Chapter 2 #2
“You should have read your contract more closely.” Those strong fingers close over one of my thighs, sliding up toward my pussy, and I suck in a breath of shock.
The movement and my position hanging over his lap causes my breasts to do what they’ve been threatening all morning, and they pop out of my dress.
Immediately, I reach to cover them with one arm, the other still keeping me balanced on his lap.
“For the next six months, you are mine to do with as I please. You will answer to the name I give you, dress in the clothes I provide, eat the food that is prepared for you, and be my good Little girl who does whatever her Daddy asks of her.”
Before I could answer or respond in any way, his hand came crashing down on my upturned, completely exposed bottom.
This was not akin to the small swat Mrs. Fairfax had given me earlier.
It was harder, crueler, and far more painful, the sharp sting radiating outward and going much deeper than the surface level.
Crying out, I begin to fight to stand up again, to get away from him, but it is no use. He is far bigger and stronger than I am, and his hand comes crashing down on my upturned bottom again, spanking me like I’m a naughty child rather than a full-grown woman… rather than a mistress.
Tears spark in my eyes and began to drip down to the floor as the crisp swats pepper my cheeks, the painful heat growing and spreading over my skin.
It hurts more than I would have thought possible.
“Please, please stop! Please, please, please.” I start begging, because I do not know what else to do.
To my shock and relief, the spanking stops. His hand comes to rest on my bottom, which is hot against his palm. I whimper, but I’m too relieved that the actual spanking has ceased to protest the way he begins rubbing my tender backside.
“Now that we understand each other, let’s go over the rules,” he says, his tone utterly reasonable, as if he had not just flipped me over his lap and brought me to tears.
I gulp in air, still holding my breasts with one arm, wondering if I can stuff them back into place in my dress, though that hardly seems the most important thing now.
His fingers tap against my sore posterior as he begins to read the contract to me.
It is simple enough at first, exactly the kind of thing Madame Atout had told me to expect. He will provide me with housing, clothing, food, and everything I could possibly need, as well as occasional gifts. In return, I will provide him with the services he requires of me.
The list of those services and his expectations are what cause my mouth to drop open and my head to go dizzy in a manner which has nothing to do with still being upside down.
“You cannot treat me like a child!” I protest, squirming as I tried to get off his lap yet again.
The arm across my back is like an iron poker, giving me not a single inch as his hand lifts from my bottom again.
“No, wait!” My squeal comes too late.
He spanks me again and again, this time not on my already tender flesh, but on the fresh skin just below my bottom, which somehow hurts even more than my poor, throbbing cheeks.
Tears are dripping down to the carpet all over again and I cry out, squirming and apologizing, kicking, and realizing very quickly that none of it matters.
When he finally stops, I hang over his lap, sniffling as I try to get control of myself again.
“Naughty behavior will be met with discipline,” he reads on calmly.
Even his breathing remains calm and even, which is infuriating in its own way.
Not that I have the energy left to be angry.
“Discipline will include spankings, birchings, figgings, and any other means that the duke feels is merited.”
I do not know what birchings or figgings are and I fervently do not want to find out, so I keep my mouth shut.
His fingers are rubbing my bottom and upper thighs now, and when they brush against my pussy I shudder in response as the strange spurt of pleasure that flitters through the throbbing agony of my poor bottom.
Surely that cannot have felt… good?
Not while my arse is on fire.
Yet, it did.
The duke’s fingers dip into my pussy, where it is slick and wet and warm, and I cannot stop the moan that rises to my lips as he touches me. It’s as humiliating as it is arousing.
“Well, Mrs. Fairfax, I think she will do nicely. Take her to my room and prepare her for me while I finish up here.”
I find myself on my feet as quickly as I’d been pulled off of them, my skirts slipping over my burning backside. Staring at the duke with my mouth open, eyes wide, I cannot think of a single thing to say to him although part of me wants to scream.
He is not looking at me though. He is already turning back to the work on his desk.
Mrs. Fairfax’s fingers close around my wrist like a vise.
“Come along, little Betty,” she says smugly. “You do not want me adding to the punishment the duke just administered.”
Because she could. Mrs. Fairfax was now my nanny, according to the contract I’d signed.
My nanny.
What have I gotten myself into?
The question circles through my mind as she pulls me from the room, the throbbing from my bottom and the tightness of my cheeks as the tears dry on them are a stark reminder of why I should not fight her.
Before she pulls me out completely, I glance over my shoulder at the duke.
My Daddy.
And a shiver goes up my spine.