection, but even as she spoke, she silently wondered if they knew her secret. Her bottom—so excruciatingly sore from welts she now traced with her fingers—wasn’t the only thing throbbing. Between her legs was a different kind of throb that had started when the Englishman had told her she’d be punished. That throbbing had become a pulsating pressure between her legs by the time Nigel Simms had cradled her onto his lap. He smelled of leather and spices, and as she’d regained her composure in the safety of his strong embrace, she’d told herself there were a hundred different reasons why that secret place between her legs would thrum with such need. She was scared. She was nervous. She was confused. He’d bared her intimately. She had a list of excuses, but none of them included want. None of them included need.
It made no sense. Why would such harsh correction result in such a hungry ache between her legs? She did not know, but she could not deny the need to touch herself where that ache centered.
Turning in front of the glass, she removed her gown and dropped it on the floor as she looked over her shoulder. She whimpered anew at the sight of her bottom. It was blotchy red from the spanking over Nigel’s lap, and marred by clean red lines one after another from the cane. Jenny turned again, forcing herself to look at the juncture between her thighs. She’d never really looked at herself, but she was so curious about the ache she felt, and so desperate to relieve it.
She’d had little education on carnal matters, but knew enough to know that what she felt was a private need, a woman’s need. And it was nearly as unbearable as the pain in her bottom. She could not relieve the latter. But the former?
Jenny’s hand strayed down to the downy curls. She flushed anew, the color creeping from her face all the way down to the tops of her full breasts. The springy fleece covering her pubic mound was wet. She slid her finger lower to the top of the cleft, and took a deep breath as for the first time she breached the slit, her fingertips seeking the force of the ache.
“Oh!” She cried the word out softly, for her own touch made the ache worse. It was as if her body was crying out to be stroked and soothed. The need was concentrated above the slick folds tucked inside the plump outer lips. Dragging her fingers up, she gasped at the sensation, her mind unwillingly flashing back to the first spanking she’d gotten from Cody, and the second from Nigel.
She bit her lip as she moved her fingers back and forth across a small nub that pulsed at her touch, begging for more. Jenny rubbed again, and the sensation of pleasure that coursed through her brought her to her knees. There was a gush of wetness and at first she thought she’d lost control of her bladder. But no, that was not it. When she withdrew her shaking hand, she could see it was slick with clear fluid that carried a light tangy smell. She flushed, remembering the same faint tang at Cora’s. Lust. Had Nigel been aware of it when he was punishing her? She closed her eyes, ashamed.
Oh, what must he think of me? What should I think of myself?
She again thought of May, thrashing her head back and forth, carried to a place of carnal pleasure by the attentions of two men. A prostitute, a slave to her own desires. She’d told herself she was nothing like that woman. But wasn’t she? May had tensed under one of the men—tensed and screamed. Jenny had tensed, had wanted to scream just moments before.
Oh, no. No. No. It’s bad.
Suddenly the juvenile dress seemed safer, more comforting—a reminder that she was the ward of these men and not their whore. Their attentions were—as the Englishman said—intended to be paternal. They were not intended to be carnal. And she had no business feeling pleasure when she should only feel remorse for her disobedience.
She hastily donned the stockings, undergarments, and pink dress, before washing her hands and face in the bowl on the washstand by the door. Next she braided her hair in two plaits, pleased when the image staring back at her looked every bit the pampered young girl and not the panting woman who’d stifled a scream as she’d stroked her aching core.
Now she sat in the kitchen, daintily and dutifully eating her food as the Englishman watched approvingly.
“You’ll find it gets easier, Jenny, submitting.” He’d finished his breakfast and was regarding her over his empty plate. “Cody said your brother indulged you and left you somewhat spoiled. This must be a very big change, having control stripped away.”
She flushed at this and concentrated on buttering the biscuit in her hand as she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “Very much.”
“We want you to understand that it’s not all bad, living under our guidance. I personally plan to make sure you’re treated with an equal dose of discipline and coddling.” He smiled, his teeth white in his tanned face. “So tell me. What do you like to do when you’re not being stubborn?”
Jenny shifted on her seat. “I like to draw,” she said. “And I like to read.”
“You went to school?” he asked.
“My aunt insisted on it,” she replied. “She said I’d have a better chance of marrying a learned man if I could read and manage household books and budgets. Apparently, that requires reading, although I preferred novels.”
“When I next to go the general store I’ll buy some pencils and paper,” he said. “As for books, I have a few.”
“You do?” Her eyes grew wide.
“I couldn’t leave England without something from home, and you’ll be happy to know that I brought more than the cane. I also brought a few books from my childhood—adventure stories and poetry.”
When she smiled, he smiled back.
“If you finish that biscuit, then perhaps I can find some for you. You can pass the day committing poems to memory. It’s an excellent exercise.”
He was true to his word. Once the dishes had been cleared away, Nigel produced a slim volume and introduced Jenny to the poems of Wordswo
rth. She was disappointed to find reading some of the words difficult, but thrilled when Nigel flawlessly read the poems to her with pleasant affectation. After the first poem, he asked her if she’d like to sit on his lap as he read. At first Jenny thought to refuse; the feelings he awakened in her were frightening and unfamiliar. But she wanted to please him, so she sat again in the safe circle of his arms until the rhythmic words of an English poet lulled her to a feeling of complacency.
When the door opened, she was almost disappointed to have the reading interrupted. Cody stood in the doorway for a moment as if surprised by the sight that greeted him.
“Well, it seems as though you’ve settled in, Jenny,” he said as he took his hat off and hung it on the peg by the door.
“It didn’t start off that way, mate,” Nigel said, and Jenny stood and dropped her gaze, afraid to look at Cody as the Englishman recounted how he’d had to spank and cane her before breakfast.
“But we got it all sorted out, right, sweet Jenny?” The Englishman had concluded his account and now both men were looking at her. She squirmed under their gaze as she answered.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s just… I’m just not used to having to answer to anyone. Not like this.”
Nigel stood. “I need to get some more fire for the wood. There’s biscuits and ham in the oven if you’re hungry.”
“Of course I’m hungry,” Cody said as the Englishman headed for the back door.
“I could get your dinner for you,” Jenny said as Cody removed his jacket.
“No, I’ll do it.” The cowboy offered her an easy smile. “You look pretty, Jenny.”
“Thank you.” She looked down at the dress she’d not wanted to don. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful to you or Nigel. I know you weren’t expecting another mouth to feed, but really, Cody, I can earn my keep if you’ll just let …”
“We can talk about that some other time,” he said with a smile. “Right now I just want you to concentrate on feeling at home here, on seeing us as your family now that you’ve got no one left.”
Jenny felt a catch in her throat as his words hit her. He was right; she was alone save for the two men who had taken her in, rescued from the prospect of a loveless marriage. For the second time that day, she began to cry.
“There, there, Jenny,” Cody said, and pulled her into his arms. He felt different than the Englishman. He smelled different—like dust and musk and sunshine. But it wasn’t unpleasant, and neither was the feel of his corded arms as they held her close. This man, too, had spanked her, and would spank her again if it took that to keep her safe. Between her legs, the familiar throbbing began anew.
Jenny turned her tear-brimmed eyes toward his. The gaze that returned hers was bold and intense and caring. But why wouldn’t it be, she thought? He cared for her as any man would care for the sister of a dear friend. But still, the way he held her. He seemed to sense something, too, because after a moment he gently stepped back.
“Did you check my claim today?” she asked, eager to change the subject and redirect her thoughts.
“I did,” he said. “One of the neighboring miners—not Forbes—let me use his sluice box.” He smiled and reached into his pocket. “I found this.” He dropped a rock into Jenny’s hand. When she examined it closely, she could see a faint vein of gold threaded through it. She looked up at him. “Does this mean…?”
“I don’t know what it means,” he said. “It could be a fluke. Or it could be that there’s more. But to find out we need to dig. Both of us. And we need to know that you’re going to mind us, Jenny.” His voice took on a serious tone. “If you’re serious about what you say—that you appreciate that we took you in—then I need you to stay here with the cabin locked while me and Nigel go down to dig a little deeper on your claim and build our own sluice box there. Right now not many folk know you’re here, and I want to keep it that way. Can you stay here and keep quiet while we work? One of us will stay with you for a few more days, but after that I’m going to trust you to be a good girl here on your own while we work the claims together. That means staying put, understand?”
She nodded.
“I mean it, Jenny,” he said. “If I catch you out there, I’ll haul you back here and tan your bare bottom until it’s the color of the sunset, you got it?”
She flushed and shifted from foot to foot, aware suddenly of renewed wetness between her legs.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Now that’s more like it,” Cody said. “I like hearing you say that, Jenny. Sir. You’re a very good girl.”
She liked that he liked it, but felt a sudden stab of shame at experiencing the same shameful reaction with Cody as she’d had with Nigel.
Was this normal? She’d never lived with a man she’d been unrelated to. Perhaps it was. But she could not ask. Perhaps, she thought, this was just a normal reaction to being cared for after so long without caring.
She would put it out of her mind, she told herself. She would be a good girl, and that meant her thoughts would have to be pure as well. But as her secret place between her legs throbbed with nascent need, she wondered if that were possible.
Chapter Seven: Double the Conflict
Cody didn’t sleep much the nights leading up to Jenny’s first day alone at the cabin. It had been nearly a week since she’d arrived, and he and Nigel had switched off looking after her and teaching her how to take care of herself at the cabin while the other mined the three claims.
Cody found himself looking forward to his days with Jenny. When he was apart from her, he found his thoughts drifting farther and farther from the blond Matilda, and closer to the little blonde who now shared his cabin.
Now when he told himself that he was practically a promised man, the conviction felt hollow. And when he sat down in the evenings to write another letter to Matilda—one that would join the dozens of unanswered ones he’d already sent—he found he couldn’t even pen the first line. It seemed that every time he looked down at the paper, he’d catch a glimpse of Jenny, or catch himself studying her before he even realized he was doing it. It bothered him, but what bothered him more was the irritation he felt whenever he saw how easily she laughed with his English friend, and how she looked to Nigel more and more for approval of her drawing, or sat smiling and clapping as they recited poetry to one another.
It occurred to Cody that he’d perhaps have a closer relationship with their charge if he’d spend more time with her, and was forced to admit that his reluctance to do so stemmed from the inner conflict over an uncomfortable truth he’d yet to admit; he was attracted to her. He was attracted to his dead friend’s sister, whom he’d vowed to protect.
He’d done everything to keep himself true to Matilda—a woman he was coming to realize may already be married to someone else. The sweet promise of earning the right to her hand had been keeping him going. But now, the sound of Jenny’s tinkling laughter filled him with a new kind of hopelessness, because she was obviously favoring Nigel.
And could he blame the man? He glanced over, taking in the scene of domestic unity. Jenny sat across from his friend, pointing to a word in a book and asking Nigel to help her pronounce it. Her little feet were crossed at the ankles under the hem of the dress he’d purchased to regress her, to serve as a visual reminder that she was his ward. He realized also that even that effort had failed. If anything, seeing her like this—so womanly, yet so delightfully innocent in her childlike manner and dress—made him want her more.
He’d spanked her; he’d felt the fullness of her round bottom. Nigel had spanked her, too, and had bared that perfect bottom. When Cody had learned of this, it had taken all of his resolve not to ask the Englishman what he’d seen. Was Jenny’s bottom as round bare as it seemed clothed? Did she have a deep cleft? Had she kicked her legs enough to reveal the slit between her thighs, or its hidden charms? Had Nigel wanted to touch her?
No. He had to push the thoughts of her as a woman aside. And yet, he could not. And it was
n’t just what he’d seen, but what he’d heard. At night, he’d listened, stroking his cock under the cover as he caught the sounds of her barely suppressed moans. She was touching herself. But why? Did she even understand? Was it the proximity of two men that was awakening her? Or was it something else? He stared at Jenny and Nigel, now pondering something he didn’t want to consider. He was only with her every other day. When Nigel was alone with her, was he touching Jenny, priming her for his seduction?
The pencil in his hand snapped suddenly, and the two of them looked up.
“Strong grip there, mate?” Nigel asked with a smile.
Cody stared down at his hand, unsettled by the internal angst that had made him unwittingly break the pencil. “Must have had a weak spot,” he said.
Jenny frowned. “Now how will I write my lessons?”
Cody stood and walked over. “I’ll buy you a new pencil,” he said. “More than one, if you like.”
Jenny looked from one man to the other. “You’re too good to me, you know. Both of you. I pray every night that my claim will make us all wealthy so that you will be repaid for the trouble of taking me in.”
“It’s hardly a trouble, little Jenny,” Nigel said. “It’s a pleasure. At least for me.”
Cody felt his face grow warm with anger.
“Yes,” he said. “As our ward, it’s our job to protect you from harm. There are men out there who would take advantage of your innocent nature.” He paused. “Please know that I won’t stand for that, from any man.”
Had he intended to stare so hard at his friend? Nigel seemed to be noticing the hard look, and furrowed his brow, obviously concerned, confused, or both. Cody turned away.
“I’m going to stoke the fire one last time before bed,” Nigel said, rising from the chair and laying down the book of poetry. Cody noticed the direct glance his friend gave him before walking outside.
“Is something wrong, Cody?” Jenny asked.