by Sue Lyndon
Daisy, having been relieved of the burden of her muddied dress, bent over the footboard of her bed, her chemise bunched up at her waist and her drawers puddled around her ankles, while her own silver handled hairbrush—a gift from her betrothed, no less—was applied to the cheeks of her bottom. “N-no,” she said, regret at her impulsive trip to the fair building with each whap of the brush against her tender flesh.
“I thought not,” Miss Wickersham said with an imperious sniff. “I must say,” the hairbrush splatted against Daisy’s rear twice in rapid succession, “I thought I had instilled better sense in you, Daisy.”
“I-I am s-sorry, Miss Wickersham,” she said, shifting position across the rail of the footboard as it pressed against her hips, jutting her bottom out at what Miss Wickersham deemed an ideal angle for chastisement.
“Sorry for the behavior, or sorry you got caught?”
“I-I am sorry for ev-everything. Oh, please, Miss Wickersham,” Daisy begged, “if you do not stop soon, my bottom will be red and sore for my entire wedding day.”
“And whose fault would that be, I wonder?”
“M-mine,” Daisy answered, mystified by how a day which had started out with such promise and excitement had unraveled so rapidly. All she had done was go for a walk and talk to a nice Romani woman, though she knew better than to say as much to Miss Wickersham. In the past, when Daisy had fantasized about her wedding day, none of her musings had included an embarrassing bare bottom spanking before she donned her wedding dress.
Since meeting Lord Kensington, her romantic flights of fancy now centered around a tall broad-shouldered man with a deep voice that sent tingles throughout her body. It would have been impossible not to daydream about him, he being an incredibly handsome and kindly gentleman, not to mention a wealthy, powerful, and important earl. It was the stuff of fairytales, as far as Daisy was concerned, that she—a simple, plain orphan girl—had attracted the notice of a man like Lord Kensington. After the incident where she fell through the ceiling, Lord Kensington had called upon her at Talcott House three days in a row before proposing.
Miss Wickersham had been rather cross about it since the tradition at Talcott House had been for her to select the papas and the bride did not meet him until their wedding day. The tradition had gone completely cockeyed with Lord Grayson’s assertion that he marry Cynny instead of Miss Wickersham’s selection, Lord Kensington, and was further sent askew by Lord Kensington’s insistence on courting Daisy, though it had been for a particularly short period.
It made Daisy’s head spin.
“It would serve you right for your papa to see the shameful evidence of your bad behavior. Do you intend to do the opposite of what he tells you to do as well? Did I not specifically forbid you to visit the fair? And yet, you snuck out and did as you pleased. What if the workers had kidnapped you and taken you off with them to labor at fairs all around the countryside as a fortune teller or servant girl? What then?”
For a moment Daisy’s spirits perked up. Traveling about, living in a tent and telling fortunes? Oh, could any life be sweeter?
But then she remembered Lord Kensington and his soul-searching brown eyes and the way they looked at her that made her toes curl up in her shoes. When he gazed at her so intently, she didn’t feel like a plain orphan girl. His glances made her feel treasured and special, beautiful even, as if for the first time in a long while she finally meant something to someone.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, recalling the fortune teller’s words of wisdom. Lady Miselda claimed Lord Kensington was her soul mate, and if true, it would be most tragic if they never had the chance to get married. Daisy, thankful nothing awful had happened during her elicit trip to the fair, thought—although she wouldn’t admit it aloud—perhaps Miss Wickersham had good reason for ordering all the girls of Talcott House to stay away from the fair.
“Five more swats, little girl, and then we must get you changed into something decent before your appointment with Nurse Lister. We are already late.”
Appointment? Daisy opened her mouth to ask why she needed to visit the nurse this morning, but her question was cut off by a series of firm smacks to her already tender backside. She gasped and lurched forward against the bed, clenching her bottom cheeks, though Miss Wickersham wielded the hairbrush efficiently, each blow stinging smartly despite Daisy’s attempts to evade the full force of the punishment.
After the final stroke landed, Daisy breathed a sigh of relief and hoped Miss Wickersham left her to change her clothes in peace. She would give anything for a few spare moments to rub her smarting bottom. A knock on the door startled her, and she peered over her shoulder, wondering who it could be. Anyone who’d been walking down the hallway must have heard the telltale sounds of a spanking, and she flushed hot with shame. She supposed by the end of the day, most of the girls of Talcott House would be tittering and whispering to each other about how Daisy had gotten a spanking on her wedding day. At least she wouldn’t be here to endure the humiliating fallout from the gossip. She started to rise to her feet, but a noise of disapproval from Miss Wickersham kept her in place.
“Stay right there while I see who it is, young lady. If it embarrasses you to be seen with a bright red bottom, perhaps you should have behaved yourself better this morning.”
Miss Wickersham strode to the door and opened it a crack, and anxiety surged through Daisy when she heard Nurse Lister’s familiar voice. She still didn’t understand why she needed to see the nurse this morning. She felt fine.
“As you can see,” Miss Wickersham said, opening the door wider, “your little patient got into a bit of trouble this morning. I had wanted to get her changed into some clean clothes before her appointment.”
Nurse Lister entered the room with a black medical bag clutched in her hand. The tall woman closed the door behind her with an ominous click, then whispered back and forth with Miss Wickersham for several minutes. Unable to hear what they were speaking about, Daisy buried her face in the covers, cursing the nurse’s arrival, as well as the fact that she still didn’t have permission to move.
The time for Daisy to start getting ready for her wedding quickly approached. She couldn’t very well remain bent over the bed with her red bottom on display all morning, and with the fortune teller’s words of lessons and soul mates still ringing in her ears, the last thing Daisy needed was a visit from the nurse slowing her down. She hadn’t even had time to ponder the implications of her fortune, other than to take comfort in the promise of finding love and the other half of her soul in Lord Kensington. Perhaps, she told herself, the lessons Lady Miselda had mentioned weren’t as serious as she’d made them sound. Perhaps the fortune teller had a tendency to embellish when she gave advice. Before she could consider this further, Miss Wickersham’s voice reached her.
“Since we are short on time due to your misbehavior, little girl, Nurse Lister will be performing your exam right now in your bedchamber. Remain bent over the bed, Daisy. You are in the perfect position to have your temperature taken.”
Chapter 6
Daisy gazed at the thermometer in Nurse Lister’s hand, shaking her head as she clutched the covers while remaining bent over the bed. Her heart pounded with nervousness. A sense of vulnerability swept through her, as well as annoyance, because she wasn’t ill and she wished for nothing more than to be alone in this moment to rub her sore, freshly punished bottom.
“I’m not sick!” she blurted. “I-I feel perfectly fine, thank you, and I do not need any sort of examination, let alone my temperature taken.”
Miss Wickersham sighed and walked nearer, as if preparing to assist the nurse. Daisy startled when the headmistress stepped even closer and boldly spread her cheeks apart, allowing the cool morning air to waft against her privates as a sudden breeze entered through the open window. “All the little ladies of Talcott House receive a thorough medical examination before their wedding. We want to make sure you are healthy and have an understanding of what happens betwe
en husbands and wives before you speak your vows.”
Despite the embarrassment surging through her, Daisy perked up at Miss Wickeshsam’s words. “What-what happens between husbands and wives? Well, I suppose I would like to know, however I still do not believe an exam is necessary. I need to don my wedding gown soon. What if Lord Kensington arrives early?”
“It is nearly half past ten,” Nurse Lister said, “so we will have to make this quick. I suggest you cooperate, little girl, and then you will have time to prepare yourself to meet your groom.”
Daisy fought the urge to roll her eyes and sigh in exasperation. But she couldn’t deny her curiosity about what happened between husbands and wives, and furthermore if she put up an argument or tried to resist in any way, Miss Wickersham would likely pick up the hairbrush again and add more sting to her backside. Daisy most certainly did not wish to endure an additional spanking session, especially on the morning of her wedding. Burying her face in the covers, she held still as she awaited the insertion of the thermometer, trying to ignore the odd tightening in her kitty. She often felt tingly and achy around Lord Kensington, and she wondered if those new sensations had anything to do with what Miss Wickersham referenced. As she awaited the thermometer’s intrusion, the gentle caress of the breeze on her privates increased her awareness of every little heated throb that affected her nether region, until the sensations became so overwhelming she had to fight the urge to gyrate her hips against the footboard she was awkwardly bent over. Somehow, she managed to retain her dignity and hold still.
The nurse took up position behind Daisy and rubbed a cool salve over her pucker. Daisy hissed and wiggled around, which gave her some relief as the front of her aching kitty pressed against the footboard, but she couldn’t rise up very far with Miss Wickersham holding her cheeks firmly apart. She inhaled a long breath, trying to calm herself and summon the patience needed to endure this embarrassing medical examination.
“Your body will belong to your husband, Daisy,” Nurse Lister said, pressing the tip of the thermometer to her most private hole. “He will likely take great pleasure in touching your kitty and your little bunghole, as well as other places.”
Daisy gasped when the nurse pushed the thermometer inside her passage, sliding it deep and holding it in place. Perhaps due to her shameful position spread so wide with her privates on display, or perhaps because of her recent thoughts of Lord Kensington, but the aching in her kitty kept growing and she felt increasingly breathless.
Her entire body heated at the thought of Lord Kensington putting his hands on her kitty, and nerves abounded within her. Did that mean they would both see one another naked? Her heart fluttered as she tried to imagine what the handsome Lord Kensington would look like without his perfectly tailored suits. She had never seen a man without a shirt on, but she had read many of Miss Wickersham’s romance novels over the years, and she knew sometimes the husband took his shirt off and kissed his wife. Sometimes they would get under the bedcovers together and kiss and experience the sweet rapture of their joined love—a quote from one such romance novel that had stuck out to her, but she didn’t quite understand what it meant. Did it involve more than kissing?
“Why-why will my husband wish to touch my-my kitty?” For as many romance novels as she’d swiped from the headmistress, she had thought herself adequately prepared for marriage, but now she started to have doubts. Perhaps sweet rapture of their joined love indeed meant something more than kissing and embracing one another.
“Well,” Miss Wickersham said, “I suppose you don’t know how babies are made, do you?”
Daisy was confounded. On the one hand, many girls at Talcott House believed women had babies after they got married…only after they got married. But Daisy knew that fact to be false. Her own parents hadn’t been married. In fact, her real father had been married to another woman entirely. Yet she didn’t understand how the babies were made. However it happened though, it had to involve some sort of behavior that wasn’t appropriate for men and women who weren’t married to one another to engage in, or else the misfortune of being a bastard wouldn’t be so harshly looked down upon. She swallowed hard and murmured, “No, ma’am, I do not know.”
Nurse Lister cleared her throat, then slowly twisted the thermometer around before finally pulling it out. But Miss Wickersham still kept Daisy’s cheeks spread, as shamefully wide as before, and to Daisy’s mortification, she felt the nurse’s fingers on her aching kitty. Softly stroking, seemingly drawing moisture—why was she getting wet?—from her core and overtop a part of her that tightened and quivered with sensation. She jerked against the older woman’s hand as heat unfurled within her.
“Your husband—your papa, Lord Kensington—will plant his seed inside you, Daisy. Inside your kitty, which is also called a quim or a cunny. Your papa will put his hard cock—that is what a man’s privates are called—in your kitty and pump you full of his essence. Which is what makes babies, though you do not become with child every single time your papa puts his cock in you,” Miss Wickersham explained.
Daisy’s head spun. Men had privates called a cock? And it was hard and went inside her kitty? She could hardly fathom it, but she found it increasingly difficult to think with the nurse’s fingers on her nether lips. When she imagined Lord Kensington coming at her with something big and hard between his legs, which he intended to stick into her kitty, she struggled to take in air she became so breathless and flushed.
“Do you feel yourself getting achy and wet right now, Daisy?” Nurse Lister asked.
“Y-yes, ma’am. I-I do not understand what is happening.”
“When your papa wants to put his cock in you, he will ensure you are adequately prepared. He will most likely stroke your kitty in a fashion similar to this,” the nurse said, giving a most sensitized part of her privates a fast and delicious squeeze before going back to rubbing, “and by doing so he’ll be getting you ready to take his cock into your body. It is…sometimes called making love.”
Making love. Daisy recalled the phrase from some of the romance novels she’d read, though she had never understood what it had meant. Again, she had assumed it referred to kissing and hugging. Had she known so much more happened between married people, she would have devoured those books in a whole new light.
Daisy’s hands clutched at the bedcovers as Nurse Lister continued to stroke her kitty and Miss Wickersham narrated.
“There is a little nubbin at the top of your kitty,” Miss Wickersham said and Daisy’s head began to swim with all the new, and shocking, knowledge being imparted to her by the two women who seemed to feel completely comfortable probing Daisy’s most private areas and talking about it as though reading the morning news.
“This is it right here.” Nurse Lister gave another pinch to the spot which had given Daisy such a rush of sensations just moments before. “It is sometimes called a clitty. The clitty in your kitty,” the usually humorless nurse said with a laugh.
“Freya! You and your rhymes.” Miss Wickersham giggled, but continued to maintain her grip on Daisy’s bottom cheeks. It was shameful and delicious at the same time.
The two women who ran Talcott House seemed to be in good humor so Daisy attempted a question. “If you please, ma’am,” she said, her face blushing but she pushed forward, “wh-why do you continue to spread my bottom cheeks apart? Is that necessary for m-making l-love?”
“Well, my dear, there will likely come a time when your papa will wish to claim your bottom hole.”
Between Nurse Lister’s continued stroking of her clitty and then this new information, Daisy felt her knees begin to shake and wobble. Fortunately, the footboard of her bed supported her, as well as Miss Wickersham’s firm hold. “Cl-claim?” Daisy gasped.
“Yes, many papas enjoy inserting their cocks into their bride’s bottom hole and discharging their essence there.”
Daisy squeezed the pucker of her bottom hole. Though she had never seen a cock before, she had to assume it would be
larger than a thermometer. She shook her head from side to side. ‘Twas nearly too much to comprehend.
The clock in the hallway struck. “Oh dear,” Miss Wickersham said, “we had best hurry, Freya.”
“I think she is nearly complete,” Nurse Lister said. “See how her legs are quivering.”
“Oh, yes. I believe you are correct. Nicely done.”
“She is most easily aroused,” Nurse Lister said. “If you will assist, I believe we can achieve our goal.”
“Of course,” Miss Wickersham agreed and set about pressing a finger to Daisy’s pucker.
Daisy gasped, then her hips bucked painfully against the footboard, as quakes of sensations rolled through her body, her bottom hole quivered and her kitty veritably gushed with moisture. She had no idea what was happening to her, but it felt like a volcano erupting with heat and steam and molten liquid bursting forth from her. She widened her stance to steady herself and cried out in a most embarrassing and unladylike fashion.
“That,” Miss Wickersham said, a note of pride in her voice, “is what is known as a climax.”
Daisy rested her head against the soft coverings of her bed, eyes closed, savoring the lingering tingles. If married people regularly had climaxes, she believed herself most assuredly ready.
Chapter 7
Lord Kensington's carriage rolled up the now familiar drive to Talcott House. He glanced out the window at the imposing building which contained his betrothed. The sun suddenly seemed to shine brighter and the sky appeared a more vibrant shade of blue than usual as an intoxicating sense of anticipation reverberated through him. Even the flowers in the gardens surrounding the house looked more colorful than he thought possible. It was as if he was seeing the true beauty of the world for the first time ever, and pleasure washed through him because he had a certain little dark-haired young miss to thank for opening his eyes, as well as his heart.
