Papa's Little Pain Princess

by Zoe Blake

  Madame had refused to allow Winnie to attempt to curl her hair like the fashionable ladies in the illustrations. Labeling her previous attempts “catastrophes”. Winnie was not sure what that French word meant but was certain it was not a compliment to her hair dressing skills. Since, Winnie’s straight hair would not cooperate with any fashionable style, it was parted down the middle and smoothly combed into a low bun, which was then covered with a matching bonnet.

  Far too much of her was on display for his lordship the last time she was in his presence and Winnie did not just mean her exposed bottom! This time she would be prepared. She would mimic the formal stiffness of the gown in her demeanor. His lordship would see he was mistaken in her. She was not a naughty girl filled with wanton thoughts of him. Her cheeks flushed with the lie as she was helped into the carriage, making room next to the piles of boxes and paper-wrapped parcels.

  Despite residing in the same city, the ride from Bethnal Green to Mayfair might as well have been from England to the Continent. Gone were the refuse-strewn streets filled with oyster mongers, lightskirts, orphans and seamen. The close, cramped, wooden shanties that blocked out the sun and choked you with soot gave way to large parks filled with trees and flowers. Winnie marveled at the beautiful wide lanes lined with stunning homes. The carriage pulled up at one of the larger homes. Its imposing facade helped by four massive columns which stretched for three stories above the cobbled street.

  The door to the carriage opened but still Winnie stayed within its dark confines. The footman cleared his throat. Still Winnie stayed put. After another moment, the footman ducked his head in. “Miss? You really must disembark.”

  “I…I…just need a moment,” she wavered.

  “Very well, but I’m sure his lordship has been informed of our arrival and he does not like to be kept waiting,” warned the footman.

  At the not so subtle hint, Winnie practically launched herself out of the carriage ignoring his offered hand and almost tripping over her heavy, long skirts.

  “I’m fine,” she assured the flustered footman. She then turned to help with the parcels.

  “That is quite all right, miss. I will handle these. If you will just go on in to the house,” he instructed, motioning to the red glossy double doors up a steep flight of stairs.

  Winnie continued to stand out on the stoop, uncertain. At the footman’s questioning look, she asked, slightly embarrassed. “Shouldn’t I use the servant’s entrance?”

  “No, miss. You have been instructed to enter through the main hall. Right through those doors,” said the now exasperated footman.

  Winnie looked up and to her mortification, there was now an equally annoyed butler holding the door open…waiting…for her. She scurried up the stairs, tripping twice.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” greeted Winnie to the butler, slightly out of breath from her trot up the stairs. As an afterthought, she executed a somewhat clumsy curtsy.

  “This way, miss,” instructed the butler with a sniff.

  Winnie tried not to stare at the sheer splendor around her. The stage sets Winnie was fortunate enough to glimpse at The Haymarket were nothing like this! Paintings, swords, sculptures, massive floral arrangements. This was all just in the front hall!

  “Wait here,” intoned the severe butler as he pointed to a large wooden chair pressed against the wall. Winnie dutifully sat.

  The butler opened two massive wooden doors after a quick knock. Winnie could hear a short exchange of muffled voices. She could not tell whether the voices were too low or her heart was beating too loud. Either way, she did not hear a word of the conversation. In short order, the butler returned. “His lordship will see you now.”

  Winnie swallowed, suddenly feeling faint. “Now?” she squeaked, not quite ready yet. She needed a moment. She needed a hundred moments.

  “Now, miss,” the butler repeated.

  Rising on unsteady legs, she followed the butler’s direction and walked through the imposing study doors.

  The room was dark and warm from the fire blazing in the grate, chasing away the earlier morning London fog. Three of the four walls were covered from floor to ceiling with books. The fourth wall was a large bay window overlooking a private garden. The furniture was heavily upholstered, rich mahogany and very masculine.

  It was the sound of clinking glass that drew Winnie’s large gray eyes, filled with anxious curiosity, to the far corner behind her. Archer stood with his back turned, pouring himself a brandy. Winnie took in the superfine black waistcoat stretched taut across his broad shoulders. Eschewing the current fashion for a straight coat, his tailor still cut the fabric to be nipped in slightly at the waist, accenting his slim hips, athletic build and height. Even from behind the man looked powerful, Winnie thought wryly.

  The tall subject of her observation turned and headed towards her. His tread silent on the lush Persian carpets that covered the highly, polished wooden floors. Winnie kept her attention on his hand. Strangely, she wondered how something so robust and rough looking could handle something as delicate as the crystal glass without shattering it to pieces. He didn’t have gentleman’s hands. Winnie had read in the fashion publications that gentlemen, like fashionable women, were supposed to have soft, white hands. They were supposed to be smooth too. His hands were tanned, covered with a light sprinkling of dark hair. They looked strong, capable. She blushed to remember their rough almost calloused feel against her breast when he caressed her in Madame’s salon.

  As he swung to face her, Winnie kept her eyes lowered, only peeping at him through her lush lashes. The silence in the room stretched thin.

  Archer’s piercing blue eyes swept over Winnie’s attire with disapproval. She looked like a girl playing dress up at being a woman. The whole ensemble was stiff, formal, unrelenting. He suppressed an amused smile. Precisely what the little minx was going for he was sure. How adorable. The little thing thought to put him off with a little whale-bone corseting and extra crinoline.

  “It won’t work, Winnie,” His voice was indulgent but firm.

  “My lord?”

  Grabbing her chin, he lifted her face so he could look into her smoky gray eyes. “The dress. It won’t stop me.”

  Winnie’s eyes grew wide as she tried to take a step back, out of his compelling reach. His grip on her chin did not slacken.

  “I’m here to deliver your purchases from Madame Minerva’s,” she hesitantly offered. “The footman took them.”

  “They are being unpacked,” he offered, moving his hand to stroke her soft cheek.

  “Very good, my lord,” she nervously replied. “I will take my leave then.”

  “Are you forgetting about your punishment?” Archer asked as he pulled on the gold ribbon of her bonnet. He plucked it from off the top of her head before Winnie could utter a word, tossing it on a nearby settee.

  No. Deep down, Winnie was not sure whether she secretly hoped in coming here he would remember or forget.

  “Turn around, little one.”

  Winnie continued to stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  “Turn around,” he ordered with more force.

  Winnie jumped from the severity in his voice. Trembling from both fear and anticipation of the unknown, Winnie obeyed. She felt a tug at her lower back. Archer pulled at the laces of her skirt. Winnie opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out. The heavy tapestry skirt fell with a dull thud in the silent room. Next, he pulled on the pale blue ribbon holding her petticoat in place. Unlike before, Madame had made sure Winnie was dressed in fine, silk unmentionables so as not to ruin the line of the fancy dress. The petticoat fell like a whisper to pool on top of the dress skirt. The only things protecting her lower modesty were her linen knickers and silk stockings.

  Archer leaned in close, inhaling her clean lemon scent from the back of her warm neck. Winnie instinctively closed her eyes, leaning back ever so slightly into his strength. “Take off your knickers,” he seductively instructed.

&nbs
p; “Oh, please don’t ask me,” she whined. “This is wrong.”

  “A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows, yet none knows well, To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell,” he breathed along the delicate skin of her neck, nipping at her ear lobe.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “Shakespeare, little one. All desire is wrong and yet all desire,” he explained. “Now, take off these knickers,” he ordered again, playing with the silken ribbon.

  Unable to resist his dark draw over her, Winnie worked at the knot in the ribbons. With trembling hands, she lowered the knickers past her knees.

  Archer admired her soft, exposed flesh. The bodice of the dress with its corset like lacing, came to a saucy point at the top center of her bottom. Highlighting her tiny waist, it also helped show off the soft flare of her generous hips. Her gold trimmed stockings were too large for her petite stature. Instead of ending mid-thigh, they rose to just under the curve of her bottom, framing her adorable curves in lace and silk. He loved the erotic display of having her partially clothed and partially exposed.

  “I want you to walk over to my desk and bend over it.”

  “Undressed like…like this?”

  “Yes, my dear, just like this.”

  Her whole body quivered. Winnie worried her bottom lip, unsure of what to do.

  Archer gave her left bottom cheek a little pinch. Winnie yelped in surprise. Grabbing her bottom, she scurried across the room, trying to cover her naked skin with both hands.

  Once she reached the desk, she paused, uncertain.

  “Rest your cheek against the desk, I want you fully bent over.” When he spoke, it was still from across the room, giving her a false sense of security.

  In fact, Archer was removing his waistcoat. Taking the time to admire the view as he casually undid his cuffs and rolled up his linen sleeves.

  Winnie placed her hot cheek against the cold, smooth surface of the mahogany desk. The bones of both corsets pressed against her ribs, biting into her sides. Her palms felt sweaty as they pressed flat against the wood. With her eyes squeezed tight, she did not see his approach but felt his warm hand on her naked bottom.

  “Oh…oh…” she tittered as she popped up on the balls of her feet in her agitation.

  “Shhh…quiet down.”

  Archer followed the line of the corset over the curved top of her bottom with the tips of his fingers. “I want you to listen very carefully to me. You are going to be punished. This is unavoidable.”

  Winnie gave out a small whine but remained silent.

  “What comes after your punishment, however,” continued Archer, spacing his words, slowly and evenly, “is entirely up to you.”

  Running his open hand over her full, right cheek, Archer asked, “Have you ever been spanked, Winnie?”

  Winnie shook her head no. She could feel the cold metal of his signet ring against her warm skin as his hand moved across her lower cheek.

  “Answer me,” he said sharply.

  “No, my lord.”

  Cupping her bottom, as if testing the weight in his hand, Archer continued, “You will be spanked hard on this cute little bottom of yours at least twenty times on each cheek.”

  Winnie tried to rise but his hand pressed against her lower back prevented it. “Oh god, please, my lord. I couldn’t take it,” she sobbed.

  “On the contrary, my dear. I believe you will actually enjoy it.”

  Winnie thought he must be mad. A person did not enjoy a punishment!

  “I know I will not,” she cried.

  “I will make you a wager. At ten strokes, I will pause. If I am wrong, I will allow you to dress and leave without further recriminations. If I am right, you must finish your punishment and you will have earned a second punishment for questioning my authority.”

  “How…how would you…uh…” Winnie was too embarrassed to finish her question.

  Archer leaned over her prone body. The fabric of his trousers scraping against her sensitized skin. “I think I have already shown you how I can prove your passions are awakened.”

  Winnie had no choice. She didn’t think she could survive a full spanking at his strong hands.

  “Very well, my lord,” she relented, bracing herself.

  ~

  “Tell me why you are being punished.”

  “I was a naughty girl,” Winnie dutifully responded.

  Archer raised his hand and lowered it with a quick twist of his wrist, catching the tender underside of her bottom right cheek. The silence of the room was broken by the sickening thwack of skin contacting with skin. Then a startled female cry.

  Archer delivered a similar punishing smack on her left cheek. Pleased with how quickly her pale skin blushed. Curving his hand, Archer anchored her against his hip as each successive blow rained down on the plump, fleshy part of her bottom.

  Winnie clawed at the desk, screeching in pain. It felt like a thousand hot needle pricks dancing across her skin. With each blow, her torment increased. She tried shifting her hips to and fro to escape his reach. The motion causing a strange friction from the wooden edge of the desk against her nether region. Heat started to build both on the skin of her bottom and between her thighs.

  Watching as her creamy flesh turned a bright, cherry red from his ministrations, Archer was careful not to concentrate on one area too harshly. She was still untried. There would be plenty of time to acclimate her to harsher punishment sessions.

  “No, no, no,” she sobbed. “Please, stop!”

  “My dear, we are only five strokes in.”

  “Oh god, I can’t,” she cried. “It hurts!”

  Archer increased the pressure of his blows, making sure to tease the top back of her thighs as well. Feeling the growing heat begin to radiate off her skin.

  Winnie felt her bottom pulse and throb with pain, the sensation causing her to instinctively squeeze her thighs tight. This released a confusing torrent of sensations. With every pulse, she felt a small, stirring vibration. Resisting, she once again tried to avoid his hand by shifting her hips forward, only to smash the sensitive juncture between her thighs against the desk’s edge. The sharp pressure increasing her awareness.

  “If you cannot keep your bottom still, I will just have to make you,” growled Archer.

  Winnie was given a brief respite as he released her to retrieve something from his desk drawer. She was too caught up in her own pain and anguish of befuddled emotions to notice or care what. It did not even occur to her to move.

  Archer found the small glass jar he was seeking. Uncorking it released a perfumed aroma of roses and vanilla. Generously coating his middle left finger in the fragrant oil, he returned to Winnie’s side.

  Running the finger along the cleft of her buttocks, Archer watched as her now rosy cheeks quivered and reflexively clenched. Moving the finger deeper, he pushed against her tight hidden hole.

  “What…what are you doing? Stop!” she wailed.

  Archer ignored her protest. Pushing the tip of his finger against the tight, puckered entrance, feeling its resistance. With a little more pressure, his oil slick finger slipped into her dark passage. Winnie squealed, rising up high on her toes. Showing no mercy, Archer pushed his middle finger in deep, circling it round.

  “It hurts. Please, my lord. Please, I beg you. Take it out.”

  Archer pulled his finger out. Winnie visibly relaxed only to stiffen when he pushed his finger in deep again. Thrusting it in, back and forth, he stretched and strained the sensitive entrance. Hooking his finger deeply inside, Archer continued with her spanking. Raising his right hand, he brought it down hard across both her cheeks. Winnie bounced up, only to howl in pain when the movement caused his finger to pull on her poor bottom hole. Archer repeated the punishing strokes for the remainder of her first ten spanks.

  Moving to stand behind her, Archer swiveled his finger in her bottom. Winnie groaned but stayed still, h
aving learned her lesson. He slid his thumb between her lower lips, seeking the wet warmth he knew would be there. He was not disappointed.

  Pushing his thumb against her clit, making sure she felt the unmistakable stimulating effects, when he spoke his tone was filled with dark seductive promise, “I believe I have won our wager, little one.”

  Winnie sagged against the desk. It’s harsh, cold surface the only source of comfort for her overheated body.

  “Please, my lord,” she whispered, not even sure what she was begging for at this point.

  Archer took pity on the sweet untutored thing. “Spread your legs open, nice and wide for me.”

  Winnie obeyed. Looking at her tight, untouched cunny he felt his shaft harden to its own sweetly, painful proportion. There would be time enough for his base needs. This was an important step in her awareness of her own deep primal self. Her own need for a pleasurable release through pain.

  Archer placed his right hand on her right buttock, making sure to squeeze the sore, reddened skin, earning a weak yelp from Winnie. Using his left hand, he circled the pad of his thumb around her sensitive bundle of nerves, all the while keeping his middle finger uncomfortably deep in her bottom passage. Slowly he increased the pace and pressure of his thumb on her clit.

  Winnie moaned. Following her body’s impulses, she felt lightheaded as the pain collided with the pleasure causing an intense turmoil of impressions and responses to flow through her. It was as if she was reaching for something but she didn’t know what.

  Archer could feel her inner thighs tense, knowing her release was near. He pushed hard against her clit the same moment he gave her bottom one final, harsh smack.

  Winnie’s back arched off the desk as she screamed in excruciating gratification. She felt weightless and anchored at the same time. Collapsing back on to the desk’s unforgiving surface, Winnie felt the overwhelming urge to curl up into a tight ball. Despite the heat from her punished skin, she felt cold.

  Archer stepped away from her for a moment, ringing for a server. There was a discreet knock on the door, which Archer answered. Winnie was not even aware enough to try to cover herself or feel ashamed at her position scandalously draped over his desk. After a low conversation, Archer returned to her side.