The Science of Submission

by Victoria Winters

  Margie flushed as she bent over and stepped out of her drawers. She put them in a little pile with her shoes and socks. Then she stood back up and looked at her papa.

  “Do you need help undoing your little dress?” he asked. Margie shivered, a chill passed through her as she realized what her master was requiring of her. She knew he had watched her in the nursery, but she had not been aware of it at the time. She had never stood naked before him.

  “N-no, sir,” she whispered as she reached back and undid the three buttons at the back of the neck that held her little dress together. She held perfectly still as the dress fell down around her. All that was left was her little chemise.

  Lord Cavendish watched Margie struggle to comply with his wishes. He was greatly enjoying her little strip tease, her maidenly hesitance and blushes were charming to see. He held his breath as she gripped the hem of her little chemise, the last vestige of her modesty. Would she do it, would she lift her little garment and show herself to him?

  “Quickly child, I don’t have all day,” he snapped, hoping it would spur her into action. She seemed to have frozen in place. As he watched, she took a deep breath and then lifted the chemise over her head and dropped it to the ground. As she bared herself to his gaze, Stefan felt himself spring to attention. She had actually trusted him enough to submit to him in this most intimate of ways.

  “Come here, little one,” he whispered, holding his arms open to her. She brought her hands together and held them to her chest, under her chin as she slowly walked forward into his arms. As he held the naked young woman to him, Stefan found that he’d forgotten to breathe. He wanted to scoop her up into his embrace, to lay her down on his bed, to claim her as his own. He felt all pretenses slip away. There was nothing between them now but his clothing and the statement of his intentions.

  Stefan took a deep breath trying to clear his mind. This was neither the time nor the place for actions of that nature. He had a punishment to dispense, that was all, the one that he had promised her and himself that day in the hired hack. He laid Margie over his lap, staring at her plush little buttocks. They were perfection, as the young woman herself was. Once the unpleasant aspects of her personality had been stripped away—her scheming and manipulative ways—what was left behind was sheer perfection, a blond angel, his for the taking.

  He began to apply his hand sharply to her little buttocks, his strokes falling fast and hard. Margie held perfectly still, submitting to his discipline, not making a sound. After about the twentieth blow though, she began to yelp and wriggle about as he struck.

  “Oh, ow, ouch, Papa, Papa please, not so hard,” she looked back over her shoulder and grimaced. It was really beginning to hurt. Soon she lost herself in the pain of her spanking. It began to sear her soul and she felt the tears falling. She became a child, wailing away, pleading with her papa to stop, bawling like an infant. Still the spanking continued. Finally she could do nothing but comply, giving herself to the pain. She held perfectly still and submitted as he spanked the contrariness right out of her.

  The next thing she knew Margie had been righted and was being held by her papa in his big strong arms as he whispered to her soothingly.

  “What a very good girl you are. You are very pleasing to your papa. I’m sure you have learnt your lesson and will be a much better behaved little one, won’t you?”

  She nodded her head and sucked her thumb. She promised her papa she would be the best little girl ever. Her papa patted her on her spanked bottom and helped her don her clothing. He held her hand and walked her back to her nursery where her nanny was waiting for her. He stood there watching as she was changed into her baby gown and put right to bed in her little crib. Margie laid there, drinking her bottle as her papa stood over the crib watching her. Her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep staring into her papa’s eyes.

  Stefan stepped away from the crib and gestured to Nanny Trinka to follow him. He posted a sailor in the corridor in front of the nursery to make sure Margie stayed put. Professor Pretzer accompanied him to his quarters. Higgins poured them drinks and then bowed and exited.

  “Hello, Nanny,” he said sarcastically, clinking his glass with hers.

  Katrinka smiled at him, she was enjoying her nanny role very much. She was proud of how far she had brought little Margie. Under her tutelage, the young lady had been divested of her more unpleasant traits and become sweet and compliant. She had become quite fond of the girl. After they both took a drink, she got right to the point.

  “Are your intentions towards Marjorie honorable, Stefan?”

  “Hello Stefan, and how are you?” Stefan replied, pretending that he was Katrinka making small talk in the way that most people would do upon entering a room and sitting down together.

  “You know I am not one for small talk, my boy.” Professor Pretzer replied uncowed. Stefan grinned at her, tickled by her commanding manner.

  “Oh, all right,” she conceded. “Let’s start over again shall we? Hello Stefan, and how did your session with young Margie go this evening?”

  “She submitted properly to her discipline. She is coming along quite nicely. So, tell me, Professor, did you enjoy dining with the officers this evening?” he asked.

  “I did, thank you, the food was exquisite. So, enough of the pleasantries,” she said, taking another sip of her sherry. “Tell me Stefan, first of all where are we going? What is our mission?”

  “We are heading to Boston Harbor. There I am to retrieve a piece of jewelry that belongs to the crown. Hopefully it will be interred in the Tower of London with the rest of the royal jewels before the Americans are any the wiser.”

  “Will my cooperation be required?”

  “I daresay it will, as well as Marjorie’s, I’m afraid.”

  “Stefan, that’s why I’m here. What is going on with Marjorie? Clearly her time in the nursery has done her a world of good. But we can’t keep her regressed to childhood forever, can we?”

  “I’m afraid not. It will soon be time to upgrade her from little one to partner-in-crime.”

  “In that case, her full, clear-headed cooperation will be required. And so Stefan, what exactly are your intentions towards the young woman?”

  “Why Nanny Trinka, I didn’t know you cared,” Stefan replied, knocking back his whiskey.

  “I do care, Stefan. I have observed the attraction building between the two of you. I am asking you—if you intend to deflower her, are you prepared to then do the honorable thing? I’ve become very fond of Marjorie and while it may meet her current emotional needs to belong to you, I won’t have her living in some sort of limbo as your ‘little one’ without the protection of marriage.”

  “Relax, Professor. I too have come to care for Marjorie deeply. My intentions towards Lady Hamilton are completely honorable. I intend to make her mine in every way possible; however, while I will soon have some very adult interaction with little Margie, I wish to keep her small for just a bit longer.”

  Katrinka looked into his eyes searchingly. Satisfied at what she found there, she relaxed back in her chair and sipped her sherry as Stefan talked long into the night, sharing his future plans.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, Margie was put through her usual paces anxiously trying to meet Nanny Trinka’s exacting standards. She had her temperature taken, drank her bottles, received her daily enemas and was being dressed for dinner.

  As her nanny dressed her, she reached down and grabbed Margie’s breasts, adjusting them in her chemise. Margie tried to wriggle away and as retribution, Nanny Trinka grabbed her nipples and gave them a pinch, holding on until Margie shrieked. The child had to learn to yield to being handled by her nanny in whichever way necessary. She let go and lowered the little dress over Margie’s breasts, adjusting the blue bow so that it hid as much as possible.

  Margie bit her lip, her nipples were very tender and they were still tingling from being squeezed so hard. When her nanny turned away to grab her hair bow, she tri
ed to secretly reach up under her dress to rub them. Hands on her breasts, she looked up to find her nanny glaring down at her.

  “Remove your hands, you naughty little girl and hold them up. You know better than to touch yourself. If you need to be touched, your master or I will do so. You keep your hands off of your body.”

  Marjorie watched her nanny fearfully. Katrinka held out her mechanical hand and, as she watched with horror, Nanny’s mechanical pointer finger began to extend until it was as long as a cane. Margie reluctantly held up her hands, palms upward and waited as she began to tremble with fear.

  “Six strokes, little one. And what are you getting them for?”

  “For touching myself?” Marjorie squealed in response as the metal pointer struck her right palm.

  “That is not a correct response,” Nanny replied as the pointer came down on her other palm. Marjorie squealed again, shifting from one foot to the other trying desperately to continue to hold her palms up. She hated being hit on the hands worse than anything.

  “Once again, what are you getting your pretty little palms punished for?” her nanny asked, her eyes boring into Margie’s, drinking in her pain and fear.

  Marjorie squealed as both palms were once again struck. “For-for touching my bosom?”

  “You are getting closer but that is still not correct. Tell me exactly why you are having your hands struck.”

  “For touching my breasts, my-my nipples?” she cried out as the pointer descended once again on each hand.

  “That is correct,” Nanny replied, striking her one last time for good measure. Marjorie desperately wanted to put her palms under her armpits but knew better. She danced in place instead, shaking the hurt from her hands.

  Her nanny ignored her antics as she led her out of the cabin. Suddenly she stopped, she had an idea. She led Margie back inside the room and created a sign on a little chalkboard, which she hung around Margie’s neck. Then she led her out of the nursery through the corridors to Lord Cavendish’s quarters.

  “When I bring you before your papa, you are to hold up your punished little hands so that he can see the welts upon them. He will know how naughty you have been, especially once he has read your sign. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Nanny,” Margie said, her big blue eyes filling with tears. “Oh, please, don’t make me do this, Nanny, please. It is ever so shameful. My papa will be so disappointed.”

  “Yes, he will, child. What he will do, I cannot say but I suspect it will not be pleasant. You may find yourself with welts in an entirely different place by the time he finishes with you.”

  Before Margie could say another word, Nanny knocked firmly on the door. It immediately opened and they were shown inside by Higgins, her papa’s manservant. She could see that the table in the outer room had been set for three for an intimate dinner. She cringed at the thought that if she had not been so naughty, she would now be sitting down with her papa and Nanny for dinner instead of waiting there with her palms up and a sign around her neck which told of her naughtiness. She began to burn with shame.

  “Stand right there, little one. Yes, that’s it” her nanny hissed as she led Margie to the corner and had her stand, facing outwards. “That is where you will wait for your papa to notice your naughtiness.”

  One lone tear slid down her cheek, as she waited. The little one was mortified at the thought of what her commanding papa would do when he saw her. Her face jerked towards the door as it swung open, the door to her papa’s bedroom. He appeared in the doorway and Margie attempted a curtsy of sorts, while continuing to hold her palms up, her sign wobbling around her neck, then she resumed her position in the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Margie standing there looking pitiful. He silently read her sign and then turned to Professor Pretzer, ignoring his little one.

  “Good evening, Nanny Trinka. What is this naughtiness my little one has been up to?”

  “I’ll let the little one make her confession to you,” Nanny replied.

  “After dinner,” Lord Cavendish decreed. “In the meantime, Little Margie will hold her position while the grownups eat.”

  Tears began to slide down Margie’s cheeks as she watched the grownups consume their delicious food. They appeared to be eating some sort of prime rib, she caught a whiff of horseradish and could see a radish salad. Dessert was exquisite, some sort of pot of chocolate, a soufflé of sorts. Her nipples still throbbed where Nanny had pinched them. She wondered if she dared try to rub them again. Her nanny and papa seemed to be deep in conversation, neither had looked her way in quite some time. She waited until they seemed to have stopped eating and were having a deep discussion and then quickly cupped the points of her breast. She heard a crash and gave a start when she saw that her nanny had risen and was glaring at her!

  “Naughty, naughty, naughty!” she scolded walking menacingly towards Margie. She grabbed her by the ear and pulled her over to Lord Cavendish. “Still cannot keep our hands off ourself, hmmm?”

  Lord Cavendish was looking at her, a frown line between his eyes. “What’s this? Do you mean to tell me that you have done it again? The very thing you are already in trouble for?” He read her sign, Margie did not know what it said, she did not possess the ability to read words that were upside down. Lord Cavendish removed it from her and turned it so she could see the words.

  “Read this sign for us, child. Out loud, now,” her master ordered.

  She flushed a dark pink and her little tongue snaked out of her mouth, wetting her lips. She could not read these words out loud in mixed company! She pulled back and covered her face with her hands and began to moan.

  “Please, Papa, please excuse me from this. It is ever so shameful.”

  “It is not for you to decide what is proper or not, Margie. Don’t be disobedient and compound the trouble you are already in. Read the sign,” her nanny demanded.

  “I-I am a bad girl. I touched my ni-nip-nipples,” she said, lowering her eyes to the ground, ashamed to face him. She was horrified at what came out of his mouth next.

  “Let me see, little one. Let me see your nipples,” her papa ordered. Margie felt close to swooning. He wanted her to-to lift her dress, here and now, in front of mixed company? Not only were her nanny and papa in the room but Higgins kept coming in and out, serving food and clearing dirty dishes. Two sets of eyes were staring at her though, expecting her to obey. She began to tremble as she gathered the front hem of her little dress in her hands. Slowly she lifted her dress until she had reached her chemise. She gathered that too in her hands and lifted both until it was up to her collarbone, her breasts hanging loose beneath. Her nipples hardened as they were exposed to the cool air.

  Her papa made her stand there like that for quite some time. Higgins did indeed get an eyeful as he continued to serve at the table. Margie flushed scarlet as her papa and nanny began to discuss her breasts in the most obscene terms, as if she wasn’t standing right there.

  “They are especially large for a little one,” her papa was saying, staring openly at her breasts.

  “I daresay she will have no problem feeding her future children, based on the size of those mammaries,” her nanny observed, also staring at her exposed chest. “Those little nips are extra sensitive. She was squealing like a little piglet as I pinched them. Come here, Margie, let’s demonstrate for Papa.”

  Margie looked over at her papa with a pleading look on her face, praying that he would end this display, but he seemed to be deferring to her nanny. Reluctantly she turned, still holding up her dress, and approached her nanny’s chair.

  As soon as she was within arm’s reach, her nanny grabbed for her breasts and gave the nipples a mighty twist. Margie squealed and danced in place, bawling as her nanny continued to hold them tightly. Just as she began to get spots before her eyes and her vision dimmed, she could hear her papa.

  “That is enough for now,” he was saying.

  She almost collapsed when Nanny Trinka released her throb
bing nipples.

  “You may go, Nanny and thank you for the demonstration. I know now how to keep little Margie in line in the future.”

  She swayed in place as she watched her nanny stand and take her leave. She noticed something odd, Nanny hadn’t curtsied to Lord Cavendish. She wondered about the nature of their relationship, she seemed to treat Stefan as an equal. Once again, she wondered about where her nanny had come from.

  Soon her papa was standing in front of her. “Continue to hold up your little dress,” he ordered in a tight, forced voice. He led her over to a low divan in his inner sanctum and had her stand in front of him. He reached up and hefted her breasts in his hands. Margie instinctively pulled back, afraid that he would pinch the tips. He swatted her on the butt, unhappy with her retreat.

  “Hold still, baby. Let Papa make those little nipples feel better.” He began to rub them with the pads of his thumbs. Margie tried to fight back tears, it still hurt. Then her papa did something most extraordinary, he leaned forward and licked her left nipple, the one that had been squeezed by Nanny’s mechanical hand, the one that hurt the most. Tenderly he pulled it up into his mouth and began to suckle. Margie’s knees almost gave out at the sensation but he grabbed her buttocks up under her dress and pulled her to him. As he suckled away, he lowered Margie’s pantaloons, then removed her shoes and the drawers all together. He kept sucking at her breast as he pulled her up until she was straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his legs. He let go with a pop and stared into her eyes and then leaned forward and began to suckle at the other one. Margie’s eyes rolled back in her head, what he was doing felt so good. But then another problem began to manifest itself. Margie could feel moisture trickling down her thighs right in between her legs. She squirmed, afraid that she would make a mess on Lord Cavendish’s trousers.