by Ava Sinclair
A fresh flood of moisture coated his hand, a testament to her excitement.
“Why shouldn’t you spend your days under the sway of a man who demands your obedience not as a game, but as a way of life? I am that man, Aster Darmley.”
She moaned as he possessively shoved his fingers into her pussy.
“But you’re a servant!” she moaned, and it was all he could do to keep his anger in check and focus on what had to be done, what must be done, to reach the main objective.
“That’s the beauty of it, my dear. No man of your class could appreciate the beauty of a woman—not a girl, but a woman—giving him the willing gift of such deep submission. There’s only one man who understands you, only one man who will insist you call him papa.”
“You would ask that of me?” she asked, her hips moving in time to his fingers.
He removed his hand and spun her to face him. “Oh, I shall insist on it,” he said, arching an elegant eyebrow. “And when we’re together, you’ll dress as a child. No corsets. You’ll have a secret wardrobe made of little girl’s things. When we’re apart, a look from me will be all you need to remind you that I alone control you, to remind you that—should I choose—I can haul you up to this room and ravish you until you scream. And you’ll not stop me, for once you give me the power I shall never, ever give it back!” He was undoing the corset now, roughly. Aster’s breasts were heaving as he released them from their confines. Dobbs tossed the expensive corset into the fire and then roughly pushed Lady Darmley to her knees.
“Do you submit, Aster?”
Stepping back, he undid the front of his pressed black trousers as she looked up at him, lost to her own submissive desires.
“Yes…” She breathed the word, her voice earnest.
Dobbs ran an elegant finger down her cheek. “Then your first act as my little plaything will be to take my cock up your pretty bottom,” he said. “Does my sweet little Aster want her back passage filled with my cream?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice high. “But first…” She knelt down before him, looking up at the valet almost worshipfully. The tip of Aster’s pink tongue flicked out to touch her top lip. She was eyeing the valet’s cock hungrily, just the way he wanted her to.
“May I, sir?” she asked breathlessly.
Dobbs looked down at where she knelt in the puddle of fabric that had been her gown. She really was a beautiful woman, and part of him pitied the relentless need he saw in her. He knew part of her still loved Lord Darmley, even if she’d let him pursue what he wanted—which had never been her. She’d never been cherished or prized by any man—not her father who’d married her off just as Amelia’s father had rushed to do, not the husband who married only for duty and an heir before slaking his lust with male servants. Just like the woman set to marry her son, she was still the little girl looking for the kind of unconditional nurturing of an authority figure. But Aster Darmley was a raw, sexual creature and those two needs for nurturing and dominance fused into a capacity for deep submission.
A good man would not exploit that. Henry Dobbs was not a good man.
He was setting her up, and it was far easier than he’d anticipated. It was also more enjoyable.
Seeing her so subservient increased Dobbs’ own feeling of power, which was a heady aphrodisiac to a man so eager for control. He looked down, watching her red lips slide up and down his shaft, enjoying the warm wet pleasure as she guided the head of his cock to the back of her throat. When he felt his balls tighten, he raised Aster up despite her protests and pushed her over the nearby bed. He found her ladyship beyond ready when he pushed her skirt up to her hips, the shaved lips of her cunny spread to reveal the glistening petals of her womanhood.
Dobbs marveled again at the fine form Lady Darmley cut for a woman of her age. Well into middle age, she was still the envy of nearly every woman in the region. But even so, his thoughts were elsewhere as he pushed his thick cock into her welcoming pussy. With each stroke, he was driving her deeper into submission to a plan unknown to her, a plan to correct the balance that had consigned him—a man who deserved better—to a life of pouring port and tying cravats.
“You’re mine, Aster,” he said, leaning down and pushing aside her hair to nip the back of her neck. “You’re mine as of this moment, do you understand?”
“Ohhhh,” she said.
He stood and slapped her ass, hard. “I asked you a question. Who do you belong to?” He was emboldened now, eager to tighten his control in a way that would last beyond the throes of her coming orgasm. He would take her deeper into her own submission than she’d ever gone before, so deep that she’d not be able to find her way back to the imperious nature that threatened his security as her lover. “Tell me!”
“I belong… to you,” she said.
“Yes, my sweet little girl,” he said, standing to run his hand down her back. He followed the path of it with his eyes, down the elegant line of back to the split halves of her alluring bottom, the dusky rose of her bottom hole visible between them. He put a finger on it, delighting in the involuntary twitch he felt.
“I’m going to fuck you here now,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your ass and mark you as my own. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Please.”
Dobbs pulled his cock from the wet warmth of her ladyship’s pussy and pushed the ruby head against the resistant puckered hole above. He’d played with her bottom before, and always knew she wanted his cock there. It was her last taboo, but he’d been saving the moment, saving it for just the right time. Now as he pushed the flared head against her, he could tell she was in just the place he wanted her to be—that place between dread and desire. He knew the intrusion would be as painful as it was pleasurable, but he also knew the mingling—and her willing submission to it—was necessary.
She cried out a little at the breach, but heeded his words to relax, take him. As Dobbs slid in by slow, persistent increments, he told Aster what a good girl she was, reinforcing his control over her. She moaned beneath him, and moaned louder still when he told her how much she was pleasing him.
He felt his seed rising, felt his balls tighten from the sensation and the sense of power he was feeling.
“You’re mine,” he said as he came, shooting spurts of his seed into Aster, his slim hips pressed against the cushion of her ass. “You’re mine, and from this moment on, you’ll live by my leave.”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”
“Yes, what?” He fisted her hair, hissing the question into her ear.
“Yes, sir,” she said softly.
He smiled. All was going as planned. It was only a matter of time before he had everything he deserved, including the woman he really wanted—Amelia Chesterfield. He deserved a lady—a real lady—to call his own. He knew an actual future with Aster was out of reach, but she was a means to his end. The damaged betrothed of Garrett Darmley was attainable. He would have her.
Chapter Nine: The Clyster and the Claiming
“Shaved? Down there?” Amelia blushed to her roots as she gripped the towel more tightly around her body. “Whatever for?”
“I’ll be very direct, young lady.” Miss Steadwell was holding a mug of shaving cream and a gleaming straight razor. “I am to treat you as a child, but also am to prepare you for such a time when you will submit to his lordship in the most intimate of ways. When the time comes, he wants you smooth as silk. It will enhance both your pleasure.”
“And how on earth would a children’s governess know such things?” Amelia asked, eyeing the razor with undisguised trepidation.
“Foolish girl.” Something of a smirk played on the governess’ sculpted face. “Do you think you’re the first young woman to be kept in such a fashion? His lordship hired me because of my experience dealing with young wives in your very situation. My last charge was not so much unlike you; she, too, was kept as a child while being very much an adult. Of course it was all very discreet, as it will be w
ith you.”
Amelia felt her heart quicken. To know there were others like her made her feel less alone. But she was also curious. “So why did you leave?”
The governess had turned to spread a towel on Amelia’s bed. She answered as she smoothed the edges in her usual meticulous fashion. “They had lived as such for years. He’d taken care of her every need, had corrected her when she was bad, rewarded her when she was good, and loved her fiercely. He’s very ill now, and she’s decided it’s time to grow up to take care of him. I am no longer needed, so when Mr. Holloway approached my employer, they gave me their blessing to take on a new charge.” She looked up from the bed. “You.”
Amelia tried to picture the woman she’d become after years spent living without a care other than pleasing her lord and husband. She thought of the love Miss Steadwell’s former charge must have had for her husband, to become his caretaker. If her governess’ former little one could make that kind of sacrifice, could she not do this one thing for the man who’d taken her in?
He’d done everything he’d promised so far. She’d had all her needs met, wanted for nothing, had a room filled with lovely books, and had used her leisure to appreciate things she’d forgotten she’d enjoy, like drawing or brushing a doll’s hair. Her governess tutored her in the morning, and the lessons gave her some place to put her mental focus. He had given, she realized, and she must as well.
Amelia rose from where she was sitting and walked to the bed, keeping her gaze bashfully lowered as she lay down on her back.
“You’ll learn, in time, not to be so terribly modest around those charged with caring for you, Amelia,” Miss Steadwell said. Her voice was calm and reassuring as she parted Amelia’s knees and quietly instructed her to hold still for the shaving.
It was an almost surreal experience for Amelia as she felt the boar-bristle brush coat her fleecy curls with shaving foam. In less than a week she’d gone from never having explored her own anatomy to learning to touch herself. And now this. She held her breath as the razor slid across her pubic mound. The governess worked with deft efficiency, the only sound in the room the soft scraping of the razor as it denuded the tender skin.
“There we are.” The governess gently wiped the shaved area with a warm, wet towel, and when she did, Amelia cried out at the unexpected pleasantness of the moist heat on her skin. She covered her face in shame as waves of pleasure rippled through her. It was one thing to respond to his lordship’s touch. But to Miss Steadwell’s? Oh, the humiliation!
But the governess seemed to detect her distress and rose to pat her on the arm.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, dear,” she said. “Your reaction just now is perfectly natural. Your betrothed will be pleased to know how responsive you are to simple things.”
“You’re going to tell him?” Amelia was mortified.
“Yes. I tell him everything. I report to him, after all. He seeks for you to be less ashamed. Rather than deny the sensations as sinful or wrong, you must learn to embrace them. It’s my job to remind you of that.”
Amelia sat up on the edge of the bed. The nubby fabric of the towel pressed against her hairless pussy. She shifted, but with each movement was more aware of her nether lips, which suddenly felt swollen and achingly pleasant.
“How do you feel now, Amelia? Is it pleasant where I shaved you?”
Amelia flushed. “Y-yes,” she admitted. “I’m sensitive.”
“It will be even more sensitive when his lordship touches you there with his fingers or his tongue.”
“His tongue! He wouldn’t!”
The governess chuckled at this. “I’d forgotten how innocent you young ones can be. You have so much to learn, but before your lordship comes for you, you’ll need to be cleansed and medicated.”
“Cleansed? Oh, no… please,” she cried. “Not that!”
But Miss Steadwell, who’d briefly left the room, now returned with a bedpan with a large clyster sitting in the center of it
“There’s no need to make a fuss,” the governess said. “Lord Darmley has ordered a regular cleaning schedule. In fact, I plan to use a special recipe I developed in my last service. It has a remarkably effective history.”
Amelia listened with growing dread as Miss Steadwell ticked off the ingredients that filled the ominously large silver-plated syringe. Fennel seed. Licorice. Rhubarb extract. Tapping the bed, the governess ordered her charge to get on all fours and present her bare bottom for the cleansing.
Amelia was no stranger to the colonic cleansings, but hated them. In her former home, she’d often been able to avoid them by throwing a tantrum that made her minders decide the procedure was more trouble than it was worth. One more look at the clyster was all it took for her to revert back to that tried and true tactic.
“No,” she said, rising from the bed and holding the wrap tight to her body.
“Young lady!” Miss Steadwell’s expression turned stormy. “Am I going to have to spank you until you take your cleansing like a good girl?”
“I’m not taking one!” Amelia said. “If you try to make me, I’ll scream.”
“You certainly will.” The governess reached into her pocket and Amelia gasped to see the oval paddle emerge. She gave a little cry, remembering now how effectively it had reddened the maid’s bottom. But she was no maid, and wasn’t about to bend over for a spanking any more than she was about to bend over for a cleansing. She flew to the other side of the bed, moving left and then right to keep it between her and a governess who was growing more frustrated by the minute.
“What on earth is the commotion?”
Both women stopped at the sound of Garrett’s voice. Amelia, remembering how she could sometimes appeal to her father for support, ran to him. From the safety of his arms, she turned to point at Miss Steadwell.
“She’s trying to give me a cleansing, but I told her I neither want nor need it!”
The arms holding her fell away. Lord Darmley put his hands firmly on Amelia’s shoulders and pushed her back until she could look up at him.
“Did she tell you that I ordered the cleansing?”
Amelia dropped her eyes. “Yes, but I thought…”
“You thought to disobey,” he said. “And there’s a price for that.” Taking Amelia by the hand, he led her over to the waiting governess. “You disobeyed Miss Steadwell, who is—in my absence—my designated authority. She is authorized to punish you, and by the looks of things, you’ve certainly earned it.”
“No, please!” Amelia reached back, grasping for her guardian. But it was too late. She yelped as the governess grabbed her by the ear and led her to the bed. Sitting down, the larger woman easily tossed Amelia over her knee. It was a wholly humiliating position, especially when the wrap fell away to leave Amelia naked, her unbound breasts swaying as she sought to escape.
The governess easily subdued her, however, and Amelia began to cry in dread anticipation of the paddle’s bite. The governess’ leg was thrown over Amelia’s calves, immobilizing her while presenting not just the younger woman’s bottom, but exposing and stretching the tender strip of skin between her buttocks and thighs.
Amelia turned her head to the side, imploring Lord Darmley for mercy one last time. But he merely shook his head as he took a seat in a nearby chair, making it clear that he would be watching without interfering.
Although she tried to prepare herself for the impending punishment, there was no precedent in Amelia’s relatively lax upbringing for the sear of a paddle wielded by a practiced disciplinarian. Starbursts of pain exploded before her eyes, and she screamed as the first blow fell, the burn going deep below the skin that quickly puffed into an oval welt. She tried to kick, but to no avail; Miss Steadwell’s legs were like a vise around her own. Amelia’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on the floor, but efforts to pull herself off the governess’ lap were useless. She wasn’t aware that her minder’s hold had shifted until she felt the cool air hit her freshly shaven pussy, the sensatio
n juxtaposed against the burning agony of her bottom. Amelia moaned as she realized that her legs were splayed.
Through hazy tears she could see Lord Darmley sitting in the chair in his elegant coat, his long legs crossed as if he were observing a cricket match. His formality of dress made her complete exposure seem somehow worse. She tried to close her legs, but the governess was trapping just one now as she peppered the skin on the top of her thigh with rapid pops of the paddle, leaving Amelia to flail the one free leg in a most lascivious manner.
By the time the governess was done, Amelia was the very picture of contrition. Her full bottom was throbbing with hurt, while between her legs, her pussy pulsed with its own accord—a sensation that only heightened when she caught the intense gaze of her handsome lord. He walked over when she was finally raised to her feet.
“Now,” he said, tipping her chin up with his finger. “Is my little girl ready to submit to her cleansing?”
Amelia had no choice but to nod through her sobs.
“Wait!” she said as he sat back down. “Aren’t you leaving?”
Garrett adjusted his coat as he settled into his chair. “I think not. Given how naughty you are, I feel it is important to remain here until the job has been properly done.”
Amelia was now sorrier than she’d ever been in her life. Being punished in Garrett’s presence was one thing. But to have him witness this most egregious of invasions was almost more than she could bear. But bear it she must, so she climbed up on the bed, sobbing all the while. Her bottom—flaming red and burning with hurt—was now fully exposed as she raised it in obedience to Miss Steadwell’s command.
She whimpered as the governess’ large hand pulled one burning cheek to the side and pressed the lubricated tip of the clyster’s syringe against her bottom hole. The syringe was not particularly thick, but the slick coldness of it sliding into her bottom only accentuated Amelia’s feelings of childlike vulnerability.