Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Time to get up, little girl. Did you use your nappy?”
That is how I’m woken in the morning, with the sound of the crib sliding down so that Nanny can lean over and press her hand against the cloth between my legs to see if it’s wet.
I squeak, which is about the only sound I can manage to make.
It feels like I got far too little sleep, and when I roll away from her hand and catch a glimpse of the window, I can see that it is earlier in the morning than I usually rise. Not at all the ton hours that Madame Atout operated her business during.
“You must need to use the bathroom. Come on, Betty, let’s get you up for the day.
” As if Nanny’s words are able to affect my body, I am immediately aware of the pressing need to do exactly what she said.
I’d held it all night rather than wetting the diaper, but I desperately need to relieve myself now.
Not only that, but the plug has been in my bottom all night and I want it out.
Nanny accompanies me to the bathing room, removing the plug for me and then watching while I relieve myself.
She cleans the plug thoroughly before administering a morning enema.
This one has no soap and I do not protest. The overly full feeling is not entirely comfortable, but I am very aware of how much worse it could be.
“You’ll have a break from the plug this morning and we’ll put it back in this afternoon,” she informs me cheerfully.
“Yes, Nanny,” I reply dutifully.
Again, it is not my favorite thing, but I can see the sense in stretching my bottom if the duke is going to put his cock in it eventually.
I can only imagine how much more it will hurt if my bottom is not stretched for such an invasion.
Besides, there is a part of me that secretly likes it. Just a little.
Not the burning sting of having it inserted but… the feeling it gives me. I am not sure I could explain it even if I wanted to. And, to be truthful, I do not wish to examine that part of me too closely.
Nanny dresses me in what seems like a Little girl’s dress. More ruffles, more lace. It only goes down to my knees, which are covered with stockings and shoes that are more like a child’s than a grown woman’s. My hair is done in two plaits, hanging down on either side of my head.
I look ridiculous.
Just do what your benefactor wants and enjoy the rewards of pleasing him. Madame Atout’s advice flits through my head.
Easy for her to say. She is not wearing child’s clothing while living in a child’s room with a Nanny who treats her as a child and a benefactor who uses her as an adult.
I am more and more convinced that Madame Atout knew exactly what was in store for me and decided she’d happily take the duke’s money rather than warning me.
“Very nice. Time for breakfast and then you’ll start your schooling.”
That piques my interest. Breakfast is not in my room, it is in the salon. None of the maids or footmen or other staff that we pass in the halls give me a second glance. Either they’ve been warned or they’re used to such sights.
Or both.
Once again, Nanny is bossy about my table manners, but I do better than the night before. I am more alert, more energized, and not so distracted by a series of shocking emotional and physical events. Enough so to earn a smile from her and a bit of praise by the time we are done eating.
If I am disappointed that the duke does not join us, or even look in, it’s just a thought that goes as quickly as it comes.
After breakfast Nanny takes me back to the wing where my room is, but we go past it to another door.
The room inside is set up exactly like a schoolroom – I saw one once, through a window – but with a single desk in the center of it.
Learning to read is something I am eager to do and it is not difficult to pay attention as Nanny begins the lesson.
Then she has me practice writing the alphabet and my name over and over, which I do not mind either.
She seems very pleased with my progress and tells me what a good girl I am.
There is a short break for lunch and then she begins a math lesson.
Now I am not such a good girl.
Perhaps it is because I have been trapped at this desk, in this room.
Perhaps it is because my head already feels stuffed from everything she taught me about reading and writing this morning.
Perhaps I am just tired. Or perhaps it’s because math is stupid and I do not see a reason to learn it, unlike reading and writing.
Regardless of the reason, the lesson goes horribly.
“You need to focus and apply yourself,” Nanny scolds me. “You are not even trying.”
“I am, there’s just no point.” I throw the chalk away from the board she had me practicing on. It hits the floor and shatters, which gives me a moment of satisfaction at seeing it break apart, before Nanny grabs me by the upper arm and snatches me out of my chair. “Wait!”
She ignores my squeal and she’s much stronger than me as she hauls me over to the teacher’s desk at the front of the room.
“Nanny, please I’m sorry!”
“You certainly will be.”
I wail and kick to no avail as she pins me down over the desk and lifts the short skirt above my hips.
She swats me first with her hand, warming my bottom with firm, crisp smacks.
When she stops, I think it’s over, but then she picks up a wooden ruler from the desk and I cry out before it even snaps against my skin.
It hurts like the dickens, and my kicking grows even more frantic, but I cannot escape the hand pinning me down any more than I can protect myself from the wooden slat.
She brings it down again and again on already chastised cheeks, the wood biting into my sensitive flesh.
Tears roll down my face as the flaming heat grows in my bottom.
Gripping the edge of the desk, I barely manage to keep from putting my hands behind me and trying to protect myself, knowing it will earn me greater punishment.
When she finally stops, she tucks my skirts into the sash around my waist so that they remain up in the back, exposing my reddened bottom. She stands over me, watching while I clean up the chalk that I threw and then I’m sent right back to my desk – but she’s made an addition to the seat.
A kind of mat, which does not look so bad at first, but when I sit down the rough surface feels awful against my already throbbing bottom.
“Ow! Nanny, I cannot sit here!” I start to get up, but she puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down, forcing my bottom down onto the prickly surface. Not just my bottom either, my pussy lips are pressed against it now and I cry out at the discomfort.
“The sooner you finish your lesson, the sooner you can get off the mat,” she says, ruthlessly unsympathetic to the fact that she just made focusing even more difficult than before.
Sniffling, I bend over the math problems, doing my best to work my way through them while my bottom throbs. Every shift causes new stinging prickles to stab the sensitive flesh so I have to try and remain perfectly still, which is impossible.
It seems to take forever before I finish and she lets me get up. But she does not let me lower my skirts.
After math, it is time for what Nanny calls manners and elocution, and having my bottom exposed makes it easier for her to administer smacks to my already burning nates when I get something wrong.
If I try to twist or dance out of the way, she bends me back over the desk and gives me an extra five with the ruler, so I learn very quickly to stand still, tears streaming down my face as she has me repeat the same words and sentences over and over, trying to sound posh.
At least this I can see the sense of.
Sounding posh might make me more desirable to future gentlemen.
I’m just not very good at it.
It’s difficult to change up a lifetime of how I’ve spoken.
Maybe because she sees that I really am trying, Nanny takes it a little easier on me as the lesson goes on.
By the time it’s over and she takes me back to my room for a nap, I am truly exhausted and am grateful to not have to do anything. She undresses me, puts me in a nightrail, and plugs my tender bottom before diapering me, then tucks me into the crib. I fall asleep almost immediately.
When I wake up, my bladder is so full that I fear I may end up using the diaper after all, but thankfully Nanny takes me straight to the bathing room to remove the plug again and allows me to relieve myself.
It is very strange to be grateful to use the facilities, but I am.
My bottom is still sore and tender, but there’s been some improvement.
I’m put into another dress and taken out to the back garden with Nanny where she sits down on a bench and begins to crochet, leaving me to wander the area.
There are toys there. Children’s toys. I ignore them.
I might be forced to play this role for the payment I’ve been promised, that does not mean I need to feed into the delusion when left to my own devices.
Also, I have never been in a garden like this before.
It is filled with flowers and leaves and all sorts of things to look at.
I find a blanket that I can lay out and lay on to stare up at the clouds.
It gives me the illusion of being alone.
I feel more like myself again and not the Little girl that Nanny and the Duke are trying to turn me into.
What perplexes me the most is that I do not hate it as much as I think I should.
I certainly do not like all of it.
But…
I feel as though I should hate it more.
And I don’t.
Eventually Nanny packs us back up inside and I am led to the Duke’s study.
He sits behind the desk, as powerful and handsome as ever, his gaze steady on me as Nanny gives him the rundown of my day and I look everywhere but directly at him. Trying to look directly at him feels like trying to stare at the sun. Too dangerous.
When Nanny gets to the part where I threw my piece of chalk, I wince as my bottom throbs in remembrance of the spanking that followed. I duck my head down when I catch the frown on the Duke’s lips, folding my hands in front of me and trying to look like a good girl.
As she finishes up, the Duke gets to his feet.
“I’m disappointed to hear you were so naughty on your first day,” he says sternly. “If only you had been a good girl in the afternoon, like you were in the morning. Bring her around to this side of the desk, Nanny.”
I whimper, but do not protest, as she bends me over his desk and flips my skirts up so he can inspect my bottom. My insides clench as his fingers trace gently against my skin, making me shiver as arousal swirls in my core.
“The pink has already faded,” he notes. “Except in these spots.”
“I believe that would be the ruler, Your Grace,” Nanny replies.
“Well. You did a good job, but I want to ensure that my little Betty knows what’s expected of her for the future. We want to drive the lesson home on the first day so that she remembers to be good all day and not just part of the day.”
“I’ll remember!” I blurt out, sensing that he’s leading up to nothing good for me. “I promise, I’ll be good!”
“Yes, you will, and we’re going to make sure of it. Hold her down, Nanny.”
Hands press against my shoulders and I wail as his hand comes crashing down on my bottom.
He spanks much harder than Nanny does, feeling more like the wooden ruler than actual flesh.
In short order, he has me crying and pleading, kicking and sniffling.
My bottom feels like it’s glowing red with heat, every inch of it having been punished by his hard hand.
But it’s not over.
“There, that was a good warmup. Now it’s time for your birching.”
“Noooo, Daddy, please, no!”
“Yes, little girl. Only Daddy will birch you, but on days when you are naughty, that’s what you have to look forward to.”
Birch me on my already throbbing, burning-hot bottom?
I cry out, starting to struggle, but Nanny holds me firmly in as the duke goes to the armoire on the side of the room and pulls out a birch from a bucket within.
Later I will realize that he was expecting me to need such a punishment, otherwise the birch would not have been ready and waiting.
The gathered flexible branches are damp, and I can feel the cool wetness against my hot skin as he lays them against my bottom, almost like an apology for what is to come.