by Sue Lyndon
She redirected her thoughts to her upcoming plans and excitement spiraled throughout her as she wandered down the wide corridors of Grayson House, happy that she no longer got lost in the spacious home. She had just come up from the kitchens after conferring with Cook about the menu for the upcoming week and in particular a luncheon she planned to host. The wives of two of Papa’s friends, Lady Tiffin and Lady Harding, had called upon her together recently and Cynny wished to repay their kindness with a luncheon. She had sent invitations to both ladies, as her first foray into polite society. She wanted to make sure all went as planned, in hopes that the ladies would speak favorably about her in the ton and when she attended her first ball with Papa she would be more quickly accepted by his peers. The menu for the luncheon would be perfect and she had already spent a great many hours thinking up proper conversation topics. She couldn’t wait, but what had her even more excited as she skipped toward Papa’s library, was that it was story time—the special time of day when Papa stopped whatever he was doing and cuddled her in his lap to read her stories.
Butterflies flitted in her tummy. Sometimes, after the story was over, Papa would be hard in his trousers. She would squirm around on his manhood and give him her most innocent look, pretending she had no idea what the hard thing in her papa’s trousers was, before he would roughly lead her to his bedchamber for a session of lovemaking. However, she recalled with a heated flush, yesterday he hadn’t even bothered to take her to his room. He’d shoved her over his desk, flipped her skirts up, and took her from behind, pounding into her cunny until she cried out her release and he spurted his seed into her depths. She’d had to take a bath then, because her papa’s essence was trickling down her thighs and making a mess, and during her bath time he’d stroked her to bliss yet again.
She knocked on his library door, pressing her legs together tightly as she stood waiting for him to call her to enter. Once she heard his voice, she opened the door, slipped into the room, and shut the door behind her with a click that echoed in the vast open space.
“Good afternoon, Papa,” she said, toying with one of her braids. To her utter astonishment, he’d styled her hair in two braids when he got her dressed in one of her new gowns this morning, and though she usually wore her hair tied in a ribbon behind her back, he had somehow managed to tame her curls into the girlish style.
His warm smile as he approached her lifted her spirits further, and she glanced at the large chair in the corner of his library, eager for their story time to commence. But when she noticed the book he was holding, her enthusiasm fled. It was a book she’d had in her bedchamber, and the very book in which she’d recently hidden Cammie’s letter that described what happened between husbands and wives, papas and little girls. While the explicit letter hadn’t made much sense to Cynny at the time, she now understood it to be quite detailed and naughty. What would he do if he found it? Her bottom cheeks clenched, because she’d intentionally hidden it and kept it as a secret from her papa. Even if he wasn’t upset by the contents of the missive, he wouldn’t approve of her stashing such reading material in a book.
“Is something wrong, little girl? You look awfully pale. Are you feeling ill?” Concern tinged his voice, making her feel even guiltier for her deception.
“Everything is fine, Papa. What if-if we went for a walk in the gardens now instead of having story time?”
He gave her a strange look. “If you don’t like this book, little girl,” he said, opening it partially and flipping through the pages with his thumb, “I will select a different one.”
Then it happened. The letter escaped from the pages it was hidden between and drifted to the floor. Oh no! She lunged for the missive, but Papa bent down and picked it up before she could reach it.
“That’s mine, Papa! Please give it back!”
He glanced at the letter and his expression soon hardened. “Hyacinth, go sit in the naughty chair. Now.” His tone was firm and she found herself walking toward the naughty chair—a new addition to his library that she didn’t much care for—that was situated in the far corner of the room.
She huffed and took her place on the seat, and felt tears pricking in her eyes when he sat down at his desk and spread the letter out, apparently intending to read it in its entirety. Oh, why hadn’t she burned the letter as Cammie had asked her to do?
Papa gasped—and she wondered which part of her friend’s letter had surprised him so. Then he made a tsking noise and pushed away from his desk, standing up and approaching her in a purposeful stride.
“Young lady,” he said, pinching her ear and hovering over her. “How long have you had this scandalous letter?”
“My best friend, Cammie—Lady Cavendish—sent it to me at Talcott House. I-I wanted to know what happened between husbands and wives.”
“Has anyone else seen this letter? Please tell me you did not pass this missive around to all the girls at Talcott House.”
“No one has seen it but me. I thought of showing it to my friends, but Daisy can’t keep secrets, so I decided to keep it to myself. I’m sorry I hid it, Papa.”
“You know I don’t wish for there to be secrets between us, Cynny. Are you hiding anything else in your room or around the estate that I should know about? More such letters or anything else of significance?”
“No, Papa, I swear it. I’m not hiding anything else. Just this letter.” A vision of the golden pocket watch hidden behind the leg of a couch in the drawing room flashed in her mind, but she dared not mention it. Not when Papa was already cross with her. She’d placed the watch there several days ago when Papa had gone to visit his solicitor, though it had yet to be found and now that she considered it, perhaps she ought to find a different hiding place. She wouldn’t be able to rest until it had been found and the cloud of her thievery no longer hung over her, threatening to destroy the foundation of her marriage to Lord Grayson.
He released her ear and straightened. Then he folded the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “I appears I must pay a certain Lord Cavendish a visit. I doubt he will approve of his wife engaging in such scandalous correspondence. If you were writing such naughty letters to your friends, or anyone else for that matter, I would certainly wish to learn of your indiscretions immediately.”
Alarm rushed through her. Now Cammie would be in trouble, too. She grasped Papa’s arm and clung to him when he made to leave her side. “No, Papa, please! You mustn’t! Just let me burn the letter. You can spank me, if you must, but please don’t tell Lord Cavendish what Cammie’s done. She was only trying to help me, and despite her detailed letter, I confess I didn’t know if what she wrote was true, and I didn’t quite understand it anyway. As you will remember, I was quite innocent on our wedding day, and it was not an act, I swear it.” Tears cascaded down her face, her vision blurring as she peered up at her papa, praying he would change his mind about visiting Lord Cavendish.
“Cynny,” he said sternly, “You will remain in the naughty chair until I return. Don’t you dare move your bottom.” He extracted himself from her grasp and left her alone in his library.
She sniffled and stared at the converging walls in the corner, trying to decide what to do. Perhaps she ought to put the watch in a different place where it was easier found. Or maybe she ought to claim she found it herself, then he would be pleased with her and maybe he wouldn’t spank her. She waited until she heard his carriage pull away, trying to work up the courage to leave the naughty seat.
Lord Alexander Cavendish
Ashton Manor
Lord Alexander Cavendish sat at the desk in his library examining the stack of correspondence which required his attention. He was blissfully happy in his recent marriage to Cammie, but he had been so engrossed in the pleasures of her company — in and out of the marital bedchamber — that he had neglected his many other duties.
Determined to clear his desk, he had given strict directions to the staff that he was not to be disturbed and then had set about sorting thro
ugh the pile of papers. Fortunately nothing had been overlooked to the point of disaster, though a couple of items did require immediate attention. He penned a letter to his solicitor and another to his banker, entered some notes in the estate ledger and then commenced to resolve his personal correspondence.
He made satisfactory progress. Much as he had enjoyed his time as a newly married man, it also felt good to get back to his usual habits and he determined not to let the pleasures of marriage to interfere with his duties as Lord Cavendish.
A soft tap on the door caught his attention. Since he had given clear instructions to the employees that he was not to be disturbed, he assumed Cammie had come to check on him and he looked up with pleasure. He had worked hard and deserved a break.
To his surprise, the butler cautiously stepped into the room. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but there is a gentleman here who is quite insistent upon seeing you. I informed him of your desire for privacy this morning,” the butler stepped forward and presented a silver salver with a calling card upon it. Alexander retrieved it and read the unfamiliar name of Lord Nathaniel Grayson.
“I have no knowledge of this man,” he said, looking at the butler quizzically. “Did he give any indication of the nature of his business?”
The butler, looking a bit uncomfortable, said, “My lord, he asked me to mention Talcott House to you.”
Alarmed, Alexander stood. What if there had been an emergency at Talcott House? Although he had found Miss Wickersham a bit stiff in demeanor, he could not fault her matchmaking abilities. And, he would forever have a sentimental attachment to the home which had given shelter, and a new life, to his beloved Camellia. He hated to imagine what his life would be like without the adorable little girl who called him Papa.
The butler showed Lord Grayson into the library and the two men introduced themselves to each other before being seated on opposite sides of Alexander’s desk. Despite the early hour, Alexander poured himself a drink and offered his guest one as well. When Lord Grayson accepted, Alexander wondered if that was an indication of the seriousness of the business which he wished to discuss.
“I understand that you have brought news of Talcott House, Lord Grayson.” Alexander’s pulse raced and he was surprised at the level of anxiety he felt waiting for Grayson to share the purpose of his visit.
Grayson sipped his drink and then set it down. “I apologize if I misled you, my lord. I do not have any news of Talcott House, but I do have a connection to that institution which has brought me here. I have lately wed a young woman named Hyacinth, I believe she and your wife were friends at Talcott House.”
“Ah yes.” Alexander relaxed. “Lady Cavendish has mentioned her often as her best friend at Talcott House. In fact, I had been hoping to arrange a visit as a special treat for my bride. I am sure she will be pleased to know her friend has wed. Has your bride accompanied you today?”
Lord Grayson finished off his drink and did not refuse when a refill was offered. “No, she did not accompany me today, though I hope we may all four become better acquainted in the near future. Right now, however, my little wife is at home spending some time in the naughty chair.”
Lord Cavendish chuckled. “No wonder our two wives were such good friends. They seem to have similar dispositions. Cammie has spent a fair amount of time in the naughty chair as well.”
The two men raised their glasses. “To the little ladies of Talcott House,” Lord Cavendish said.
“To the naughty chair,” Lord Grayson added.
“If I may be so bold, do you mind telling me what your wife has done to earn a long spell in the naughty chair?”
“As a matter of fact, that is the main purpose of my visit to you.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a letter. Even from across his desk, Alexander recognized the handwriting as belonging to his Cammie. After a recent infraction, she had been required to write I will not touch my kitty without permission until she covered numerous sheets of paper, so her unique script caught his attention.
Had she been writing to another? Lord Cavendish was not prone to enviousness, but Lord Grayson was a handsome man and Alexander felt the green haze of jealousy prick at him. However, that was quickly alleviated when Lord Grayson explained further. “I found this letter in my wife’s possession and felt it my duty as her spouse to read its contents since she had been quite surreptitious with it. The stationery contained your wife’s name and address, so I took it upon myself to call here today. I apologize for the intrusion into your privacy, but I believe it was incumbent upon me as a gentleman to alert you to its existence and turn it over to you for proper disposal. And wifely correction, if you so deem.”
Lord Grayson placed the missive on the desk between them. The paper was rumpled and the folds were quite defined, indicating the letter had been read repeatedly. Alexander opened the document and began to read.
At first, his eyes skimmed the page, but soon slowed to carefully take in every word that his very naughty wife had written.
Cammie lay beneath the soft covers of her bed in her special little girl bedroom. She was supposed to be taking a nap, but sleep would not come.
At breakfast Papa had informed her of his plans to get caught up on his correspondence and paperwork in his study and she did not expect to see him until later in the afternoon. He had suggested a mid-morning nap for her as they had tickets to the theater that night and she would need to be well-rested in order to stay up so late.
Papa had helped her to change from her morning dress into a soft lacy nightgown and then tucked her in and stroked the hair away from her face before kissing her on the forehead and wishing her a peaceful slumber.
Cammie had never been to the theater before and the thought of it had her too excited to sleep. All the ladies in their finest gowns and the gentlemen in top hats and long coats—what an affair it would be. She could not wait to see her papa in his best clothes...though she did enjoy seeing him without any clothes best of all.
Marriage to Papa had been even more wonderful than Cammie could have ever imagined. Who would have guessed that she would have fantasies about Papa’s naked body? She felt all wiggly thinking about the feel of his cock inside her kitty. Despite knowing it was against Papa’s rules, she slipped her fingers into her passage, though they were not nearly as thick and hard as Papa’s cock.
Although Nurse Lister and Miss Wickersham had endeavored to teach her what happens between married men and women, she had to admit that their explanation (and demonstration) lacked much of the detail which she had learned from her papa.
Papa was an excellent and patient teacher, showing her all the ways she could please him with her hands and her mouth. Or her kitty and her bottom hole. Papa was a fan of her bottom hole, that was for sure.
Cammie giggled into her pillow and told herself she needed to stop thinking about such naughty things, stop touching her kitty, and get to sleep. She did not want to doze off and miss any of the theater production. Or what if Papa thought she was too tired to go out at all? Reluctantly, she removed her hand and forced herself to concentrate on rest.
She scrunched up her eyes and told herself to go to sleep, but it did not work. Her mind was filled with naughty thoughts and her kitty had begun to purr. Cammie rolled over to her other side and pulled the blankets up over her head. Surely that would bring on sleep.
Inside her makeshift tent, the aroma of her arousal filled her senses. She was going to make a wet spot on her sheets and nightgown and she hadn’t even reached her climax.
Well, if it was the only way to get to sleep and she was already going to need clean linens, then what was the harm in taking the opportunity to indulge in one of her clandestine pastimes. Her hands returned to her kitty and she sighed with the pleasure of it.
She really ought to stop. If Papa caught her, her bottom would pay the price, either with the plug or Papa’s cock. Or, both.
She shivered in naughty anticipation, though she still did not want to disappoint
her papa. He was such a good man and she ought to behave better. Determined to turn over a new leaf, she pulled her hand away from the moisture of her sex and rolled onto her side, closed her eyes and concentrated on falling asleep like a good girl. She counted sheep. She recited the alphabet backward, but nothing distracted her from the ache in her kitty.
It seemed she had no other reasonable option than to alleviate the urgency coursing through her and with a contented sigh she resumed her masturbatory activities with vigor. If she hurried, she could achieve her climax, change her nightgown and sheets, take a nap and meet Papa fresh and refreshed and still get an evening out at the theater.
The familiar coil in her core tightened and Cammie’s focus narrowed to the center of her pleasure, small fingers moved deftly over her clitty and slid in and out of the moisture of her kitty until she came in a triumphant spasm and collapsed against the mattress, panting to catch her breath.
Once she regained her composure, she rang for the laundry maid to bring fresh linens and a clean nightgown. Cammie had paid particular attention to the girl early in her tenure at Ashton Manor because she reminded Cammie of her friend Daisy back at Talcott House. And when it occurred to Cammie that access to clean laundry would make it easier for her to indulge in a forbidden behavior without leaving any telltale signs for her papa to find, she worked to cultivate the friendship further and often gave the girl a few coins which Cammie had saved from her own spending allowance.
When the door opened Cammie looked up expectantly only to see Papa walk in carrying a stack of linens with a fresh nightgown on top. The euphoria of her release vanished and Cammie’s heart sunk to her feet.
“P-papa,” she stammered, getting out of bed and rubbing her eyes as though she had just woken from a deep slumber, “how nice to see you. Have you finished your business for the morning?” She favored him with her most charming smile and hoped it would be sufficient to crack Papa’s stern demeanor. “Whatever are you doing carrying sheets? You look silly, Papa.” She giggled and attempted to take the items from him, but his hands held firm.
