by Zoe Blake
“Stop! Stop!” begged Winnie. “I’m scared!”
When all four inches were buried deep in her tight passage, Archer gave it a sharp twist to secure it causing Winnie’s hips to buck before settling back down on the fabric covered wooden beam. Satisfied, Archer took a step back to examine his work. Her bottom cheeks closed around the base of the nozzle, they each showed red hand print marks where he handled her to push the offending object in.
“You may proceed, Nanny,” he ordered as he stepped away to wash his hands in the basin of fresh water provided for him.
Nodding her assent, Mrs. Bishop stepped up to the edge of the table with the enema bag and tube already in hand. Securing the bag high on a hook above her head, she then gently pushed the rubber edge of the tube over the mouth of the nozzle.
“What is the mixture?” asked Archer. “I hope not just warm water?”
“Oh no, my lord,” laughed Mrs. Bishop at his assumed jest. “I have four pints of warm water mixed with a few spoons of turpentine and a healthy shaving of green soap,” she announced proudly. The mixture being her own special blend.
“Very good, proceed.”
Archer stood at the head of the table. Stroking Winnie’s long straight hair, he wanted to see her reactions the moment the soapy mixture entered her bottom. Curious, he asked, “Have you ever had an enema, Winnie?”
Is that what this was, thought Winnie. She had heard the other needlewomen talk about receiving enemas when they were young, mainly when they were sick. From their talk, it sounded like an awful, painful thing.
“I don’t want a nenima!” wailed Winnie. Her fright ratcheting up a level.
“It is pronounced enema, little one,” corrected an amused Archer. “I am afraid they are necessary.”
“But I’m not sick. You are only supposed to get them when you’re sick,” she complained.
“Oh there are other reasons to get them,” explained Archer. At Winnie’s questioning look, he explained further.
“Papa plans to put more than just his fingers up your bottom. You will be punished with other objects as well as receiving my cock there someday soon. So, my sweet little doll, you will be receiving these up your bum quite frequently, so you had better get used to them.”
Winnie was too shocked to even think of a reply. There was too much for her mind to take in. It had never occurred to her he could punish her in other ways other than a spanking.
At Mrs. Bishop’s nod of readiness, Archer placed a restraining hand on Winnie’s shoulder, close to her neck, giving his nod of approval. Mrs. Bishop released the valve on the rubber tube with a loud click. There was a moment of suspense, and then Winnie felt it.
Deeply chagrined, Winnie thought she might have wet herself, as she felt the warm water enter her body. It took another moment for her to realize the sensation was deeper in her bottom and not between her legs. The warm water continued to pump into her body. It did not take long for the pressure to begin. Winnie groaned as the uncomfortable pressure increased.
“Oh, I don’t like this,” she complained. Neither Archer nor the nanny paid her any heed.
The pressure slowly increased. Winnie felt her first stomach cramp.
“Ow…ow…something is wrong! Something is really wrong,” she sniveled.
Her stomach twisted and clenched as the soapy water relentlessly entered her bowels.
“Ow…ow…ow…it hurts! Something is wrong!” cried Winnie.
Archer stroked her shoulder, gliding his hand down to the deep curve of her lower back. “There is nothing wrong, little one. Try to breathe through the pain.”
The pains increased. The cramps kept coming in faster and faster waves. Winnie closed her eyes tight as she could feel her stomach stretch and swell. She tried to raise her hips in a futile effort to escape the torture, but they barely budged.
“We are at two pints, my lord,” advised Mrs. Bishop.
“She’ll take the full four,” he ordered.
Unable to hold back any longer, Winnie started to openly sob. The pain made her nauseous and lightheaded. Her breathing coming in great, quick gasps. Her insides writhed in agony as the water continued its forced path.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Please, it’s too much. You have to stop!”
Archer placed his large warm hand over her distended stomach. For a moment Winnie took comfort from its warmth against her sore, straining muscles, then he pushed up. She screamed in misery as her whole body spasmed from the hard pressure of his hand.
“Don’t….don’t…don’t,” she pleaded between panting sobs.
Archer gave her stomach another push, circling his hand in a massaging motion. Winnie bawled harder.
“Four pints, my lord.”
“Very good. Stop the valve and spin the timer.”
Mrs. Bishop turned the sand timer. It would be a very long fifteen minutes for Winnie as the soapy water was given time to work. The relief of not having the unrelenting pressure of water being forced up her bottom was short lived. Soon, the irritants in the water started to work deep within her body.
“It burns,” Winnie groaned as she bristled from another contorting, miserable cramp. The overwhelming need to push overcame her. She needed to push. “I can’t hold it,” she bawled.
“You must hold it,” scolded Mrs. Bishop.
Archer stepped closer. Giving Winnie’s already tender bottom a hard swat, “Hold every drop or we will push another pint into your tiny bottom, do you hear me?”
Winnie sniffed and groaned in response.
Archer gave her bottom another smack.
Winnie blubbered and cried, “Yes, Papa! Yes!” Her whole body shook with the effort not to push the irritating water out. The nozzle kept most of it in, but it didn’t stop the overwhelming need to bear down.
Archer grabbed her hair and pulled her face to the side, forcing her gaze up. “Tell Papa why you are getting an enema.”
Winnie didn’t respond at first, caught up in her own misery and the effort to not push back against the still rising pressure.
“Tell Papa why you have all this healthy soapy water pushed up into your bottom,” he asked more harshly.
“Because you want to put things in me,” she whined, tears running down her cheeks.
“Use the proper words, little one,” he warned.
Knowing what he wanted to hear, she faltered but finally spoke, “So you can put your cock and other things up my bottom.”
“Good girl,” Archer said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.
“Please, Papa,” she pleaded. “It hurts so badly.”
Taking in her big, beautiful gray eyes surrounded by thick, spiked lashes, once again marveling at how adorable she looked when she cried, Archer still did not relent. “You have a few more minutes. Then Mrs. Bishop must repeat it to rinse you out.”
Winnie’s eyes widened in horror as she realized her ordeal was not even close to being over.
“Be a good girl for your nanny,” he said with another kiss to her forehead before he departed.
Mrs. Bishop slowly released her from the restraints and removed the wooden dowel. The painful pressure of her body’s weight suddenly pushing down on her swollen tummy, enough to almost make Winnie faint. With a warning to keep her bottom cheeks tightly clenched, Mrs. Bishop carefully helped her off the table to tottle across the room to the necessary closet.
Several minutes later, when Winnie emerged looking weak and shaken, Mrs. Bishop guided her back to the table. Winnie tried to hold back, pulling on Mrs. Bishop’s restraining hand.
“Please don’t make me,” she begged.
“Silly girl,” fussed Mrs. Bishop. “You still have soapy suds up your bum! We need to rinse them out or it will continue to burn and sting, probably get worse.”
That was probably the only thing in the world, which would have convinced Winnie to get back on the table without more of a fight. This time, Mrs. Bishop made her lay on her side, with her knees tucked up t
o her chin. The restraint placed across her lower ribs again. Her wrists secured to the side loops. Feeling the nanny lift her bottom cheek up to insert the nozzle once more, Winnie groaned from the shame and discomfort.
The tube attached, Mrs. Bishop advised, “Wait for the click.”
Winnie wept when as the now familiar sensation of warm water rushing into her resisting body began over again.
Chapter Seven
After the trauma and pain of her first enema, Winnie was allowed to soak in a nice warm bath while Mrs. Bishop softly stroked her skin with a bathing linen. Later, she sat in front of a cheery fire, with Mrs. Bishop brushed her hair till it shone. Winnie shyly admitted failed attempts to curl her hair. Mrs. Bishop laughed at her folly. “Silly girl, those crimping irons are very difficult to use on yourself,” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “They are meant to be used by lady’s maids on their mistress’ hair.”
Sighing, Winnie lamented that she would never have curly hair like the fashion illustrations.
“Well, you were a good girl for your enema,” Mrs. Bishop reasoned. “I suppose you earned a treat. Wait here.”
Mrs. Bishop crossed the room and walked through a closed door to her private quarters. She returned a few moments later with a set of crimping irons. “Scoot away from the fire, so I can set these properly,” she instructed, placing the iron scissor-like tool into the fire.
“Can you really curl my hair?” rejoiced Winnie, clapping her hands in delight.
“Well we can certainly try.”
Once they were deemed hot enough, Mrs. Bishop grasped the handles with a cloth, careful to avoid the hotter iron rods. Sitting on a stool, she placed Winnie between her knees. Slowly she wrapped small pieces of her hair around each rod till it formed a perfect spiral curl. Once Winnie’s entire head was covered in perfectly formed bunches of spiral curls, Mrs. Bishop parted it down the middle and gathered each side into a neat pigtail, securing each with a pale blue ribbon. Winnie hopped up and down and squealed in delight when she saw her reflection in the glass. Impulsively giving the stern lipped Mrs. Bishop a hug. “That is enough stuff and nonsense,” scoffed the nanny, secretly hiding a small smile. Her new charge really was charming.
After a light dinner of pickled oysters and pigeon pie, Mrs. Bishop announced it was time to get dressed to meet with Papa. Walking over to the large wardrobe, Mrs. Bishop chose a pale robin’s egg blue nightgown made of very fine batiste. The cotton-combed fabric was so delicate it was practically transparent. Placing it over Winnie’s head, the ruffled edge ended at the top of her thighs. A thin white ribbon tied just under her breasts, emphasizing their curve and weight. Nanny placed blue lace trimmed satin slippers on her feet to complete the ensemble.
Winnie stared at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Feeling emotional and torn. On one hand, she adored how she looked. Her hair was shiny and full of cute, bouncy curls. Her skin glowed a dewy pink from her recent bath. The nightgown so soft and thin it was ethereal as if it was meant to be worn by a fairy. And yet…Winnie bit her bottom lip. Turning to Mrs. Bishop, she sputtered out a whispered question, “Mrs. Bishop, I’m not really going to see his lordship in this am I?”
“Papa,” she gently scolded. “Do not make me keep reminding you or you will get a mouthful of castor oil to make sure you don’t forget!”
“Yes, Mrs. Bishop,” Winnie demurred.
“And yes, you will be taken to your papa’s room in that attire,” she answered matter-of-factly.
Winnie’s cheeks glowed a hot crimson red. While the idea of being alone with…Papa…still excited her, despite the events of this afternoon, it was daunting to hear Mrs. Bishop chat about something so intimate in such a casual way. There was something else that bothered Winnie although she was almost too afraid to ask. After several more moments of silence, she finally worked up the courage. “Mrs. Bishop, do you know what Papa intends to…that is…what I’m expected…ah…what I mean is…” She broke off, too disconcerted and fuddled to continue.
Guessing at her intent, Mrs. Bishop responded, “Your papa will use you for his own pleasure. You are here to be his own precious little doll. You are here at his convenience. You would be good not to forget that and not to ask too many questions.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bishop.”
Mrs. Bishop grabbed her by the wrist to lead her out of the nursery. As they walked down the carpeted staircase, Winnie was sorry to leave the cozy, fairyland atmosphere behind. She was led into the large imposing master suite. Where her nursery was all pale colors, light and airy, the master suite was filled with deep jewel tones, dark and somber. The room was dominated by a master four poster bed. Winnie had never seen a bed so large. Never imagined a bed that large existed!
Mrs. Bishop placed a heavy evergreen velvet and gold tasseled cushion in front of the fire.
“Kneel here, if you please. No nonsense,” she scolded when Winnie didn’t move quickly enough, too distracted by the large bed.
Winnie knelt on the cushion, the fire warming her back.
Mrs. Bishop gave her curls a final fluff and then rudely pinched both of Winnie’s nipples so they peeked enticingly through the batiste fabric.
Winnie whimpered and scowled but dutifully kept quiet.
“You will wait here till your papa returns,” Mrs. Bishop instructed. “Do everything he says, mind you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bishop.”
With that, the nanny left the room, leaving Winnie to contemplate its oppressive silence but for the occasional crackle from the fire. Just as her mind started to wander to what could possibly happen when his lordship…Papa…entered, there was the sound of the door opening across the room. Since that part of the room was far from the light of the fire, it was drenched in shadow. Winnie slunked down a bit, as she worried her lower lip, straining to make out a shape from the darkness. The shape prowled towards her. As it neared, she finally made out Papa’s tall broad-shouldered frame.
His dark wavy hair was still damp from a recent bath. The embroidered blue damask dressing robe he wore brought out the rich blue tones in his eyes. Despite his evening grooming, it did not include shaving. His strong jaw had a dark shadow of stubble that only served to give him a roguish, devil-may-care appearance. Instead of the prince he resembled in his formal attire during the day, he looked more like a pirate intent on wickedness, thought Winnie with an excited shudder.
Archer looked on with approval. She was his precious doll and soon he would make her truly his own. Taking in the adorable hair arrangement, her pink nipples peeking through her shear nightgown, her supplicant position, he could already feel his shaft stiffen. Striding to stand over her, he waited till she dutifully tilted her head back.
Archer reached down to stroke his fingertip across her soft, pink lower lip. Using his free hand, he unbelted his dressing robe. Watching her eyes intently, he let the robe fall open in folds, exposing his naked form to her innocent gaze.
Winnie first saw his heavily muscled thighs, lightly dusted with fine, black hair. Deliberately skipping over that part, she focused on his flat stomach, ridged down the center with bands of muscle. His chest seemed like the most daunting part of him, other than that part. It looked solid and powerful. Intimidating.
“Do you remember the first time you saw me?” he asked. His voice, harsh with desire, breaking the silence.
Winnie slowly nodded her head yes, not trusting herself to speak.
“Have you dreamed of that moment, when you are in your bed, my dear Winnie?”
Not having the power to tell him a falsehood, Winnie again nodded, keeping her gaze steady on his impressive chest.
“Do you want to know what it feels like to have me force my cock down your small throat,” he challenged.
Winnie closed her eyes, taking in his deep tone and the dark deed to which he alluded. While it fascinated her, it also frightened and repelled her.
“I don’t know, Papa,” she whispered. Deciding to be honest, she admitted, “I don’
t think so.”
“Why not?”
Archer stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.
“The lady…the lady looked upset while you were doing it,” she ventured, lowering her eyes in her embarrassment.
“Do you know why?”
Winnie shook her head no.
“It was very difficult for her to accept my large cock into her mouth. It will be even harder for my little one since you are not as…shall we say accustomed to it as the lady,” chuckled Archer.
Winnie started to breathe in quick, sudden gasps, as tears formed in her eyes. Falling back on her knees, she started to inch away from him. “I…I think I’ve changed my mind, my lord. I don’t think I can do this,” she cried, holding one dainty hand up as if to ward him off. As if she could stop him.
“I’m afraid it is far too late for that, my dear,” warned Archer. His dark eyes reflected the sharp flickers of flame from the fire.
“It can’t be too late,” reasoned Winnie as she moistened her suddenly dry lips. The movement drawing the intensity of his gaze once again to her soft, vulnerable mouth. Too often over the last fortnight had he dreamed of that mouth, of what he wanted to do to it.
Through with talking, Archer’s jaw clenched as he leaned in close, wrapping a large hand around the back of her head. He pulled her resisting body close, till her cute nose almost touched the tip of his cock.
Winnie placed her hands against the rough skin of his thighs, not knowing where else to place her hands to try to push him away.
The feel of her soft hands on his hot skin, only goaded him further.
“Open your mouth,” he ground out.
Squeezing her lips tight, Winnie tried to shake her head no, but his grip would not allow it.
“Open your mouth.”
Archer gripped the shaft of his engorged cock, rubbing the moist tip against her tight lips. He groaned at even this small contact. He needed to feel the wet confines of her mouth wrapped around his cock like he needed his next breath.