A Little Wager

by Lucy Wild

  Miss Bullock was frowning as she crossed the room, peering down at little Beth’s legs. “What on earth is that under your frock?”

  “It…it’s a nappy, Miss Bullock.”

  “Good heavens me, I thought I’d seen some strange things in my teaching career but that? How old are you?”

  “Nineteen, Miss Bullock.”

  “And yet you do not have control of your bladder yet?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why on earth have you got that thing on?”

  “Because Sir Doyle told me to.”

  “You little liar. Tell the truth, why are you wearing a nappy?”

  “I am telling the truth. Sir Doyle told me to wear it.”

  “Well, I suppose we shall see what Sir Doyle has to say about it when he gets back, won’t we? Now, walk over there, turn round and walk back.”

  Little Beth did as she asked, having the strangest feeling she was under the most intense scrutiny. Though it seemed to her that she was walking normally, according to her new tutor, everything about it was wrong. Her feet were in the wrong position, her shoulders were hunched, her gait was too wide, then too narrow.

  She paced up and down the room again and again, Miss Bullock making corrections each time. Over the course of an hour, she walked up and down so often, she was surprised she hadn’t worn holes in the rug underneath her.

  “It’ll do for now,” Miss Bullock said at last. “Sit down and we’ll discuss etiquette at the dinner table.”

  Little Beth sat but the moment she was still, her bladder seemed to come to life, warning her that there were consequences to not relieving herself before leaving her nursery. She shuffled slightly in the seat, a sharp pain hitting her where the nappy had been tied across her hips.

  “Sit still,” Miss Bullock snapped. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

  “Please, Miss Bullock. May I be excused for a moment?”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I need to, I need the, I need to be excused.” Another pang of pain hit her and she began jiggling her feet up and down, rocking in her seat to try to reduce her discomfort.

  “Sit still, girl. Now let’s look at cutlery. Which side should the soup spoon go?”

  “Please, Miss Bullock. I need to be excused.”

  “You must learn self-control if you are to fit into the lifestyle of Sir Doyle. There are times when you will be in a carriage for the entirety of the day. What do you think he would say if you asked to be excused all the time?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Bullock.”

  “He would be furious with you, wouldn’t he?”

  Little Beth couldn’t wait any longer. She got to her feet, turning to head for the door. “I’m sorry, I can’t wait.”

  “You will get back here this instant by the devil or it’ll be the worse for you. I was told you were a good pupil. Late, talking back, and now this. Stop right there!”

  Despite her pain, little Beth stopped, unable to ignore the commanding tone of her tutor.

  “Come over here.”

  With scraping feet, little Beth crossed the room, stopping before Miss Bullock. She couldn’t keep still though; her discomfort was too great.

  Miss Bullock grabbed her out of nowhere, twisting her and shoving her over the desk, grabbing her frock and yanking it upwards.

  As her midriff was pressed against the desk, she let out a groan, knowing she would not be able to last much longer. “Please,” she managed to mutter but then it was too late.

  Just as Miss Bullock took hold of her nappy, she began to relieve herself. The shame she felt as it leaked from her was only increased by the disgusted muttering of her tutor, cursing her in vain to stop, trying to hold the untied nappy in place to prevent it all splashing onto the floor.

  Little Beth could do nothing but wait for it to stop, her eyes closing as she wished this were a bad dream, one that she might awaken from if only she tried hard enough. She was still wishing when the last of it fell from her and Miss Bullock tossed the nappy into the bin beside the desk.

  “You told me you could control yourself but I see you are more of a child than I realised.” Miss Bullock leaned down towards her, lowering her voice to an angry snarl. “Well, I have a method to ensure you learn how to control your bladder. It’s called my hand.”

  Little Beth braced herself as a smack landed on her buttocks a second later. The sting had barely faded before another landed, making her cry out in pain at the force of it.

  Miss Bullock was different to Sir Doyle. Where he had spanked her with a large and muscular hand, Miss Bullock’s was bonier, sharper to the touch, covering a smaller area but moving faster, whacking down on every inch of her exposed rear from the top of her buttocks down to her thighs and everywhere in between. She even landed a couple of blows directly on little Beth’s core, making her shriek all the louder as she squirmed in place, begging her to stop.

  She did stop eventually, but only when she was utterly exhausted, fighting for breath as she pointed at the corner of the room. “Go and stand there and face the wall. You will hold your dress around your waist so I can see when that redness fades. The moment it has gone, I will do the same as I have just done. Perhaps then you will remember to control your body and act like an adult, not an infant.”

  The rest of the lessons were an interminable dullness interrupted by agonising spankings that Little Beth would have done anything to stop. She tried pleading with her tutor, she tried escaping her, she tried putting her hands over her bottom, nothing stopped the woman from smacking her until she could feel nothing but heat and pain coming from her rear.

  They did not stop for lunch, continuing with etiquette and decorum for hours before moving onto deportment, little Beth again walking back and forth across the room, her every move wrong.

  It was six o’clock before she was finally allowed to leave. She almost ran from the teaching room, holding in her sobs until she reached the nursery. Only once the door was closed did she sink to the floor, her posterior in agony, tears rolling down her cheeks. She thought about running away; she could not bear the thought of another lesson with that ogre. But then she thought about Sir Doyle. She could not leave him, no matter how cruel his tutor.

  Perhaps he didn’t know what she was like. Yes, that was likely to be the case. He had hired a tutor without realising the calibre of person he had chosen. She would tell him once he returned and then Miss Bullock would be shown the door.

  But Sir Doyle didn’t come back at all that evening. Little Beth was given her milk in the nursery. She sat on the rocking chair, sucking at the bottle and wishing her master was home. Her heart ached for him so much. She hadn’t realised just how much she had come to depend on him in such a short space of time but being without him like this told her she needed him more than she needed anything else. She needed him to make everything all right, that was his job, wasn’t it? To look after her? To protect her?

  She spent the evening playing with her dolls, lining them up to admonish the tutor doll she had chosen. “You spanked her so hard, see how you like it,” the tall Charles doll said, bending the tutor doll over and landing several blows on its rear. “See, it’s not nice, is it?”

  When she tired of playing, and tired of crossing to the window to look out for Sir Doyle’s carriage, she climbed into the cot, tucking herself in as best she could, her heart aching for him. She kept listening for the sound of horses but none came. Eventually, she closed her eyes, wishing she could lie on her back but unable to due to the pain in her buttocks. Curling up on her side, she drifted slowly off, wanting nothing more than for Sir Doyle to come and kiss her goodnight, to tell her everything was going to be all right, that the two of them were going to be together forever and nothing would ever get in their way.

  Chapter 24

  Charles sat in his study awaiting the arrival of little Beth. It would hopefully brighten his mood. He had spent most of the previous day in the bank, only leaving to visit his so
licitor before returning, more papers prepared for him to sift through. By the time he returned home, a conclusion, of sorts, had been reached. If the betting slip was signed by both parties, which it was, and if the conditions for winning the bet were not met in full, then he would indeed lose his estate. Not just that, but there was no way any assets could legally be separated from inclusion. He would quite literally be left with nothing but the shirt on his back.

  He had come back late, his head throbbing from the sheer amount of work that had been done to try to pick apart his affairs, all to no avail. If he didn’t do as Glossop demanded, he would lose it all. What was worse, he had not pinned the man down on the winning conditions. He still didn’t know exactly what would count as a victory. How could he prove that he had taught little Beth to submit?

  It was a question that troubled him long after he had climbed into bed, sleep eluding him for some time as he went over and over the possibilities in his head. She was submitting, there was no doubt about that, but would it be enough? If he refused to sign over the estate, a legal battle of epic proportions would no doubt ensue, one that would siphon away his assets year by year until they were all gone into the pockets of the law firms instead of Glossop, not a fate he relished. When he could bear it no longer, he sent for James, giving him a message to be taken post haste to the house of Glossop.

  Eventually he slept, waking in time for James to bring him breakfast in bed. “Bring little Beth to my study in half an hour,” he said as he began to dress.

  When she appeared, she looked as beautiful as ever and there was something different about her, the way she walked into the study, the way she stood before the desk, waiting for his permission to sit down. He realised what it was after she sat. “The lessons have done you good,” he said, leaning back in his own chair. “You walked in here like an old fashioned debutante, did you realise that?”

  Little Beth shook her head. “No, Sir.”

  “You are sitting up straight, your posture is better. I am proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “As such I believe a reward is in order.”

  “Merely being in your company is reward enough, Sir.”

  “Nonetheless, we are going to go out for dinner this evening at a restaurant I hope you will enjoy. I wish to test your etiquette skills in public.”

  “A wonderful reward, thank you, Sir.”

  “That is not the reward. The reward will come once we are home. Do you recall what I told you when you first arrived here?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “I told you that I had no interest in you of a nature beyond that of a parent. I must confess that is no longer the case.”

  “I am not sure I understand.”

  “You will do as long as you do well tonight. You are to wear an outfit a little better suited to polite society, sad as I shall be to see you out of your little frock. In your room you will find a choice of outfits. You are to choose one and if you need help to dress, call for one of the maids. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Well, you better get off to your lesson. Tell Miss Bullock I wish for you to learn the appropriate behaviour for an evening at a restaurant. That will be all.”

  He watched her go, the way she swept from the room. It was almost possible to think she wasn’t a penniless pauper but instead someone who belonged in a house like this, in a life like this. Did she know what he had planned for her that evening? He wasn’t even sure himself. The thought of losing her when the bet was over made his heart ache. If he could perhaps bond them together, then it might encourage her to stay once she knew the truth about the wager.

  The surest way to bond her to him was to take the step every journal article expressly forbade. The step that would make it impossible to swing back from, the step he had wanted to take ever since he had first met her in that pub what felt like a lifetime ago. He wanted to take her, to tear her clothes from her and bury himself inside her. The thought of it was enough to make his member throb, and by the time the evening rolled round, he found it almost impossible to think about the wager, such was the lust coursing through him.

  He watched her in the teaching room for a short spell but even that made him want to take over from Miss Bullock, force her to bend over and spank her red, slide into her from behind as she pushed back against him. Just looking at her was enough to make him want her and he didn’t even really know why. He had lasted this long without taking her. He told himself repeatedly to calm down, to try and think straight. In a few days he might be more of a pauper than she was, yet that thought no longer seemed to matter. All that mattered was getting through dinner, then taking her.

  He’d arranged it so that he could speak to Glossop while he was there, prove to him how submissive little Beth already was, hopefully get him to accept that he had won the wager, that there was no need for it to continue any longer.

  In the carriage on the way to the restaurant, he sat opposite her, marvelling at how she looked. Her gown was a light blue, clinging to her chest and billowing out enough at her hips to make her look the image of the modern, fashionable woman of means. One of the maids had tended to her hair, setting it up in a chignon, so different to her usual little appearance but no less attractive for that. She sat perfectly upright, her gloved hands clasped together in her lap, every inch the prim and proper lady.

  “Touch yourself,” Charles said, watching as she blinked back at him in surprise.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, touch yourself. I want to see how you touch your clit.”

  “But, Sir. We are in a carriage.”

  “I know exactly where we are. Now put your feet up on your seat and touch yourself or I’ll spank you so hard, you won’t be able to sit down for the rest of the journey.”

  Little Beth lifted her feet, pulling her dress up her legs as she did so. With her knees bent, Charles was able to see she wore no underwear, her core visible in the swinging light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. “I am not sure what to do,” she said quietly, her hands on her thighs.

  “Do whatever feels right,” he replied, leaning forwards and taking her left hand, placing it directly on her core. “I want to watch.”

  She began slowly, continually glancing across at him as if to seek his approval. Her hands began to move around her core, stroking over herself whilst he stared intensely between her legs. As she grew in confidence, she began to move faster, the fingers of one hand on her clit as the other moved down to dip inside herself. When her index finger vanished into her wetness, Charles had to fight to resist replacing it with his throbbing member.

  Her eyes closed as she played with herself, quiet moans escaping her as she shuffled in position on her seat. She soon was moving her hands faster, spreading her lips apart for him to see the glistening deep pink within, the finger inside her thrusting back and forth with indecent haste. Her breathing grew laboured and he realised she was getting close to making herself climax for him.

  A noise of laughter reached the carriage from without and Charles glanced through the window in time to see the lights of the city streets come into view. “We are almost here,” he said. “Move your hands away and sit up straight.”

  He was gratified to see she did as he asked straight away, though her face looked most flushed, a deep crimson that had not faded by the time they stepped down from the carriage and through the doors of the restaurant.

  Charles looked about him for Glossop, finally spotting him at one of the corner tables near the kitchen. He waited until little Beth was seated before excusing himself. “I shall be but a moment,” he said, passing her a menu. “You may have anything you wish.”

  He weaved his way through the tables until he reached Glossop who looked up when he saw him. “Charley Boy, how are you?”

  “I want to call off the wager.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting. I wonder why, worried about losing, I suppose?”

  “It’s not that.
It just isn’t fair on her. She didn’t ask to get caught up in this.”

  “I didn’t ask you to bet your entire estate on a round of backgammon. Sometimes you just have to make the most of the dice roll you get. How’s the lamb tonight? I seem to recall that was one of your favourites.”

  “You will not cancel the bet then? You are happy to ruin the life of an innocent woman?”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Charley Boy. Her life was ruined before she ever met you. She should be grateful.”

  “Grateful, what on earth for?”

  “You have given her a holiday from the misery of her existence. She’ll spend the rest of her life remembering her time with you. Unless of course, you plan to keep her.”

  “You know perfectly well I cannot do that.”

  “Then you had better prepare your goodbyes.” He picked up a hunk of bread and bit off a piece, chewing slowly before continuing. “Because it looks to me that whether you win or lose against me, you still lose her.”

  “Damn you, Glossop.” Spinning round, Charles began to march away.

  “Hold on a moment.”

  “What? What now?”

  “Your note mentioned something about the winning conditions, did it not?”

  Charles stopped, turning back to face Glossop. “You have decided then?”

  “I have and I think you’re going to love it. There’s a ball in two days’ time at the Billingham place.”

  “So?”

  “Have her attend there in one of those little frocks of hers with nappy and dummy in place. Do that and victory is yours. Perfect for a little amusement, no? With the emphasis very firmly on little.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? Oh, and just for fun, I think you should tell her she has to strip on the dance floor whilst she’s there.”

  “You’re not serious?”