by Ava Sinclair
“Oh, Imogen,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You are so wrong, although I can see how nanny’s thoughtlessness may have led you to this impression. I will speak to her, and have her apologize if necessary. I do not hold your station in society against you. My regiment was full of men from all walks of life, and some of the bravest, best men I’ve ever known hold neither lands nor titles.” He sighed heavily. “One was a young man named Robert. He took a bullet to save me. I could not save him. On the other hand, I have just recently written to a brother whom I have disowned for a wrong he did to a young lady simply because he found she did not have the wealth he’d hoped to gain through marriage.” He paused. “I will not go into details, but understand that I see you as a beautiful young woman of worth.”
He could see her struggling to discern whether he was telling her the truth.
“Then why keep me locked away as a child?”
“Because that is the way of my family. My father kept my mother as his ward, and they had such a happy life together. She never wanted for a thing, never had to guess whether an action was right or wrong because he gave her a framework that made decision making easy. He offered her loving correction when she was naughty, but the rest of the time spoiled her silly. My father was like me; he did not care for the social scene, but rather enjoyed being ensconced with his family. I only seek to give you the comforts my father gave my mother, and to enjoy you as he enjoyed her. That is, if you will have me. If you decide now that you’ve been aggrieved, as much as it pains me I will release you with enough money for a comfortable life.”
He could see the defiance in her expression become doubt.
“You’re being true in your words?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I am a man of honor, Imogen, and I would be your papa, and have you be both lady of this house and my little girl. But I realize now that if we are to move forward that I must give you a say in this matter. I sought to save you, but I will not force you into this if you are truly offended by what I offer.”
Now Imogen’s eyes filled with tears, and Royce watched as she drew her knees to her chest.
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “You will be safe and cared for, no matter your decision.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m afraid because I’m confused. I’ve been trying to hate you, but underneath it all, I find myself longing for you, for your… touch. I’ve been fighting as much against myself as I have against you, trying to find reasons to resist, because I am drawn to what you offer like a moth to a flame.”
He smiled at her, running a hand along her cheek. “My little rebel,” he said, “rebels against herself.” He drew her to him then, and felt his heart soar when she allowed herself to be settled into his lap. “I do understand. You have no precedent for trust. It takes both surrender and strength to trust yourself, body and soul, to a man you barely know. But I solemnly vow, my sweet little Imogen, to protect and care for you, to guide you and to awaken feelings you were never aware you could have.”
She dropped her eyes and blushed, and Royce felt his cock grow stiff at her sudden coyness.
“But this will start by addressing the matter at hand, quite literally.” He’d reached for her palm again and opened it. “You touched yourself against my orders. They were not intended to deny you pleasure, but to nurture and direct it. If you are to stay, you will be punished for what you did. Do you accept this?”
She raised her eyes to his, and in them he could see fear mingling with excitement.
“Yes,” she said.
“To fully agree to what I’m offering you, Imogen, you must answer me properly. Do you accept this?”
“Yes, papa,” she said, and there was a huskiness to her sweet voice that was welcoming and new.
He raised her to standing from his lap and then lifted her gown over her head. She stood before him, naked and Royce gave a ragged sigh as he took in her petite, womanly figure. Her breasts, just large enough to fill a man’s palm, were perfect and round with upturned nipples. This delighted him; she would need no corset under the childish dresses he was having fashioned for her. Her waist was small, but flared into generous hips. Her belly had just the gentlest swell. Her thighs were full and shapely, and between them lay her bare pussy, already dripping in anticipation of her submission to him.
He laid her over his lap, and she went willingly. Royce looked down at her bottom; it was full, with plump springy cheeks and a deep cleft. Charming dimples crowned the top of each perfect buttock. He ran his hand across one globe, reveling in the soft skin.
In the inn he’d spanked her with the slipper. Now he would spank her with his hand. Already the thought of her nates turning pink from his correction had him longing to shove himself into her pussy. But he was a disciplined man, and a disciplinarian.
She gave a sharp cry when he brought his hand down hard across her bottom. Royce wanted to rub the imprint of his hand blooming across her skin, but resisted the urge. Now was not the time for the indulgent lover, but the firm papa, so he pushed aside his carnal thoughts and began to spank her, the smacks falling so rapidly that she had no time to recover between them. Soon she was sobbing frantically, a small puddle of tears forming on the wooden floor beneath her face as her legs kicked helplessly. Her bottom was reddening, the cheeks growing hot beneath his punishing hand. Royce knew she was in pain, but even so he could see between the kicking legs that the dusky inner folds of her pussy had grown slick with need that coated the inside of her thighs. He spanked her there, too, painting those thighs a rosy pink before stopping. Imogen was writhing on his lap, promising to be his good little girl.
Once she finally collected herself, he instructed Imogen to listen to what he had to say. “You are only allowed to touch yourself with my permission during your training,” he told her. “I will school you in finding pleasure here…” He ran his finger up the slick seam of her pussy. “…and here.” Now that finger pressed against the rosette of her bottom hole, and he heard her moan as the little orifice twitched under his finger. “I will teach you to take my cock properly in your pussy, your mouth, and your bottom.”
She looked back at him, her pretty tear-streaked face surprised. “You’d use me in all those places?”
“Yes,” he said. “And you will love it. You’ll take my cock in your pussy until you scream with pleasure, you’ll swallow my seed without spilling a drop, and allow your bottom hole to be stretched until I take that final virginity. Oh, my little Imogen, you are a passionate girl, and keeping you as my little one will allow me to instruct you more fully than you can possibly anticipate.”
His finger slid into her then, and she came instantly. Royce knew it was as much from his words as from his touch; the notion of such deep, helpless submission excited her. He slid his finger in and out of her as she followed its motion with her hips, her arousal coating his hand.
“Oh, please,” she said. “Please fuck me!”
“Language!” he said, smacking her already sore bottom as he continued to plumb her with his finger, and she gripped him all the harder. He smiled at this, so tempted to do as she asked but wanting to wait. With some reluctance, he lifted her from his lap.
“No,” he said. “And it’s not because I don’t desire you. There will be times when I spank you for my own pleasure—or yours—and then I will gladly fuck you. But this spanking was to teach you a lesson, and you learned it, hmm?”
She nodded, her lip extended now in an adorable pout that made him chuckle. And he did kiss her then, lightly, but enough to make her groan.
“I have so many lessons to teach you, my little one. I look forward to them all.”
Chapter Eight: Lessons for Imogen
It was an adjustment by degrees for Imogen. She’d realized in those exquisitely painful moments over Royce’s lap that she did not want to be anywhere else. Her desire for him was too strong. And she’d been wrong about him; he w
as not the arrogant man she thought him to be.
He made good on his promise to have Nanny Quinn apologize for her condescending remarks. Of course, her apology came with a caveat. Miss Quinn was still her minder, and Imogen would have to obey or be spanked hard over the woman’s broad lap. But the nanny did seem appalled at learning she’d hurt her charge’s feelings, and her remorse was genuine.
“Your papa’s heart is always in the right place,” Miss Quinn said one afternoon as she sat in the parlor brushing Imogen’s long hair. “Everything he does is for your comfort and safety. You don’t want to end up like poor Frozen Charlotte, do you?”
Imogen turned to her nanny. “Who?”
“Why, Frozen Charlotte…” Nanny Quinn reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew a tiny bisque doll, which she placed in the palm of Imogen’s hand.
“I got her from a friend who works in America as a nanny to a young woman in your situation. They are quite popular there, these little dolls. There’s a story that goes with them about a girl named Charlotte who neglected to listen to her papa when he told her to dress warmly for a sleigh ride. You see, she was quite keen for passersby to see her lovely frock, so she refused her wrap on her way to the ball. But it was to her peril. By the time she arrived, she was quite frozen.”
Imogen’s eyes grew wide. “She died, then?”
“Indeed she did.” Both women turned to hear an unfamiliar male voice. A tall, lean man with a hawkish nose and white blond hair stood in the doorway. “I’m familiar with this tale myself. It’s a cautionary one about the need to obey authority. You should keep that little doll with you at all times, child, and reflect on her should you feel the need to disobey.”
Miss Quinn stood, chuckling. “Mr. Sutton, I presume,” she said.
The man bowed his head cordially. “At your service.”
“Ah, we’ve been expecting you.” Royce joined them now, and the man turned to shake hands with Imogen’s papa, who turned to her with a smile.
“Imogen, this gentleman responded to the ad we placed for a tutor shortly after you arrived. We’ve been corresponding ever since, and he’s impressed both me and your nanny with his credentials. Your lessons shall begin today.”
“So soon?” Imogen frowned.
“Pish,” said the nanny. “You’ve been here a fortnight already. And remember, what your father desires for you is for your own good.”
Imogen looked down at the little bisque doll and smiled as she dropped it into the pocket of her pinafore. “Yes, I suppose. And I am keen to learn my letters.”
“Then you shall begin,” Royce said, then lifted his finger. “But remember, little Imogen, that this man is to be obeyed just as your nanny and I are to be obeyed. You are to listen, to be polite.”
“I don’t expect she will be a problem,” Mr. Sutton said, smiling, and Imogen looked up at him, trying to determine the age of her instructor with his whitish hair but sharp, youthful features. “It would be a shame to use the cane on such a pretty little thing, no?”
Imogen looked at her papa in shock. “You’d let another man cane me?”
“Only in my presence,” he laughed. “And only if you’d warranted it. But I hardly believe that will be the case.”
Imogen nodded. The notion of being corrected by another man filled her with trepidation, but the image in her mind of her papa watching… she shifted a little as her pussy responded to this possibility, and she quickly drove it from her mind.
“I shall be very, very good,” she said.
“Excellent,” Nanny said. “Then I shall leave you to it.”
“As will I,” Royce said, clapping the tutor on the back. “And, of course, Mr. Sutton will dine with us on the days he comes to teach you.”
“You’re too kind,” the tutor said.
“Oh, I insist,” Royce said. “You’re polishing my favorite jewel. It’s the least I can do.”
The two left then and Imogen watched as Mr. Sutton went through the bag he brought. She was delighted when he produced a slate and some chalk, and even more delighted when he handed her the first book she’d ever owned.
“This is a primer,” he said. “You’ll learn your letters and then go on to the foundations of reading. You’ll learn to write your letters, too.”
Next he produced an abacus. “This will help you learn to add and subtract.”
There would be Latin, too, as well as what Mr. Sutton called ‘moral education.’
“It’s rather unusual to meet a young lady in such a house just starting her formal education,” he said.
“I was not raised here,” Imogen said, unsure about how much to offer. “And I did not have the benefit where I came from.”
“Well, you are a lucky girl to find yourself in the care of a man like Major Kingsley. They say he’s a war hero, you know.” Mr. Sutton settled Imogen at a nearby table as he spoke, laying the open book in front of her.
“Yes,” she said. “He doesn’t talk much about it, though. I only know that it must have been quite terrible, the things he saw. He lost a man who’d saved him, a young man named Robert.” She paused. “The major is a good and caring man.”
The tutor smiled kindly. “No doubt that he is. Kindness is such a commodity; my wife and I tell our two daughters that on a daily basis. But enough of this. Let us begin.”
The lesson went smoothly. By the end of it, Imogen had memorized and written five letters of the alphabet to Mr. Sutton’s satisfaction. He made the lesson enjoyable with his patience and offered little jokes to amuse her. At the end of it, he taught her how to cut out a daisy chain of dolls, which delighted her.
Dinner that evening was goose with chestnuts, fall greens, turnips, and trifle. Imogen listened as her papa, Miss Quinn, and Mr. Sutton spoke of the goings-on in London.
“Are you a family man?” Miss Quinn asked after a bit.
“No,” the tutor said. “I’m a bachelor, for now, but I hope to settle down one day if I can find a wife to abide me.”
Imogen, who’d been content to let the others talk, now spoke up.
“A bachelor? Mr. Sutton, you said you have a wife and children.”
The tutor looked at her from across the table and then gave a laugh. “No, dear, I did not.” He began to put a forkful of goose in his mouth when she spoke up again.
“But sir, you did,” Imogen persisted. “You said you have two daughters, and said you teach them the value of kindness.”
The smile faded. “You’re mistaken, young lady.” His tone was less than patient now.
“You likely misheard, dear,” Nanny Quinn said.
“But I did not!” Imogen found herself growing frustrated. It was true that she was not learned, but she was a quick study and had a good memory. While working at the inn, she’d always remembered what the patrons wanted, and hardly ever got their requests wrong.
“Imogen.” Major Kingsley said her name softly, but with an air of authority that got her attention. “If the man says you are mistaken, then you are. It hardly matters, anyway.”
“I suppose not.” Imogen smoothed the napkin in her lap. “I apologize, Mr. Sutton.”
“It’s hardly worth the fuss,” he said. “You absorbed a lot today. And this error is quite excusable, given that it’s not on the books.”
This comment brought laughter from Nanny Quinn and Royce, who quickly steered the conversation on to other topics. Imogen, however, sat staring at her plate, vexed now for reasons she could not quite understand.
“May I be excused?” she asked a moment later, and Nanny Quinn nodded.
Imogen was glad to get away from the table. It was easy to remove herself; living as a child meant that neither Major Kingsley nor the nanny ever forced her to sit longer than it took her to finish her meal. But living as a child also meant that she could sometimes be easily dismissed.
Upstairs, she occupied herself by practicing her letters. Mr. Sutton had allowed her to keep the slate. Afterwards, she sat on the bed and
pulled the little alabaster doll from her pocket.
“Poor Frozen Charlotte,” she said, running her finger across the tiny two-inch figure. “You were a very, very bad girl. You should have listened to your papa.” She smiled then, lying on her bed. She wouldn’t make that mistake, especially not now that she had a man giving her a true father’s love. The two weeks she’d been at Stonehaven Manor had been the happiest of Imogen’s life. Everyone was kind to her, even the staff. Mrs. Philbert and Mr. Plum slipped her sweets from the kitchen, and her papa came to her nightly, sometimes to talk, sometimes to cuddle and sweetly tease. She’d asked him when they would be together again as man and woman, and he’d told her it would be soon, when the time was right.
Her heart leapt when she heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves in the courtyard, signaling Mr. Sutton’s departure in his trap. Soon Major Kingsley would come to her, but when the door opened, it was only nanny.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s just you.”
“That isn’t very nice,” Miss Quinn said.
Imogen sighed. “I’m sorry. I was just expecting to see papa.”
“And you will,” the nanny said. “But I’m taking you to him. He wants to be present for your cleansing.”
“Cleansing?” Imogen remembered now that her nanny had told her she’d be subjected to the procedure, and vaguely knew what it would entail. But for Major Kingsley to witness such a thing?
“Must he be there?” she groaned.
“Yes, my sweet,” the nanny said. “He is not like some fathers; he wants to be involved in all aspects of your care. Consider yourself fortunate. So many men who keep these arrangements want their little ones presented to them like toys for play. He cares about you, Imogen, and I’ll hear no whinging. Understand?”
“And if I don’t?”
Imogen cried out as Nanny Quinn walked over and took her by the ear. The older woman said nothing as she marched her charge over to the edge of the bed, pushed her over, and flipped up the lacy hem of her skirt.
