Papa's Desires

by Sue Lyndon

  “I ain’t no thief, my lord.” Liza shot a scowl at Reynolds and jutted her chin up. “I found the watch this morning when I was cleaning beneath the couch in the drawing room. I went looking for you to return it, but you were out.”

  “You could have left it with me,” the butler chimed in.

  “Pfft.” Liza rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows there is a reward for this watch. I meant to turn it in myself to make sure all the money came to me.”

  Reynolds looked askance at the implication of her words, but said nothing.

  Papa was thoughtful for a moment, then glanced down at Cynny before returning his attention to Liza. “Beneath the couch in the drawing room, you say?”

  “Yes, my lord. I saw the sun glint off of it. It was far back, but I was able to crawl underneath the couch and get it.”

  “That seems to be a popular past time here at Grayson House.” Papa gave Cynny another pointed look.

  “When I found it, I knew it was your missing watch and I went looking for you, my lord, as I knew you would be happy for its return.”

  “A likely story, my lord. She has this afternoon off. No doubt she had the watch with her so she could sell it. With all due respect to your generous reward, my lord, but the watch is worth more than that to a jeweler or moneylender.” Reynolds had assumed the role of prosecutor, judge and jury. “Besides,” the butler added, “you almost never use the drawing room, so if she claims to have found it there, how did it get into the room in the first place? It is not as though someone would be foolish enough to steal it and then hide it there.”

  Cynny cringed. She had been that foolish. It was not until after she had stashed the watch in the drawing room that she realized it was seldom used. No wonder no one had found the watch.

  “You make a good point, Reynolds. Until my marriage, I rarely entered the drawing room and the watch was missing before Lady Grayson and I wed.” Papa looked at Liza expectantly.

  “No,” Liza stomped her foot in frustration. “I found it this morning, just as I said. I would never steal from you, Lord Grayson. Everyone knows you are the finest employer in the neighborhood. And the most just.”

  “That is all well and good to say.” Papa tucked the watch into the pocket of his coat designated for a timepiece. A pocket meant to keep it safe from thieves. “But I am having a bit of trouble believing your story. The coincidence of you having the watch when you are about to have time off is certainly suspicious.”

  Liza’s face fell and panic rose in Cynny. She had kept silent, hoping that Papa would believe Liza’s story, especially since it was the truth, and all would be well—except for the punishment awaiting her. Maybe the return of the watch would soften Papa’s determination, she thought hopefully.

  “Sir, I beg of you. You must believe me. Please. I cannot lose this job. My family depends upon it. And without a reference, I will never find another.” There was panic in Liza’s eyes and Cynny felt the pain of it in her heart.

  “Another job?” Reynolds said. “You will be at hard labor, not dusting the drawing room.”

  Cynny gasped and the color drained from Liza’s face. “No,” the maid said in disbelief.

  “Reynolds has been in my employ for many years,” Papa said. “I have no reason to doubt his words.”

  Liza turned her gaze to Cynny. “Lady Grayson, surely you believe me.”

  Cynny opened her mouth to reply but her mind went blank.

  “Please do not play upon my wife’s sympathies, Liza,” Papa said in a firm tone. “That is the sort of thing a guilty person would do. I have decided. I believe you did steal the watch. Reynolds, please send for the constable and take Liza downstairs to await his arrival. I have urgent business to resolve with my wife and cannot be disturbed. Please inform the constable that I will make a written statement and have it delivered tomorrow for use in Liza’s prosecution.”

  With a satisfied smile, Reynolds took Liza’s arm and dragged her down the hall, the maid’s pleas of innocence echoing off the walls.

  Cynny watched the two servants, her mouth hanging open and pure dread spinning through her. What had she done? She could not allow an innocent person to take the blame for her horrible deed. It would likely lead to the end of her marriage and the thought crushed her, but how could she live with herself knowing she had ruined an innocent life? And not just Liza, but her family.

  Any argument in support of the pocket watch randomly going missing in the drawing room would be pointless since Papa said he rarely went in there. How was Cynny to know that before she hid the watch? Based on that, Papa had reached the only logical, though incorrect, conclusion. It was all too horrible.

  But, if she said nothing, Papa would never know. She could take her punishment for the letter and for leaving the naughty chair, all would be forgiven and she and Papa would live happily ever after.

  She knew Papa’s limits. He could tolerate her naughty behavior, but he hated thieves. He would hate her.

  Resolved to keep quiet, she lifted her foot to go with Papa, but her body would not move. She shook all over.

  “Cynny,” Papa said, “whatever is the matter with you?”

  “Papa,” she said, her voice cracking, “it was me. I-I stole your watch, not Liza. It was supposed to be a wedding present for Lord Kensington, but then I did not marry him and…” her voice trailed off, misery overwhelmed her.

  Chapter 15

  A thief. His beautiful wife was a thief. The irony of it was, she had told him that on their first meeting in the garden at Talcott House. She had been a pickpocket and thief, part of a vicious gang called The Weasels, she had said.

  And he had laughed.

  No one was laughing now.

  Hyacinth had confessed all. Liza had been restored to her status as a respectable downstairs maid, given her reward for finding the watch and an additional morning off for her troubles.

  If only the issue of his wife’s numerous transgressions could be resolved with so little trouble to himself.

  With a sigh he surveyed the situation in his bedchamber. His sticky fingered wife lay upon the bed, naked. The plaits he had made in her hair that morning—which now seemed like an eternity ago— had nearly all come asunder and hung in hanks around her shoulders. Her sobs of remorse had ended, though she still reeked of despair and self-loathing. He did not enjoy it, but could not deny it was appropriate.

  He had allowed her to wear herself out with crying. For one, he needed the respite in order to determine an appropriate punishment. For another, he needed to get his emotions under control. The girl had a good, hard strapping coming and he dared not allow his anger and disappointment to get the better of him.

  Resolved, he finished his drink and set the empty glass next to the decanter and commenced rolling up his sleeves. Moving to the bed, he gathered several pillows, making a mound in the center of the mattress. He picked up his little wife, and arranged her atop the pillows, her bottom high and in position for punishment. She gazed up at him, her large blue eyes filled with anxiety that pinched his heart. His hand caressed her cheek and she moved her mouth to press a kiss to his palm. “Please forgive me, Papa,” she whispered.

  What shocked him most was that he had already forgiven her. He realized that he could and would forgive her of anything, including the long list of infractions she had tallied up that day. No, he would not allow her to run roughshod over his rules or expectations, but feeling anything other than love and utter delight in her was impossible.

  The bigger obstacle was for her to forgive herself. By the time he finished with her, she would know she had paid her penance.

  He gave her cheek one final caress, then retrieved the strap and got into position. He stroked his hand across the flesh of her backside and it quivered beneath his fingers.

  “I am going to use the strap on you, Hyacinth. It is reserved for the most serious punishments and I believe it is fitting today.”

  “Y-yes, Papa,” she said and he could tell she wor
ked hard to sound brave.

  “I am going to give you ten strokes with the strap. No warm up. It is going to be hard and fast. Do not move or try to avoid it, as it could cause harm and I will be forced to start the count over. Do you understand?”

  Cynny wrapped her arms more tightly around the pillows and dug her knees into the mattress. “I understand, Papa.”

  He raised the strap and landed the first blow to her left cheek. She yelped, but held her position. Immediately a red mark showed bright on her bottom.

  Nine more to go.

  Cynny was afraid of the strap, no doubt about it. But she would endure anything her papa meted out. She deserved it. He had not ordered her from his home as she had expected, and for that she was immensely grateful. Not that he could not punish her and then send her away.

  Where would she go? The only people she knew in the whole wide world were Cammie and the people at Talcott House. She blocked the thoughts of her dismal prospects from her mind. She needed her wits about her in order to withstand the rest of her punishment.

  Her heart thudded against the pillows and she gripped her wrists, tightly holding the pillows in place and giving her something to do with her hands lest she be tempted to block Papa’s efforts to punish her with the strap.

  She closed her eyes as tight as she could and buried her face against the softness of the pillows.

  The strap landed on her right cheek with stinging heat and she yelped into the pillows, but held her position.

  “There is no need to stifle yourself, Cynny,” Papa said. “No doubt the entire household is aware of your transgressions and punishment.”

  As if her shame was not sufficiently profound already. How would she be able to look any of the staff in the eye, especially Liza?

  She gave herself a mental shake. That embarrassment would be a small price if only she could remain Papa’s girl.

  True to his word, Papa laid on the strap fast and hard. Her shoulders ached from holding herself tight in her position, but she followed Papa’s instructions and stayed in place. Each blow a reminder of her unspeakable behavior and shame.

  Her bottom burned. Her heart ached.

  Although Papa had announced her punishment as ten strokes with the strap, he had not indicated that would be the entirety of it. Her arms and legs quivered and she wondered at her ability to endure much more beyond the strapping.

  Screwing up her courage, however, she resolved not to complain or beg for mercy.

  With her face plastered against the pillows she sent up yet another plea to the heavens. I will endure anything as long as Papa forgives me and lets me stay with him. Oh, please, please, please. I promise this will be the very last thing I ever ask for. Please do not let Papa send me away. I could never bear it.

  Two especially hard strokes landed and her moans of pain echoed in the room. I can do it, she repeated over and over. I must.

  Finally, Papa tossed the strap upon the bed and it landed with a thud next to her. However, he had not given her permission to move, so she remained huddled over the pillows. Waiting.

  She heard Papa moving about the room and finally opened her eyes, blinking against the late afternoon sun streaming in the windows. Desperate to see Papa and try to determine his mood, she forced herself not to swivel her head around looking for him. Her happiness was on the thinnest of thin ice and she dared not do anything which might jeopardize whatever miniscule chances she had.

  Heavy footsteps neared the bed and she held her breath. When a cool ointment spread over the flames of her bottom, she startled but then relaxed into Papa’s touch. It relieved her of much of the pain in her backside, but more importantly it relieved the pain in her heart. Papa reached up and unwound her from the pillows, laying her flat on the bed. His gentle hands massaged the knots from her arms and shoulders where she had held tight for the long moments of her strapping.

  Papa had barely spoken since she finished confessing all about herself, but his soothing touch spoke volumes, or so she hoped. Tension eased from her aching body.

  “I swear,” she whispered quietly, needing to offer her apologies one last time, “that I am truly sorry. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently.”

  “You are forgiven, little girl,” he said, caressing her shoulders. Finally, Papa removed the ribbons from the last remaining bits of her braids and worked his fingers through her hair, then drew her onto his lap where she buried her face in his chest. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Papa loves you, Cynny.”

  His words were a balm to her soul, and she regained her composure just long enough to ask, “You-you truly don’t wish to get rid of me, Papa?” She waited for his confirmation, holding her breath as dreadful anticipation curled in her tummy. He’d said he loved her and she believed him, and his forgiveness meant the world, but she had to know for certain that he still wished to keep her—still wished to have her as his wife, his little girl. She had never committed such a serious transgression in her whole life, and she felt uncertain about what came next. How would they move on from this unpleasantness?

  He moved to cup her face in his hands, drawing his thumbs over her fresh fallen tears. His handsome features were etched with concern, his eyes dark and troubled. “Cynny, I would never get rid of you. My God, the very thought of losing you breaks my heart. You’re my little girl and I’m your papa. Do you not believe me when I tell you how much I love you?” His voice was hoarse with emotion and underlying possessiveness.

  “Oh, Papa.” She ran her hands through his hair, needing to touch him. He stared down at her, holding her secure in his lap. Her throat burned and her eyes swelled with more tears. Not only did he still love her, but he’d forgiven her and he still wished to keep her. A feeling of immense gratitude and relief swept down upon her, and slowly, the sorrow constricting her heart began to ease. As she stared at Papa and he continued holding her tight, his expression one of tender concern, her breaths no longer felt heavy and weighed down by anguish. “Thank you for still loving me, Papa. I-I love you so much my heart aches with the thought of it sometimes. I could not imagine losing you either.”

  A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the warmth of his mouth on her flesh soothed her further. She relaxed in his embrace and ran her hands down his chest. He had removed his jacket, loosened his neckcloth, and rolled up his sleeves before he’d meted out her strapping, and the hint of the dark hair on his muscular chest drew her attention. Papa was big and strong, so very powerful and masculine. She never felt more protected than when she was in his arms.

  She shifted on his lap and detected the hardness of his cock swelling beneath her bottom, the only thing separating her from his shaft was his trousers. She sucked in a shaky breath and peered at him, suddenly wanting nothing more in the world than for her papa to take her to bed and make love to her. But she dared not ask such a thing. Not when she’d just been so naughty. She wasn’t about to make any sort of demands on him, but she secretly hoped he might decide to claim her. Not because she wished for the pleasure she might receive, but because she fervently craved the emotional connection that came with making love with her papa.

  “Cynny, my love?” His eyes flashed with a primal need that left her hopeful.

  “Yes, Papa?” Her heart beat faster and her kitty clenched in anticipation.

  He placed one hand between her thighs and stroked her gathering wetness. “I’m going to claim you now,” he said with a growl, “and I don’t think I will manage to be very gentle.”

  She whimpered and jerked her center against him, tears springing to her eyes from the promise of his closeness. Though they’d both professed their love for one another and he’d made it clear that nothing would ever tear them apart, she didn’t quite feel as if the rift between them had closed entirely. But she imagined surrendering to her papa’s skillful love making, even if he was in one of his rough moods, would lead to their hearts once again beating in the s
ame rhythm, as if their souls were entwined as one.

  She exhaled slowly and met his gaze. “I don’t want you to be gentle, Papa.” A spasm of heat assailed her core and she squirmed enticingly on his lap, ignoring the slight burn on her bottom as she moved about. The cooling ointment he’d applied to her punished backside had worked wonders, but if she moved too vigorously it burned, reminding her of the shameful strapping that she’d just endured.

  He grasped her hair and gave her locks a firm tug, forcing her head back as he placed kisses on her throat, then he dragged his teeth along her flesh, eliciting goosebumps all over her body. He lifted her to her feet and guided her to the foot of the bed, where he promptly pushed her onto her stomach and forced her legs apart. He then placed a pillow beneath her stomach, causing her bottom to lift higher and her thighs to spread even wider. Her feet no longer touched the floor, and she felt at his complete mercy, and a naughty thrill coursed through her as she awaited the first hard thrust of his cock into her cunny.

  She heard the familiar sounds of him undressing, followed by the opening of the salve he used on her bottom hole. Her behind clenched in delicious anticipation. Papa was going to put something into her hiney hole, and she shuddered as she waited to discover whether it would be a plug or his big cock. Her mouth went dry and she concentrated on breathing in and out, and she felt a trickle of moisture run down her thigh.

  “Papa’s going to insert the largest butt plug into your bottom, little girl.” He paused, and the room echoed in dramatic silence. “And then I’m going to pound into your quim with my cock.”

  She gasped, but she didn’t dare argue, though nervousness suddenly bounded within her because he’d never claimed both her holes at once before. But she trusted her papa and knew he would never hurt her, and the aching in her privates deepened and a heated tingled swept throughout her entire body. She couldn't deny it. She wanted it—wanted papa to fill both of her holes at the same time.

  Though he usually required her to draw her own bottom cheeks wide before he inserted a butt plug, he splayed her behind apart on his own and worked the lubrication into her private hole, delving two fingers into her tightness until her snug channel was adequately coated with the salve. Before she managed her next breath, the cool tip of the largest plug was pressed to her hole, and Papa slowly worked it into her passage. Once the object was fully seated in her, he released her bottom and stepped back, taking position with his hard cock pressing at the throbbing entrance of her cunny.