The Harlot Bride

by Alice Liddell

  “I see. I trust that pretty little speech indicates that His Lordship will not require his ‘wedded wife’ to share his chambers!”

  “Certainly not,” the earl interjected.

  “Good!” Lucy cried, throwing down her napkin, angry tears welling up in her eyes so that it became difficult for her to see. “For I would find it repugnant in the extreme to be in any sort of nearness to such a disgusting man!”

  “Disgusting, am I?” Lord Tazewell said, moving swiftly around the table. “I think it’s high time I attended to that tongue of yours.” With one hand, he took hold of her left arm just above the wrist and with the other, cupped her chin and pulled it so she was forced to look him in the eyes.

  “You shall learn, young woman, to address me with proper respect and deference, and you will learn to do so at all times, regardless of your emotional state,” he stated, taking a hold of her left arm just above the wrist. “We may as well begin that lesson right now.”

  “You’re hurting me!” Lucy cried, twisting her face away and trying to free her arm. “Unhand me at once!”

  “No, I don’t think I shall. Not yet,” Lord Tazewell said, snaking his left arm behind her back so he had a firm hold on her waist. She fought him, misunderstanding the purpose of his embrace, but he easily drew her close, pinning her arms between their bodies so he might release her wrist long enough to free his hand to draw her chair clear of the table. That done, he sat himself in it, noting with wry amusement that it was still warm from her bum, and deftly upturned the struggling minx face–down across his knees.

  “Let me up!” Lucy shrieked, trying desperately to right herself.

  “No, I don’t think I shall do that, either,” he said, raising his voice slightly so she might hear him above the disturbance she was raising, and shifted her entire body forward so her boots could no longer reach the ground or provide her with any leverage at all in her ongoing struggle against him.

  “You, young woman, have been asking for a good spanking all morning, and now you shall it have it!”

  He pressed his left palm into the small of her back to hold her down, and used his right to deliver a hard smack upon her wiggling, upturned bum.

  “How dare you!” she shrieked, kicking her legs and squirming left and right, trying to get free of his hold.

  “How dare I? You deny that you deserve this?” He delivered another hard smack to the seat of her skirts.

  “Stop it! Let me up!”

  “Oh, no. I’m not going to let you up,” he declared. “Not until I’ve given you a good spanking.” And he slapped her bottom harder, five times in rapid succession, knowing that any one of those five slaps was sufficient to raise the temperature of a naughty girl’s bottom, even with the protection provided by her skirts and petticoats.

  “Ow, ow!” Lucy cried, now furious. But she was also feeling the pain, and finding it increasingly difficult to speak with clarity or conviction.

  Lord Tazewell had ascertained that Lucy was wearing a corset as soon as he laid hold of her waist, and, being well acquainted with the intricacies of female garments, knew he would not get to bare flesh without a great deal of unbuttoning and unlacing, a task that had its attractions, but he was in a hurry to get out for morning rounds. The ungirdling could wait for another day. A bared bottom was always best, but he had plenty of other ways to make a young woman feel the full humiliation of being spanked.

  “How does it feel to find yourself turned across a man’s lap, Miss Lucy?” he began. He was slapping Lucy’s bottom regularly now, alternating left cheek and right, and the girl’s growing desperation was apparent.

  “Let me up! Stop it this minute!”

  “Why should I stop?” he retorted, never letting up. “I’ve finally got you into position to give you what you deserve, you saucy mouthed girl. This is what you have needing for a very long time, apparently.”

  “Ow! Stop! Please, stop!”

  “Oh, ‘please,’ is it now? Good, then this spanking is beginning to its desired effect. You will keep a civil tongue when you speak to me, Lucy. I’ll not take orders from you or any other woman. Is that clear?”

  “Ow! Stop!”

  “I said, ‘Is that clear?’”

  “Yes! Ow!”

  “Good. Then I shall reinforce that lesson with another dose of what you have just received, and this time on the underside of all those skirts” he said, provoking a fresh round of frantic resistance.

  “No, no! You mustn’t! You mustn’t!”

  “Why mustn’t I? I’ve made you mine, haven’t I?” Lord Tazewell retorted, reaching for the hem of her skirts. “You belong to me, Miss Lucy Farquhar, and I have every right to turn up your skirts whenever I like, and for whatever purpose I fancy!”

  Despite a great deal of desperate wiggling and kicking, Lord Tazewell soon had Lucy’s skirts and petticoats turned up clear over her back, giving him a delightful view of white cotton drawers stretched tightly across her round, upended bottom. It was even possible to make out the little crevice that ran between those luscious mounds, and he moved quickly to resume his slapping and spanking of all that delicious jiggly female flesh laid across his lap.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Lucy cried out, in an entirely different timbre, the moment she felt the first fall of his broad palm upon the seat of her thin, cotton drawers. Lord Tazewell understood at once, from the sound of that cry, that he had now had his naughty miss in tears. Well and good, he thought with satisfaction. It would not be the last time.

  “Feeling that, are you?” he asked rhetorically, continuing her thrashing even as his eyes traveled down the length of her churning thighs to admire her shapely calves and the delicate white lace that edged her underthings. Her shape was exactly as he had envisioned it the first time he laid eyes on her, and it pleased him greatly to see it more clearly. And all the sweeter it is, and all the more fitting, he thought, that he was spying her lower form for the first time like this, upended across his knees, and writhing in the discomfort and embarrassment of a good sound spanking. He vowed to continue matters in this way, taking his time getting to the inevitable and complete unveiling of her person, and to accompany each stage with a good dose of distress and subjugation.

  “How to you like having a man look at you as he spanks you?” he pressed her.

  At this point, poor Lucy could only sob in answer, her kicks considerably less forceful than before, and now clearly under the power of the blazing pain across her backside rather than her selfish and indignant outrage of before. Lord Tazewell continued to chastise her bottom, with less speed than before, but with no less force. Each well placed blow drove her slender frame down and forward across his knees, each slap contributing to a rosy red glow now apparent even though the cloth of her drawers.

  “Have you had enough? Have I made my point, Lucy?’

  “Yes, yes,” she sobbed. “Please, no more.”

  “Very well, since you asked politely,” he said, finally staying his spanking hand. But he left his other arm fast in place across the small of her back, so Lucy could neither rise nor slide off his lap to the floor. Lord Tazewell was a firm believer in the efficacy of sermons delivered while a well–spanked miscreant was still placed for discipline, and as he spoke, he cupped his right hand proprietarily around one plump, round bun, moving it lightly fore and aft, left and right, to plumb the line of her curves. Even through her drawers, he could feel the heat left by the spanking he had given her.

  “Let us review today’s lesson, Lucy. I expect you to speak to me with due respect and deference, and I expect you do this at all times. Is that clear?”

  When Lucy didn’t answer, he reached under her with his left hand and turned her chin towards his knee, then bent over her so that their faces were close.

  “Look at me, girl,” he commanded.

  Lucy did so, with considerable embarrassment, considering her humiliating position and her keen awareness of his right hand, which had not halted its happy wandering acro
ss her bottom, and had indeed grown bolder, exploring now that luscious curve in a woman’s bottom that drops down to the insides of her thighs.

  “Do you understand?” Lord Tazewell repeated to the well punished girl, unperturbed by the fact that she had clamped her legs tightly together against his hand.

  Reluctantly, Lucy nodded, or in any case moved her head as best she could, given that he held her by the chin and had unnerved her with his roving hand.

  “Good. Then say it aloud.”

  “I…I..understand,” she stammered, “th..th..that I must speak to you more politely.”

  “Good. And do you also understand that the next time it happens that you are rude to me, and I’m sure it will, in fact, happen again, that I will spank you again. Only the next time I have to spank you, Miss Lucy, you will take your discipline on the bare.”

  Lucy’s face, still captive in the palm of his hand, went very red. The very thought made her think she would die.

  ‘Say it, girl,” he commanded

  “I…I understand that….no, no, I cannot!” she protested, trying in vain to twist her face free.

  “Are you certain you cannot? Shall I spank you some more to loosen your tongue?”

  Lucy’s eyes went wide.

  “I’m perfectly prepared to do so, you know,” he assured her, his hand sliding up along her hip to the small of her back, where he patted her softly, although the warning was clear. “It’s far better if you learn now that I always mean what I say.”

  “No, please!” It was little more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Then say it!”

  “I….I understand that you will spank me again if I am rude.”

  “‘On the bare bottom,’ I said.”

  “Y–yes, on the b–b–bare b–b–bottom.”

  “Good, that’s better,” Lord Tazewell said in a gentler tone, his hand set to moving again. “And to that purpose, I am taking away your corset. You have a lovely figure and no need of such artifice. More to the point, a corset gets in my way when I want to spank you.”

  “But..but it’s not proper!” Lucy protested, albeit weakly, half her attention on the admittedly pleasant sensations the movement of his hand on her bottom had created, even if they were mixed with a painful throbbing that persisted.

  “I’ll decide what’s proper for you and what’s not,” he retorted. And turning her face so her eyes were forced to meet his, he added, “You have not, to date, Miss Lucy Farquhar, demonstrated yourself to be a good judge of what’s proper. I intend, with time, to correct that deficiency. In the meantime, I will make all decisions concerning your attire, and you may be certain that corsets will not be a part of it.”

  He carefully pulled Lucy up so she was seated in his lap, where he stroked her face.

  “Is that understood?”

  Lucy nodded, then, unnerved by the unexpected and genuine tenderness in his eyes, burst into tears.

  “Good. Now I wish to go riding. Go to your room and change, and be quick about it. ”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open.

  “Ride! Why, I can’t possibly sit after..after…”

  Lord Tazewell’s stern demeanor returned in a flash.

  “Are you truly so foolish as to argue with me immediately after I’ve spanked you? Go on with you, and quickly. I do not like to be kept waiting, and make no mistake, my girl: I will take my riding whip to you if you provoke me again. Change, and leave the corset off where Mrs. Deegers may collect it and burn it!”

  Lucy hesitated for only a second, searching his eyes until her courage faltered, then slipped from his lap and fled the room as fast as a sore bottom would allow.

  ** ** **

  Painful as it was to sit atop a moving horse, Lucy found it thrilling to be riding again after so long, and through such beautiful countryside. Lord Tazewell was an excellent horseman, and he kept a fast pace, which suited Lucy very well except for the bouncing against her bottom. She wasn’t afraid of speed, and the last thing she wanted was a leisurely trot that would allow her time to dwell on the fact that she’d just had her bottom spanked.

  Even so, it was difficult to keep her mind away from the painful memory of what had just transpired in the breakfast room. And each time she considered the humiliation she had endured, and the fact that the entire staff of that great house had surely heard every smack, her face would heat up in shame, despite the cool of the wind against them.

  But soon enough, Lucy experienced the welcome relief of distraction, her attention diverted from the twin stings (to backside and pride) by the sheer beauty of the countryside through which they were traveling. She had seen little in the way of nature since she left India, and each rise through these verdant rolling hills brought new surprises and delights. Chiltenham was lovely, and not at all the dismal moors and bogs she had imagined.

  When they finally halted atop a hill in front of a particularly arresting vista, Lucy set aside her wounded pride long enough to venture a question, the first time she spoken since he had let her up from his knees.

  “Are we still on your estate? Is this all really yours?

  “This, and much more,” he replied. “I own nearly 80,000 acres, and we’d have to ride a great deal longer than this to reach the closest neighboring estate.”

  It was all a bit too much to take in, particularly for a young woman in a state of emotional disquiet, and Lucy fidgeted uncomfortably atop the saddle even as she gazed in amazement at the leagues of land stretching out before them. When you’ve just been well spanked, galloping across the countryside, however beautiful, has little to recommend itself.

  Lord Tazewell had noticed her squirming, and with some satisfaction, but he spared her any comments. It was punishment enough to have to ride with a tender bottom, and she had, in fact, allowed the stable man to help her onto her horse without any complaint about the saddle, despite her earlier protests against being told to ride like a lady.

  Lucy winced when her horse started up again, following the lead of Lord Tazewell’s mount. They headed down the hill towards the valley, which yielded yet another surprise for Lucy, the second revelation in the space of a short morning about the man into whose custody she had been taken.

  A cottage came into view, and while Lucy may not have been in England long, she had seen enough to understand, at a glance, that the cottagers on Lord Tazewell’s estate had a better living than most. The cottage was modest, it’s true, with two or perhaps three rooms at most, but the thatch on the roof was fresh, the fence was in good repair and the little children who played in the doorway looked clean and healthy. As the two riders turned into a path along the side of the cottage, Lucy could see three or four hogs in a pen, which meant the family had bacon and sausage to carry them through the winter months, and a fair garden planted with beans and cabbages.

  There was a woman in the garden, weeding, and when she heard the horses she straightened up from her labors and gave a friendly greeting, not at all the sort of sullen reception one hears is the best a landlord can expect when he rides near his tenants. The woman’s eyes flickered over to Lucy, her curiosity apparent, but much to Lucy’s relief, Lord Tazewell wished the woman a good day, and after a quick inquiry about the children, continued them on their way.

  “I ride every morning for at least an hour, but often two or more, to make sure all is well,” he explained when they were beyond the cottage, although she hadn’t asked a question. “If I ride to the east one day, to check on the tenants in this valley and the next, then I will ride in another direction the next day, to check the fields and buildings that lie there. Thus, in the space of a fortnight, I have been to every corner of my estate and know exactly what’s going on.

  He motioned to her to be careful of a branch that overhung the wooded trail.

  “The younger child in that cottage, the little boy you just saw, was sick a month or two back. I had a word with the father, and sent the apothecary round with a poultice for his chest, and as you have seen, he’s back
to health. These morning rides are my way of attending to small problems before they can grow.”

  He pulled up his horse and hers stopped as well, although she hadn’t tugged its reins. Although the trail had narrowed, Lord Tazewell expertly turned his horse so he was facing her.

  “I wish you with me on these rides for the pleasure of company, but I also want you to be my eyes. If you notice something that seems not right, anything at all, I wish you to tell me at once.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy nodded. She was loathe to release even a drop of her smoldering anger against the man, considering the humiliations he had visited upon her this morning, of course, but also before. But it pleased her that he had asked something of her, even if it had been phrased more as an order than a request.

  Miss Lucy Farquhar had never been one to yield easily, but she would give him this much.

  She would have taken it back in an instant, if she had known what he was thinking, which was, of course, that the trip across his knees this morning had obviously done a world of good for her attitude. And that he’d best have her back across them again soon, so he could set those shapely legs akicking again to the tune of a sound spanking. But the next time, he’d have that bottom properly bared.

  Chapter 5

  Those first days at Gorham Hall passed with painful slowness for Lucy, who had grown up in more lively circumstances, never at a loss for company and amusements. She was called to breakfast very early each morning, and immediately afterwards, rode with Lord Tazewell for an hour or two as he made his rounds of the estate. This proved to be by far the most pleasant part of her day, because the countryside was beautiful and her companion an able horseman.

  But except for those precious hours, Lucy was left largely to herself, ignored by the staff as well as the man who had brought her here. She had been instructed that when alone she must not venture farther than the garden, and that she may not, under any circumstances, enter Lord Tazewell’s private wing. However, Lucy was allowed free access to the solarium and library at the back of the house, and it was in these rooms that she tried to pass her solitary days and evenings, always loathe to return to her cold, austere cell any sooner than absolutely necessary.