Chapter 6
Chapter Six
The nozzle of the enema has something on it which makes it slick and easy to slide right into my bottom. As with so many of my experiences today, the sensation is uncomfortable, but it is hardly the worst thing I have endured since my arrival.
The strangeness is bearable, perhaps even a little exciting.
An illicit thrill. I cannot help but wonder what it will be like to have the Duke’s cock entering my bottom, and if it will feel anything like this.
He is much bigger than the tapered nozzle, but it gives me some idea of what it might be like.
“Good girl. Now let’s give you a good, thorough cleaning,” Nanny Fairfax says cheerfully. I might as well think of her as ‘Nanny’ now so that the wrong name does not accidentally slip out of my mouth.
I would much rather call her ‘Nanny’ than subject my poor bottom to even more abuse than it has already received.
Warmth gushes into me and I gasp at the sensation. My bottom tightens around the nozzle instinctively, trying to push it out, but Nanny Fairfax has it firmly planted and is holding it in place.
“Oh!” The feeling of being slowly filled makes me want to squirm. “It itches!”
That is the only way I can think of to describe how it feels.
“That will be the soap, Betty. Just take your enema like a good girl and the next one will wash you out.” Nanny Fairfax sounds more cheerful than ever, like she is enjoying my torment at her hands. I grab hold of the leg of the bench she is seated upon to keep myself from reaching behind me.
“Please,” I whine as my stomach fills, the itching worsening as more and more water flows into me, making me feel far too full. My stomach is beginning to cramp like I’ve eaten too much all at once. “It’s too much, please, Nanny!”
I hope that calling her by the requested title will help gain me some leniency, but she just pats my already sore bottom.
“A little more, Betty. Then you’ll need to hold it for a minute to let it work before you release, and then we’ll do the second cleansing one.”
I whimper, but I do not argue. A third enema while she swats me with the hairbrush would be unbearable. This is more than uncomfortable and becoming rather painful, but the hairbrush is so much worse. I cannot imagine having both at once and I do not want to experience it.
It feels like every part of me below my waist is throbbing for one reason or another, and I am becoming dizzy again from all that I am being put through. Being over Nanny’s lap does not help.
Finally the influx of water stops and I let out a little heaving gasp that borders on a sob. I am so full I can feel the water sloshing around inside me. The cramps come and go, but the itchiness never lets up. I grip the leg of the bench tighter to keep from reaching back.
“Good girl, Betty, you’re taking your enema very well,” Nanny says, rubbing my sore bottom. It actually feels good, especially compared to everything else, as her soft hand caresses my sensitive skin. I try to focus on that sensation and not the itchy water that fills me so uncomfortably.
When her hand dips down between my legs, I moan. I am sore from the Duke’s vigorous fucking, but her touch is very soft and it helps a little with the discomfort in my bowels. Especially when she touches my little pearl.
As humiliating as it is to feel arousal in this moment, there’s no denying that’s what’s happening.
She gently circles the tiny nub, spreading my slickness around it, teasing it to swell against her fingertips while I whimper and wriggle over her lap.
My bottom clenches around the nozzle which is keeping the water plugged inside me.
The achy feeling of fullness, the sudden small cramps, the itchiness…
none of it should be arousing, and yet the throbbing need between my legs is growing with every little stroke of her fingers.
“That should be good. Time to let it out.”
If having my pussy flushed out was embarrassing, this is even more so. I cover my face with my hands as the procedure is completed. The relief of being emptied is quickly replaced by resigned reluctance as Nanny puts me back over her lap for the second enema.
True to her word, this one is not so itchy, though it makes me very, very full, all over again.
I swear she keeps this one in me longer than the previous one while she plays with my pussy, twisting the nozzle in my bottom and igniting an entirely new sensation as it moves with in me, pushing a little deeper and then releasing.
All the while, her fingers stroke and caress my pussy, teasing my pleasure pearl, but not bringing me anywhere near the relief I am starting to crave.
By the time the second enema has emptied from my bowels, I feel completely wrung out and yet on edge from the need pulsing between my thighs.
“Now for your bath,” Nanny says. My legs are wobbly as she helps me from the toilet to the tub.
It does not take long for the water to fill around me, and I marvel at the warm water coming from the spout.
I also realize how much easier it was for Nanny to wash out my pussy and give me two enemas in a row thanks to its presence, but it is still wonderous.
If I was not so exhausted, I might have fought Nanny more during the bath, but I am too tired to protest as she washes me thoroughly. I am not allowed to wash myself. She washes my hair, but then she moves on to my body with a far more thorough and frustrating wash than I have ever given myself.
Special attention is paid to my breasts and nipples, soaping them and squeezing and kneading them until I’m nearly mad from the teasing and my nipples are sore from her pinches and tugs.
Then she washes down my stomach and between my legs, where my little pearl is teased relentlessly with the rough washcloth.
But she does not bring me to climax.
I am frustrated enough that when she begins to soap down my legs, I slide my hand between them, getting one moment of delicious pressure on my little pearl before she grabs my wrist and pulls my fingers away.
“Hey!”
“Little girls do not touch themselves there,” she scolds me, and I clench my jaw against reminding her that I am not actually a Little girl.
She cannot watch me every second of every day.
At some point, I will be able to relieve myself.
“Only naughty girls touch themselves. And you know what happens to naughty girls.” She gives me a significant stare.
“I can promise you, it feels ten times worse on a wet bottom.”
My gaze sneaks over to the counter where the hairbrush is sitting, along with the thin rod and bristles that I still do not know the use for.
It is certainly not worth risking another spanking, no matter how frustrated I might be.
Nanny finishes soaping and rinsing me.
Then, as she towels me off, she rubs my breasts and pussy and bottom all over again, setting all my senses tingling. The urge to press my fingers between my thighs and give myself a quick rub right where I need it is becoming stronger.
“Very good,” Nanny says approvingly. “Now let’s get you dressed again. I’ll ring for supper. By the time we’re done eating, your hair should be dry and we can get you ready for bed.”
Bed sounds heavenly. It also sounds like a place where I can bring myself to climax. Although… I try to remember if I saw any of the same kinds of chains and cuffs attached to the bed in the other room. Surely not. Even if there are, they cannot keep me chained to the bed all night.
Can they?
The ruffled gown slips back over my head, covering me. The fabric rubs against my hard nipples and the sensitive skin of my bottom with every move I make, making it impossible for me to ignore the arousal that Nanny stoked but did not satisfy.
Unfortunately, she is now keeping a close eye on me as we move back into the bedroom and then to the front room where she rings the bell. I do not dare put my fingers between my thighs. I do not want to be dragged back to the bathing room for a third enema and the hairbrush.
Instead, I press my thighs together, putting as much pressure on my aching flesh as I can, while I take a better look around the room.
The furniture is all painted white and very glossy and clean. There is a small table with four chairs around its square surface, a large brown teddy bear seated in one of the chairs. The rocking horse is big enough that I could comfortably sit on it if I wanted to.
Though I am tempted, I am loath to do so in front of Nanny for some reason.
I have to accept how they are treating me in order to receive my payment. I am certainly not going to make her think I am enjoying any part of what I have to do though.
Because I am not.
Right?
Walking over to the bookshelf, I look at the books there. They are thin and have pictures inside them.
“Can you read at all?” Nanny asks, coming over to see what I am looking at.
I shake my head. “Just my name.”
“Well, we will begin to work on that tomorrow. You’ll be learning reading, writing, and math, as well as comportment and etiquette to ensure you’re a good girl.
Your Daddy wants to make sure you get some kind of education while you’re here.
That way you’ll remember to read any contracts you receive in the future.
” There is a hint of scolding in her tone again, reminding me of how foolish I’d been to sign the contract that brought me here without knowing what it said.
Even though I want to defend myself, I bite my tongue. I am getting very used to doing that today, as much as I hate it.
She is correct though.
If I’d known what the contract said… well, I still would have wanted the payment, but I would have asked for some changes.
No punishments, for one. Or, at least no spankings. No enemas.
No Nanny.
Supper turns out to be torturous in its own way. Nanny is determined to teach me to ‘eat correctly.’
Which involves constantly correcting me on everything. There are too many forks and spoons to keep track of, especially when one’s stomach is grumbling in such a demanding manner. Who cares if I slurp my soup? Nanny is the only one around to hear it. Apparently, she cares.
I want to ask questions about the Duke, about the household, but the entire meal is taken up with Nanny’s directions and corrections.
I am even more exhausted by the end of it than I thought possible, and the arousal she’d stoked within me is completely wiped away.
That is the only good part about the meal, other than the food, that I am no longer itchy with need between my legs by the end of it.
After eating, Nanny sits me down in front of the vanity in the bedroom and brushes my hair with a beautiful hairbrush that has an ivory handle and a painted back.
Not the horrid hairbrush from the bathing room.
As she does so, I eye the bed and the crib as best I can, trying to see if there are any chains or cuffs hidden in their structures.
Eventually, Nanny pinches my nipple to grab my attention again.
“Eyes front, Betty,” she says sharply, and I hastily put my head in the position she wants, because I immediately recognize that tone.
“How did you come to work for the duke?” I ask her as the brush runs through the silky strands of my hair, folding my hands atop each other in my lap. If I cannot look at the furniture in the room, then I at least want to learn something.
“Oh, well there’s an agency for women like me,” Nanny says cheerfully.
She puts down the brush and begins to braid my hair into two plaits, one on either side of my head.
“I found them when I was working as a governess for another family and decided I wanted this kind of position. The duke is the third employer I’ve had from that agency and this household suits me very well.
You are a lucky girl to have him as a benefactor. ”
Lucky.
Ha.
I wonder if she said the same thing to the other courtesans, the ones who finished their contracts and declined a second one.
I stare at myself in the mirror as she works her way down the second plait of hair. Two braids. Like a child. I should not be surprised.
“All done. Let’s get you ready for bed.” Nanny pulls a watch out of her pocket and checks it. “Your Daddy may be by shortly before he leaves for the evening.”
I glance out the window, since I did not see the time on her watch before she tucked it back into her pocket. Despite my utter exhaustion, it does seem to be lighter outside than it normally would be when I go to sleep.
The ton keeps late hours, and Madame Atout had us on the same schedule, but I am more than ready to fall into bed. Even a childish ruffled bed. I am ignoring the presence of the crib. Surely that is for more of the Duke’s… play. I will not borrow trouble and bring attention to it until I must.
Following Nanny into the bedroom, I obediently stand and lift my arms for her to strip the ruffled gown from me. It is over my head and in a hamper in a flash and then she goes to a dresser and pulls out another white garment, neatly folded.
It goes over my head – but not all the way over my arms. More fabric hangs from my arms, falling all the way to the floor. And it is too short, barely reaching my hips and leaving my pussy and bottom exposed in a horribly embarrassing manner.
“Nanny? What is wrong with this… nightgown?” I do not know what else to call it.
“Nothing. This is going to help you be a good girl at night.” Suddenly, I find my arms crossed over each other, in front of my stomach. The position pushes my breasts together between them, my nipples rubbing against the fabric and starting to stiffen again, as my hands are drawn to opposite hips.
“Wait!” Panic starts to rise as I realize she’s tying the ends of the sleeves behind my back, leaving my arms and hands trapped against me, so that I am completely helpless.