by Lucy Wild
Tugging the hem of the dress down, she looked at herself in the mirror. The nappy was not visible if she stood perfectly upright. Perhaps it would go by unnoticed. As for the plug, he had made it clear it was to remain within her. Every step reminded her it was there, but she would just have to live with that.
She wished he would come home, remove the anxiety of needing to entertain. With each step down the stairs, she prayed he would push open the door, burst in and take over from her. But he had not appeared by the time she was at the threshold of the drawing room, the plug constantly reminding her of its presence, even as she walked into the room and fixed a polite smile onto her face.
“Good morning,” she said, waiting for the woman standing by the window to turn and face her.
“So,” the woman said in a cold voice, spinning slowly round, her hat covering half her face, “you are his pet pauper?”
“Excuse me?” little Beth replied, taken aback by the scowl on the woman’s face, the fury that seemed barely suppressed as she sank into a chair and folded her arms.
“Sit,” the woman snapped.
“Of course,” little Beth said, perching on the edge of the nearest chair, feeling the plug slide deeper into her as she did so. She kept her knees together, hoping the nappy was not visible. Obeying the woman had been as automatic as obeying Sir Doyle.
“I am Miss Fotheringham and I was to be married to your new keeper, until he decided he would rather live with a gutter whore than with me.”
“I am no whore.”
“Look at your clothes. You look ridiculous. No real lady would be seen wearing such things. And what is that between your legs? Is that, it is, it’s a nappy. What kind of cesspit of filth have you dragged Sir Doyle into?”
Little Beth bristled. “I have dragged him into nothing. He invited me here, he made me wear this. I have done nothing to offend you or him and I will ask you not to insult me in my own house.”
“Your house? Since when was this your house? This is Sir Doyle’s house and I am led to understand it will soon be Glossop’s house so you might want to start looking for a new idiot to plaster you with money. I don’t know why I bothered to come back, a complete waste of time, clearly.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I wanted to speak to him, not that it is any business of yours. As you are here, you may give him a message from me, tell him I want nothing more to do with him. You are clearly well suited for each other. A nappy, disgusting.” She continued to mutter as she swept from the room. “Dressing her up like a little girl, the man’s clearly gone mad.”
Little Beth was too angry to stand up, remaining on the edge of the chair as she tried to calm her thumping heart. The echo of the front door slamming closed reached her a moment later and she leaned back against the seat when she was sure she was alone, closing her eyes and groaning. So Sir Doyle was to marry her? Well, it seemed as if he was well shot of her if that was the way she chose to behave around people. But was she right about her? Was she nothing more than a pauper? A whore? No, she thought, shaking her head. She was neither of those things. She was his little Beth and that was all that mattered.
Chapter 22
Charles did not have a pleasant time in the city. He spoke to his banker first, starting the day with something almost designed to ruin his mood.
“I am not sure what you are asking me?” Mr. Reynolds said, his lips pursing together as if he were sucking on a lemon.
“It is perfectly simple,” Charles said, rubbing his temples as he tried once more to explain himself. “If I were to hand over my estate to another person, would I be left with any assets that are not directly connected to it?”
“You intend to sell your estate?”
“No, you are not listening to me. Say for example, a person wagered his estate on a bet and lost that bet. Legally, could he keep anything?”
“He would have to be a very foolish person to do something so stupid.”
“Indeed he would. But could he keep anything?”
“It would depend on the terms of the wager and the layout of the estate.” Mr. Reynolds suddenly looked awake for the first time that morning. “You are not telling me you are that person, are you, Sir Doyle?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Good God, man. Tell me you have not gambled your entire fortune away.”
“Not yet. But I may lose it yet. Would I be left with anything?”
“I would have to go through your paperwork, see if there is any way to separate your liquidity from your holdings, as it were. These things take time.”
“You have four days.”
“Four days? But the papers relating to your farmland alone would take a month to go through.”
“You better get started then.”
He left the bank knowing it was a long shot, but he’d had to try. There was no independent arbiter who was going to determine if little Beth was submissive enough to win him the wager, it would be just like Glossop to twist the terms if it looked like he might lose. Better to pre-empt what might happen, just in case.
Not that he intended to lose, of course. If things had gone the way the journals had suggested, and thus far they had, then she would be at home that instant with the middle dilator inside her and a nappy holding it in place. The very thought was enough to stiffen his member as he strolled through the streets to his tailor. She was proving to be the ideal woman, a fact that would wipe the smile off Glossop’s face when he found out.
It was late in the afternoon when he returned home. His tailor was ill, coughing all over him in a manner which told him he would no doubt catch whatever the fellow had soon enough. He’d hired two men to fix the rotten window frames on the third floor, only to find out they couldn’t come for another month. His cobbler wasn’t in, his knocks on the shop door going unanswered. The only positive experience of his trip came with the tutor he’d found. She could begin immediately.
He walked into the house just as the clock in the hall struck five. James took his coat from him as he looked around him for little Beth. “Where is she?”
“I believe she is playing in the nursery, Sir.”
“Bring her to me in the study. I wish to tell her about her new tutor.”
“Of course, Sir. Would you like your boots cleaned or are you going out again this evening?”
Charles looked down at the mud caking the side of the black leather boots. “I suppose I better change out of them.” He sank onto the chair beside him, allowing James to pull them from his feet, replacing them with a gleaming black pair of shoes. “Any callers while I was out?”
“Miss Fotheringham attended for a short time, Sir.”
“What? Clare was here? What on earth did she want?”
“I do not know, Sir. She spoke with Miss Wilkinson.”
“That’s not good.”
He walked through to the study, sitting behind his desk whilst James went to fetch little Beth. If Clare had been to the house, it could only be bad news. He doubted she had come to beg his forgiveness for her cruel words, more likely it was to boast about her engagement to Glossop.
“You called for me, Sir,” little Beth said from the doorway, curtseying as he looked up at her.
“What have you been up to today, then?” he asked, motioning for her to sit opposite him.
“Just playing, Sir.”
“Had any visitors?”
“No, Sir.”
“You’re lying.”
She looked as if she were about to argue but then she just shook her head slowly. “How did you know?”
“Do you think yourself alone in this house? The staff inform me of everything I need to know.”
“I’m sorry, I just did not want to trouble you with something that might upset you.”
“That is not your place to decide.” He sighed before continuing. “So, you’ve met Clare, then? What did you think of her?”
“She seemed very nice.”
“Y
ou can be honest with me, no need to stand on ceremony.”
“She was the most awful woman, Sir. Awful.”
Indeed? And what makes you say that?”
“She called me disgusting for wearing a nappy.”
“Wait? You mean to say you entertained Clare wearing what you are wearing now?”
Little Beth nodded. “You made me promise to wear this whilst I was in this house.”
Charles wanted to be angry with her but he couldn’t do it. A chuckle rose in his throat and soon he was laughing heartily. “What I wouldn’t have given to see her face. I bet it was priceless.”
Little Beth began giggling as well, hand over her mouth to try and hide it. “She wasn’t best amused, Sir.”
“I’ll bet she wasn’t. Did she say anything else other than nappy talk?”
“She said to tell you she never wants to see you again.”
“Oh, well. No great loss there. She is a mere ink stain compared to the painting that is you. But let us forget about her and get onto far more important matters. Have you still got the plug in you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Size three?”
“Yes, Sir.”
You’re not lying to me?”
“No, Sir.”
“Right then, prove it. Up you get and come round here, let me see for myself.”
Little Beth stood up and walked round the desk, stopping in front of him. He looked at her with a growing hunger inside him, his member stiffening at the sight of her expectant but nervous face. It was a face he wanted to fuck, to defile, to see coated in sweat, her hair stuck to her forehead as they lay in bed together. He wanted to own her, to take her, to have her screaming his name as he came inside her. He realised he’d never wanted anyone this much in his entire life.
“Turn round and face the other way. Lift your dress to your waist.”
He waited until she was in position before reaching forwards and untying her nappy, watching it fall heavily to the ground. “Good to know you’re making use of that.”
“I thought you’d want me to, Sir.”
“What a good little Beth you are, aren’t you? Now, what’s this?”
He spread her buttocks apart and there it was, the base of the dilator protruding from her bottom, her cheeks slightly reddened from where it had rubbed against her over the course of the day. “That is wonderful,” he said, tugging slowly at the base. “You would be surprised by how stretched you are now.” As he continued to pull, little Beth’s breathing grew heavier but she remained in place. Her breath caught in her throat as he eased the plug from her, watching the skin of her puckered hole shrink back a little as it finally came free.
He set the plug down on the desk before leaning back on his chair. “Come lay on me, face down, that’s it. Spread your buttocks and keep them apart. Now, tell me how this feels.”
Reaching across the desk, he plucked a candle from its stand. Slowly, he nudged it towards her stretched hole, sliding it three inches inside her.
“It feels good,” she said with a groan as another inch vanished inside her.
“Yesterday, such a thing would never have fitted in you.” He let go of the candle, leaving it sticking out of her as if she were the most unusual candlestick in the world. With one hand, he eased her knees apart and with the other, he began to gently stroke her thighs, watching as she shifted in place on his lap. “You will always be rewarded for doing good in this house,” he said, his fingers moving over her soft folds towards her core. As he teased his way to her clit, he took hold of the candle with his left hand, moving it slowly back and forth in her rear. “Up onto the desk,” he said, yanking his hands away to see whether or not she would protest.
She didn’t say a word, just standing up and climbing onto the desk, the candle looking like a tail as she did so.
“On your front, facing me,” he said, fumbling with his trousers.
Her head hung off the end of the desk and as he pulled out his member, she opened her mouth in readiness. He was sliding over her tongue a second later, thrusting deep into her mouth as he reached down her body, a hand on the candle again, groping for her core with the fingers of his other hand. It would have been impossible to reach if she were any taller but her short stature made his life much easier. Her lips were clamped around the base of his shaft as he listened to the noises she made, groaning around him every time he pushed the candle into her rear.
By reaching backwards with his hips, he was able to push faster into her mouth, using her face for his pleasure whilst toying with her clit, hardly knowing what to concentrate on. Things became blurred the longer they lasted, her tongue flicking over the head of him as he continued to slam into her face.
When he knew he was close, he slid from her mouth, not wanting to distract himself from making her climax. She gasped for breath as he began rubbing her clit faster, the candle in her rear gliding back and forth at the same time. Her tongue ran along the length of his shaft, her lips kissing the tip of his member to try and encourage him back into her mouth.
He kept going without pause, seeing her hips shifting as she got closer and closer and just as she was on the verge of orgasm, he slid a finger into her wetness, delving deep enough to push her over the edge. With a scream, she began to contract around his finger, and as she did so, he thrust himself back into her open mouth, cutting off her moans whilst slowing the motion of the candle inside her.
He stood upright a moment later, slamming his hips back and forth so he could concentrate on filling her mouth. Looking down into her eyes as she stared back up at him was enough to push him past the point of no return and with a grunt of pleasure, he came, seed spurting from the end of his member and coating her tongue as he thrust one final time.
Slowly he withdrew, the last drops squeezed out by her lips as she kissed his shaft, clearly not wanting it to leave her mouth. Reaching past her, he slowly eased the candle from her rear, letting it roll away across the desk whilst his breathing returned to normal.
Leaning down, he kissed her forehead before helping her to her feet, feeling her arms slide round him, her legs slumping against his body. “You are a good girl,” he said, pulling her up into his arms and carrying her over to the chair, setting her down on his lap. He stroked her hair whilst looking down at her half closed eyes. “And good girls get rewards.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, glancing up at him. “I’m very glad I met you, Sir.”
Chapter 23
Little Beth’s fourth morning at Sir Doyle’s house began very differently to any that had gone before. Sir Doyle had warned her to be up on time, threatening her with a spanking if he heard differently. “I will be out for most of the day once more, so I am trusting you to obey me in my absence,” he had said as he tucked her into her cot the previous night.
“Again,” little Beth whined. “But you were away most of today.”
“That is something you are just going to have to get used to.”
“But where are you going?”
“It is business, that is all. Very dull stuff. But I have made a plan for you for the days when I will not be here. Be sure to be up and downstairs by eight.”
“I will if I must.”
“You will do it with good grace or you’ll feel my hand on your backside when I return.”
He sounded gruff but when he kissed her forehead, it was with a tenderness that belied his manner.
When she awoke the next morning, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, shocked to find it was already five minutes to eight. Frantically, she leapt up, climbing out of the cot and grabbing the nearest frock. She climbed into it whilst grabbing a nappy, managing to knot her fingers in the cloth in her haste to get dressed in time. She decided against using the chamber pot, reasoning that it was better to get straight downstairs rather than risk disappointing and angering Sir Doyle. With a splash of cold water to her face, she was done with her ablutions.
She ran for the door, nappy alre
ady slipping down. Pausing only to redo the knots, she was in the entrance hall at two minutes past, finding a stern woman dressed in a mud brown dress waiting for her, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I am not used to dawdlers,” the woman said, turning and marching towards the teaching room. “Follow me.”
“I am sorry I am late down,” little Beth replied whilst wondering who on earth this woman was, “but it was only a minute or two.”
“It is lateness whether it is a minute or an hour. Lateness is a sin. In and sit down.”
“But who are you?”
The woman turned and scowled at her. “I am Miss Bullock and I am your tutor.”
“Tutor? Why do I need a tutor?”
“I would have thought the answer was patently obvious to anyone who looks at you. Now sit down before I get cross.”
Little Beth sat at her desk while Miss Bullock stomped her way to the front of the room, grumbling to herself as she went. She spun on the spot by the blackboard and pointed at little Beth. “You are badly in need of an education and I have been hired to provide one.”
“But…”
“Rule number one. You will speak only when spoken to. Rule number two, break my rules and I will discipline you. Is that clear?”
Little Beth nodded slowly, wishing Sir Doyle was there to teach her instead.
“If you are to fit into decent society, there are certain things you need to know. For example, you must not slouch like that when you are seated. Back straight, up, up, that’s better. Now knees together, legs crossed at the ankle. That’s a little better, I suppose. You should always be aware of how you look to others. Now stand up, get your back straight. Hold on, stop there.”