Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The first room Mrs. Fairfax brings me to looks like a child’s.
A very rich, very spoiled child’s. I turn slowly, torn between wonder and horror.
Everything is pink and cream and ruffled.
Very much like the white ruffled chemise I am currently dressed in.
Stuffed animals line a shelf on the wall.
There is a rocking horse large enough for an adult, a massive dollhouse, a corner filled with cushions, a small bookshelf lined with books, and beautiful paintings and tapestries on the wall.
It is a child’s dream.
But I am not a child.
Even with everything the Duke and Mrs. Fairfax had said, I’d expected my personal space to reflect reality.
Calling him ‘Daddy,’ having a Nanny, being ‘little Betty’… it was like a game.
That’s what I’d thought.
Now, looking at this room, I am no longer certain.
“This cannot be my bedroom.” I do not see a bed.
“No, this is your playroom. Your bedroom is back here. Come.” Mrs. Fairfax moves to a door on the far wall. All the frippery had distracted me to the point where I had not noticed it.
The bedroom is no better than the playroom.
Decorated in the exact same manner, it holds both a bed and an oversized crib, which I stare at with horror. Mrs. Fairfax is not paying attention to my reaction, she has already moved over to yet another door, across from the bed and crib, which appears to lead to my own private bathing room.
If the childishness of the rooms did not overwhelm me, I would probably be elated at the sight of my own private bathing room. Unfortunately, I cannot concentrate on that luxury because I am too taken aback by the fact that I am expected to live here, like a child.
“I am to sleep here?” My voice is higher than normal, coming out with a squeak, and Mrs. Fairfax turns to look at me, raising one eyebrow as if surprised at the implied objection.
“Yes. You will be sleeping here. And bathing here. Living here. The Duke set this apartment up specifically for his courtesan, which is you.” There is a look in her eye, reminding me that I was the fool who did not read the contract – nor allow it to be read to me.
My bottom tingles in reminder of the spanking I so recently received for my foolishness.
“Now, come in. You need to be cleaned before supper.”
Supper.
My stomach growls at the word.
Surely trying to change my circumstances – if it is at all possible – can wait until after I’ve been fed.
I have to have my priorities.
I go into the bathroom and Mrs. Fairfax shuts the door behind me.
I hear the click of the lock as I look around this room, relieved that it is not full of ruffles and lace fit for a child.
The large clawfoot tub is big enough to swim in.
The Duke has updated the plumbing, because there is real running water – a shocking luxury and one which I had heard of but never experienced.
Madame Atout’s certainly did not have any such thing, and she was the top of the heap as such places went.
Everything is brass and ivory and shiny. This is beyond the kind of room I had hoped for, which makes the contrast between it and the other two rooms even starker. I cannot help but wonder what a bathing room outfitted like the other two would have looked like.
Surely I am not disappointed that it does not continue in the theme?
“Strip,” Mrs. Fairfax says and I hide my sigh.
Clothes off, clothes on, clothes off… I know it is unacceptable to run about in nothing but my skin, but the idea is very tempting.
With Mrs. Fairfax’s help, the ruffled gown is removed, leaving me naked once again.
I look down at myself. I do not look any different, and yet with the loss of my virginity, there are those who would say I am changed forever.
My nipples do appear a bit darker pink than normal.
Mrs. Fairfax pulls a small bench over to beside the toilet and the tub.
“Come here, Betty.”
“Why?” I do not resist, allowing her to pull me over her lap, but I cannot help but tense. Her hand is soft as it caresses my bottom, tipping me forward a little more so she can get a better view of my pussy.
“We need to clean your Daddy’s seed from your pussy so it cannot take root,” she says matter-of-factly. “Madame Atout gave me the schedule of your monthlies, and you should be safe, but we want to be extra sure.”
That makes sense. There are ways to prevent becoming with child, which all the tarts use.
I do not know why I need to be over her lap for this though.
I turn my head, craning my neck to see her twist to the side where there is a shelf full of strange-looking implements and pick up a long tube with a tapered end on one side and a thick bulb at the other end of it. Water drips from its narrow tip.
“This one is still warm,” she says, placing it at the entrance to my pussy and beginning to push it in. I can feel the warmth of it, as she stated. She must have set this all up while the duke was deflowering me.
The sensation is uncomfortable as the hard tube pushes inside me, but it is not nearly as big as the duke was. I bite my lip against complaining, as I already know it will do no good.
“There we go. I am going to squeeze the bulb and flush out your pussy with the warm water. After you empty it, we’ll repeat it with the cold.” That sounds horrid, but I do not get the chance to protest before she squeezes the bulb and the warm water floods my channel.
It feels very strange, but not entirely unpleasant. The tube slides out and then she puts me on the toilet to empty it.
My cheeks are hot from blushing as she sits beside me, watching and waiting. I cannot hold the water in and the sound of it splashing out of me, cleaning me of the duke’s seed, makes me want to squirm. My humiliation is amplified by her fully clothed state and my completely naked one.
Dropping my gaze from hers, so I do not have to look at her, I twist my hands on my lap in front of me, praying for it to be over soon.
“Good girl,” she says, when the sound finally stops. “Now for the cold. Over my lap again.”
“I do not think I need—" I am unable to finish my sentence; it ends in a shriek when Mrs. Fairfax reaches out and takes hold of my right nipple in a brutal pinch.
She uses it to pull me forward, over her lap, and I follow the tug in a vain effort to cease the painful grip.
Before I can say another word, something incredibly hard thwacks against my bottom, reigniting the pain from my earlier spanking and adding to it something fierce.
“That’s five with the hairbrush for disobedience,” she says calmly, bringing the awful thing down again for a second punishing smack.
I wail as the horrid implement impacts against my bottom again and again.
It hurts so much more than the Duke’s hand had.
Maybe because my bottom has already been through such an ordeal today and is more sensitive than it would otherwise have been, or maybe because it is a hairbrush and not a hand.
All I know is that five is almost more than I can bear.
“There now,” Mrs. Fairfax says, ignoring my hiccupping sobs. I hear the sound of wood against porcelain as she returns the hairbrush to its spot beside the sink. “Be a good girl and I will not need to repeat that.”
I whimper, the hot burn of the spanking throbbing, as the cold tube is pushed into my pussy.
Even before she squeezes the bulb, it is far more uncomfortable than the warm one had been, and when the cold water gushes into my sensitive hole I cry out from the sensation.
From warm to cold is not as terrible as it might have been – or perhaps it feels less terrible when compared to my burning cheeks – and I am quickly set upon the toilet again.
While sitting there, my view is level with the horrid hairbrush.
It is big and flat-backed, made of sturdy wood and covered with long, coarse bristles on the other side.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Fairfax says when the second cleansing is finished. She smiles at me, pleased, as if I have done something clever and not just what she forced me to do. “Now over my lap again.”
This time I obey with alacrity. I do not know what she plans to do, but I do know I do not want her to use that horrid hairbrush on me again.
“Very good girl.” She is pleased with my obedience.
I bite my lip against cursing her. Remember the money.
I do start to wonder at which point the previous courtesans decided the money was not worth it.
Though, it did sound as though they had made it through their contract.
I would do no less. No matter what humiliation the duke or Mrs. Fairfax put me through.
Six months was nothing compared to the rest of my life. “Now, time to clean out your bottom.”
“What?” My hands automatically go back to try and cover myself, but Mrs. Fairfax isn’t having any of it.
She grasps my wrists in her hand and pins them at the small of my back.
Even if she was not stronger than I, the position makes it nearly impossible for me to fight back with any strength – and she is far more muscular than she appears, I am realizing. “Mrs. Fairfax, please, you cannot—ow!”
“You will call me Nanny,” she says sharply, before bringing the hairbrush down on my tender nates again.
“And I can do whatever I deem necessary to make sure you are a well-behaved little girl, for both me and your Daddy. Unless you would prefer to return to Madame Atout right now with a broken contract?”
I already know the stakes, but hearing her say them right out, in such a firm tone, makes me sag against her lap.
“No… Nanny.”
“There, that was not so hard, was it?” She does not wait for me to answer before continuing.
“Now, we’re going to start with a soapy enema first and then we’ll do a second one to make sure you’re thoroughly rinsed.
If you are good, then you may have your bath after that.
If you are naughty, then you’ll get a third enema and ten swats with the hairbrush while you’re holding it. ”
I shudder at the images she paints in my mind.
Being a good girl is obviously the right choice. The sane choice.
“I’ll be good, Nanny,” I reply, my voice subdued. Is it just me or is my voice a little higher, a little more girlish than usual?
“I am glad to hear it, Betty.” She pats my bottom, which is still smarting from the hairbrush, but at least the little pat does not actually hurt. “Now, try to relax.”
Easy for her to say.