by Ava Sinclair
She flushed deeply now. “Oh, Alton…”
He tipped her off his lap. “No, my dear, it is not at all a problem to return to what we had. In fact, I think it is something we both need. You are in need of a minder, it seems, and I am in need of someone to mind. And it starts now, for you need a stern lesson to remind you to always come to me if you feel vexed.”
He turned her around and just like that, Penelope found herself back over her husband’s knee, and her heart soared even as fear caused her belly to fill with butterflies.
“You know, those little statues came all the way from Florence, Italy,” he said as he raised her skirts to bunch around her waist. “They belonged to my grandmother. I can only imagine how she’d have felt if she’d known the poor little man was so thusly abused.”
She moaned in embarrassment as her husband, chuckling, continued. “I have to say I’m a bit jealous of him, however, although I believe after the spanking you’re going to get, he’ll be quite safe from such further attentions.”
The cool air of the room raised gooseflesh on her nates as Alton parted the open halves of her pantalets. Penelope gasped at the feeling of his hand—so large and strong—on her bottom.
But when it fell, she realized that this would be a spanking designed to send a message. The heat of the blow turned into an awful sting, and she wailed as another fell. And another. And another.
He’d never spanked her so fast, or so hard. Penelope was fast regretting her decision as the awful sting built and built. She kicked her legs frantically, sending a slipper flying across the room. Through gasping sobs she begged Alton to stop, but he continued, stopping only long enough to jerk the pantalets down before resuming his disciplinary assault on the tops of her thighs. Penelope had never been spanked there before, and it was worse than she ever could have imagined. Alton renewed his grip around her waist, catching her small hand in his when she tried to shield herself. Only when she went limp in utter submission did he stop.
“Now,” he said, tipping her up to her feet and supporting her as she teetered from the throbbing pain. “I want you to see what you’ve earned by not being honest with me.”
Alton led her to the mirror and deftly undid her dress. Penelope shuddered as it slid from her body, leaving her in nothing but her corset.
“Bend over and look back,” he said.
She obeyed slowly and cried out at the sight. From the middle of her bottom to the middle of her thighs, her skin was red and splotchy, with distinct handprints in several places. Small bruises were forming in several places. Penelope’s bottom had never hurt so badly.
“Will you ever withhold distress from me again, Penelope?” he asked.
“No, my lord,” she replied, reaching back to palm her bottom. The skin was hot and puffy, and she knew it would be days before she could sit.
“I once told you that you were free to touch yourself, and you are. But will you ever, ever touch yourself in lieu of my attentions?”
“No, my lord,” she said. “I will only touch myself as a complement to them.”
“Good girl,” he said, and her heart leapt at his praise.
“And now what am I do to with you?” He walked across the room, and as he went she started to stand but he called back to her. “Oh, no,” he said. “Keep that position. I rather like it.”
Penelope leaned back over, sniffling. It was not an easy position to hold, leaning over with her legs pressed tightly together. After a moment, she realized that the place between her clamped thighs was throbbing and swollen, the inner thighs themselves becoming slick as her arousal leaked from between the plump outer lips of her pussy.
“Is something wrong, my little Penelope?” Alton was sitting on the sofa, watching her.
“No, my lord,” she said.
“You’re lying,” he said sternly. “Something is wrong. And you’re going to tell me what it is.”
Her face flushed. “I… my… my pussy…”
“Yes?” he asked. “Go on.”
She drew a sharp breath. “It aches for your cock.”
“Is this the ache that had faded?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“So it’s back?”
“Stronger than ever.” Penelope looked back, stricken. “Please, my lord. Fuck me! Please!”
Lord Westcott rose slowly from his chair. When he was level with Penelope, he stopped and looked down on her.
“I don’t want you to associate spanking with lovemaking,” he said. “Ideally, the things should be kept separate. But I believe in this case, you need to be reminded of who commands your body. That is your husband and guardian. Go and lean over the bed, Penelope.”
She obeyed, her legs so shaky she could barely walk. Once she’d complied, he ordered her to spread her legs. Penelope knew the image she must present, with her red bottom and thighs spread to reveal her bottom hole and engorged pussy.
When he next walked up behind her, his finger did not fall on her pussy, but on the twitching orifice above it. Alton had been taking it slow with Penelope before the stall in their lovemaking. He’d been using the trainers, and had played with her bottom, but this virginity had not yet been taken.
“I think it’s time I claimed this naughty bottom,” he said, pressing his finger against the crinkled little pucker. Penelope moaned at the sensation and Alton stepped behind her to release his cock from the confines of his trousers. She arched her back when he ran the head of it up and down her slit, teasing her clit with each pass. She was all but quivering with need now, and arching her back in supplication.
“Oh, please don’t tease me,” she said, looking back to see him staring down at her with hungry intensity.
It was without preamble that he shoved into her. The fullness after a weeklong absence caused her to cry out with pleasure pain, and she hissed when his large hands grabbed her still-throbbing buttocks in a vise-like grip.
He was not gentle as he began to thrust into her with hard strokes, but Penelope did not want gentle. She wanted to be owned, claimed, consumed, and met her husband thrust for thrust. She came hard once, twice, three times, her pussy gripping his cock as if seeking to keep it inside her. Even though she was fully sated by the third orgasm, she cried out in disappointment when Alton removed his still-hard cock from her pussy.
Arousal dripped from her, and she felt Alton dip his finger inside her pussy and coat it with her slickness before rimming her bottom hole with the lubricated digit. His turgid cock was nudging against one sore bottom cheek, its state a reminder that he was not finished. The finger slid into her bottom, up to the first and then the second knuckle. The trainers had prepared her for this invasion; the largest one was much thicker than his finger, but not thicker than the insistent cock that pressed into her flesh.
“I’m going to fuck your ass now,” he said. “As I do, I want you to reflect upon who is master in this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. She was nervous and scared, but also excited as the head of his cock pressed against her virgin rosebud. Penelope tried to remember the lessons her husband had taught her when using the trainers. Relax. Breathe slowly. Press back slightly to spread the little ring of muscles. She did all these things and was rewarded with his praise.
“You’re doing so well, my sweet one.” His voice was throaty with lust. “That’s right. Push that sweet little bottom up toward me.”
She felt a sting as his cock breached the ring of muscles. It was worse than she’d expected and for a moment she wondered if she could do it. But she wanted to please him, so rather than try to avoid the pain, Penelope embraced it as evidence of his dominance and control, of her own vulnerability.
As Alton entered her by increments, she felt emotionally overwhelmed as he filled her ass with his cock. She felt both spread and filled, exposed and embraced.
“Does my little one like having her ass filled?” Alton’s mouth was by her ear, his breath warm against it. She moaned, unable to
articulate her excitement and he laughed, the sound a sexy deep rumble. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he continued. “And I’m going to fill you with my seed.” As he spoke, his fingers found her clit, rubbed it, squeezed it. Her arousal coated his hand and he moved it up across her bottom, leaving a trail of wetness across the tender skin.
Then he began to slide in and out of her, slowly and methodically. The fullness in her bottom enhanced the throbbing in her pussy. He’d slid a finger into her as he fucked her ass, finding that secret spot and suddenly she was slipping over the edge. She saw starbursts as her pussy clenched his finger and she felt him beginning to come, the pulsing of his cock against the walls of her last virgin passage, the pulsations even in her pussy. Nothing had ever felt like this, she decided.
It was the completion of his claiming, and the beginning of a new understanding between Penelope and her husband. After his cock had softened and slipped out of her bottom, he picked her up and gently carried her to the bed. She watched him through heavily lidded eyes as he fetched the washcloth from the basin, brought it back, and gently cleaned her tender bottom of his seed.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “we start over.” She fell asleep, not knowing exactly what her husband had in mind, but trusting it would be exactly what she wanted.
Chapter Eleven: His Lordship’s New Rules
Marriage, Alton Westcott decided, was going to be more interesting than he’d imagined. As he looked down at the sleeping form of his wife several days after her revelation, he marveled at how such a little slip of a thing could have addled his wits so completely.
He could remember laughing at contemporaries who’d spoken of how love could change a man. But he’d been willing to change for Penelope, to let her grow up once he’d established his dominance. He’d been willing to put aside his need to play the role of both husband and guardian because he thought she’d expect that of him.
That she not only wanted parental oversight—but needed it sexually—was almost too good to be true.
Of course, there would have to be some duality in their lives. They were still expected to appear at and host social functions. On such occasion they would play the roles society expected them to play. But behind closed doors, he would be free now to treat her as both his wife and ward, to dress, train, and correct her as he saw fit.
The first duty would be a change in staff. Betsy—while a loyal servant—was a lady’s maid. She’d been very helpful to his wife, but Betsy was also very worldly and while her knowledge had served his purposes well in the beginning, he believed what Penelope now needed was not a savvy servant her age but an older, matronly figure who could tend to her physical and disciplinary needs in his absence.
So the morning after divining his wife’s true wishes, Lord Westcott traveled to see his friend Dr. Baker. Alton knew he was not the only man in England who kept his wife in a nursery, and Dr. Baker’s ease in handling Penelope the day of her examination indicated he certainly knew his way around such women.
As luck would have it, the physician had the perfect reference for the governess that his friend was seeking. The nurse who’d accompanied him to Westcott Manor had been looking for employment in a quieter environment, the physician said. What’s more, she’d had years of experience as a governess prior to finding herself in Dr. Baker’s employ, and was ready to return to service in a private home.
“You remember Lord Westcott, don’t you, Nurse Ryan?” he asked later when the woman walked in.
The tall, steely-haired nurse nodded. “Yes, of course. I also remember his pretty ward. Quite churlish, as I recall. She refused to leave off her undergarments.”
“She was churlish then, yes,” Alton agreed. “But Penelope and I are married now, and as it is in both our best interests to continue in the fashion of guardian and ward, I seek a governess to give her the strict parameters she requires when I can’t see to her.”
“A wise decision,” Nurse Ryan said. “I’ve had the privilege of working for several good families, first as a children’s governess. I was especially good at bringing rebellious daughters to heel. Later I began working with couples—discreetly, of course—who kept such arrangements as yours. My model for the wives in my charge is equal doses of caring and a firm hand. Early on I will keep her bottom quite red, with your permission. It’s important to establish a governess’ authority with such a young lady. Is that agreeable?”
It sounded more than reasonable to Alton, who was eager to implement the kind of regimented lifestyle he now believed his wife preferred. He was pleased to find that Nurse Ryan could start immediately.
His lovely Penelope was in for a change. In addition to the hiring of a governess, he’d had a suite of rooms fashioned into a nursery more appropriate to the role she would play when they were in private.
Having procured the services of a governess, Alton was feeling quite accomplished once he arrived back at Westcott Manor. There, he checked on the progress of the renovations and was pleased with the changes. The large rooms overlooking the back garden had been painted a pale shade of yellow. Lace curtains covered the bright windows. Shelves held dolls and books and other things a young girl might like. An ornately carved bed covered with a lace canopy and pink duvet sat against one wall by a bureau freshly stocked with the kinds of girlish fashions that Penelope and her husband preferred.
A room off the main bedchamber contained an exam table and a tub for bathing.
Hearing a noise, he turned to see Betsy standing behind him. “You called for me, m’lord? I was told you’d be here.” She looked around the room. “Is this to be m’lady’s new chamber? She told me you were caring for her much as you did before you were married.” The maid smiled. “I think she was embarrassed to tell me, but it’s not my place to judge, I told her, and then I said ‘His lordship must love you mightily to care for you as one would a child.’” She looked around the room. “I suppose I’ll be bringing her things up here, then.”
Lord Westcott took a step closer to the maid. “No. That won’t be necessary, Betsy,” he said. “Normally I have the head of my household staff inform servants of reassignment, but given that you were so valuable to me in settling Lady Penelope, I thought I should tell you personally.” He paused. “You won’t be tending to my wife from now on. You’re being reassigned.”
The maid stared at him for a moment, as if struggling with what she’d heard. “Reassigned?” Her voice was tight. “Did I do something wrong, m’lord?”
“You’ve done nothing wrong, Betsy,” he said. “But in light of the changes, I believe Lady Penelope would best be served by a minder rather than a maid so close to her age. I’m bringing in a governess. Her name is Winifred Ryan.”
“Winifred Ryan?” Betsy shook her head. “I know of her. She’s nurse to that doctor in the village.”
“Yes,” Alton said.
“M’lord,” Betsy said. “You don’t want that for Lady Penelope. A governess is strict. What she needs is…”
“You forget your place!” Alton’s tone turned icy, and Betsy backed away with a curtsey. “I know what my wife needs.”
“Yes, m’lord,” she said, her voice quavering. “Of course you do. Begging your pardon.”
“Granted.” He sighed. “I know it’s disappointing, but this is for the best. Now go downstairs and the head of my staff will give you some other duty to fill.” He inclined his head toward the door. “Go on, now.”
Lord Westcott glanced at his pocket watch, relieved to have that bit of unpleasant business out of the way. He knew that Penelope had grown quite attached to the young maid, but in his role of guardian it was necessary to make decisions for her that she may not like. He prepared himself for his wife’s disappointment, and was not surprised when she reacted with shock to the news when he broke it to her later that day in the parlor.
“A governess?” she asked. “To replace Betsy?” Penelope’s eyes teared up. “But my lord, I adore Betsy!”
“Yes,” he
said patiently. Penelope, he thought, looked perfectly delectable in a cream-colored frock accented with a light pink sash and matching hair ribbon. “I know you adore your maid, but this is best for you, Penelope.”
“No!” she said. “I don’t want a governess! I want Betsy.”
“Penelope, are you or are you not my little one?”
She’d caught her lip in her teeth, and he could see she was trying not to cry.
“I am,” she said.
“Then you will accept my decision. And you will not argue. The governess is coming today.”
“I don’t like this decision!” she cried, and with that Lord Westcott knew he’d have to enforce his authority in a way she would understand. Pulling Penelope across his lap, he flipped up her skirt, pulled a slipper from her kicking foot and began to spank her lower nates.
She was soon wailing as the spanking heated her bottom, and her husband only stopped when she was thoroughly reddened. When he raised Penelope to her feet, he realized that the governess had arrived, and was standing in the doorway, watching.
“Nurse Ryan,” he said.
“Lord Westcott.” The governess strode into the room without asking his leave and stopped just in front of Penelope. She stared down at the young woman for a moment before looking down at Alton, who was still sitting in his chair.
“Well, it seems that I’ve found myself in the employ of a man who shares my particular method of handling bad little girls.” She returned her attention to Penelope. “And just what did you do to warrant this spanking?”
Penelope looked at Alton, obviously stricken. But he remembered his promise to help establish Nurse Ryan’s authority and nodded at his wife to answer.
“I… I argued with him,” she said, rubbing her sore bum.
“And what cause would a proper young lady like you find to argue with her papa about?”
Papa? Penelope looked first at the nurse, then at Lord Westcott.
“Yes, I believe it is time you address me properly,” her husband said. “If you feel you can.”