by Zoe Blake
The Submission of Little Emmie
By
Zoe Blake
©2014 by Blushing Books® and Zoe Blake
All rights reserved.
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Blake, Zoe
The Submission of Little Emmie
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-478-2
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Table of contents:
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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CHAPTER ONE
The Meeting
"I will send a carriage first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure she is ready and waiting. She will not require any belongings. Send her out with the clothes on her back."
Emily could barely make out the words through the thick wooden door to her stepfather's study. They were uttered in a low, dark timbre by the menacing stranger who had arrived not twenty minutes earlier.
Her stepfather had been locked in the study with his man of affairs all morning long. He was a twitchy, nervous sort of man - quick to a temper - and a degenerate gambler and drinker. Since her mother’s death two years earlier, his tenuous hold on morality had snapped. He would stay away from home for days at a time. When he did return he reeked of some kind of cloyingly sweet smoke. Emily heard the servants whispering about opium but she wasn't familiar with the word and didn't dare ask. Lately, his gambling had taken a turn for the worse, putting at risk their house and all their possessions. With her mother gone and her stepfather barely able to take care of himself, it fell to eighteen-year-old Emily to manage the family estate with an ever-dwindling supply of funds her stepfather blamed on bad investments. She often spent sleepless nights wondering how she was going to dodge creditors or pay the meager staff. The weight of responsibility on her young shoulders was crushing.
Now he was locked in his study, and Emily could only wonder what was going on. The night before, he’d arrived home early. She and the servants were used to him stumbling through the door in the early dawn hours, but it was barely eight o'clock in the evening when he arrived in an obvious state of agitation and demanding that someone call his man of affairs.
"George!" She never called him father. She refused. Her own father died while she was still a baby and the man before her had been a disgrace to the title.
"What is the matter?” she asked, seeking to quiet him. “Please calm down."
"Shut the fuck up!" He turned on her viciously, his hand connecting with her fragile cheek. Emily fell to the floor, clutching her now burning face. The stinging slap brought tears to her eyes. He was too slight of man to hit truly hard, but she knew from experience it would not leave a mark.
"The bastard will ruin me!” Her stepfather began to pace, speaking more to himself than to her. “He's too powerful. He has too many connections." George complained as he stalked the floor around Emily, who was still too shocked and scared to move.
It took a distant knock on the front door to bring her to her feet. Without a butler to answer the door, Emily wearily stumbled to handle the task herself, careful to angle her burning face away from the visitor – a messenger clad in fine livery. She thanked him quietly as she took the note he delivered.
"His Lordship instructed I was to wait for an answer," the messenger said as Emily was about to close the door.
Whoever His Lordship was, he had an exceptionally well-trained footman. The man's gaze did not so much as flicker at her obviously disheveled appearance and red, teary-eyed face.
"Of course, please wait here," Emily said, gesturing to a seat near the entryway. She tentatively took the message to her stepfather, who ripped the note from her hand, but when she tried to leave the room he stopped her.
"Don't move," her stepfather snarled as he tore at the note's wax seal. An ugly smile lit up his features as he eyed Emily.
"I'm saved!" he shouted with glee. "And all I have to do is get rid of you!"
"What?" Emily gasped.
"He wants to marry you, although I cannot see why. You’re such a scrawny little thing. I would have given him a go between your legs without the shackle of marriage but he insists." Her stepfather sneered. "It's to be done tomorrow."
Emily's head began to spin. She knew she would have to marry one day and had seen it as only way to escape the hell she was currently enduring. But so soon? And with a man she had never laid eyes on? Of course as the final indignity she was obviously being married off as a way to settle her foolish stepfather's gambling debts!
"I won't do it!" she announced with more conviction than she felt.
But her stepfather just laughed. "I don’t need your permission or acceptance. I am your guardian and you will do as I say." He bent over his desk and penned a quick reply to His Lordship.
"Take this to his footman," he ordered.
Dejected, Emily complied. She knew there was no fighting him. The law was on his side, and with no money or connections she would have no way to take care of herself if she tried to flee. She would be at the mercy of the streets. Surely the life of a Lady – even to a man she did not know - would be better than such a fate.
She brought the note to the waiting footman, eyeing him carefully. He was well appointed and professional, an obvious reflection of the man he worked for. Dare she hope?
"What sort of man is your employer?" she asked, hoping for any insight into the sort of man who would ask for her hand.
"Strict but fair," came the short reply.
The next morning she caught a glimpse of the man himself from an upper window as he descended from a fine phaeton drawn by a pair of matching dapple gray horses. He was very tall, and strode forward with the confident grace that comes with wealth and privilege. He wore a long, black dress coat with a full collar that emphasized his broad shoulders. He also wore a silk top hat, the brim of which prevented a look at his face. Emily continued to watch until he crossed the threshold of her home, disappearing from view.
Once she was sure the mysterious Lord and her stepfather were ensconced in the study, she carefully descended the central staircase and tiptoed to the door, straining to hear the conversation that would seal her fate.
"Well, well...it takes a great deal of influence to get a special marriage license so quickly, and from the archbishop no less.” She heard the wheedling, high-pitched tone of her stepfather, slavish with admiration. His Lordship's
reply was too low to hear.
So this was truly happening, Emily thought. She was effectively married off. She knew with a special license the marriage did not have to take place in a Church, so noone could attest she had not agreed to the match. Neither her acceptance nor even her presence was required. But why would a man of rank even seek a bride who had never been out in society? Emily’s stepfather had refused to sponsor her socially, refusing to spend the money on what he termed “frippery” necessary for the kind of public occasions that would have put her within sight of eligible suitors. Emily had never been to a ball or any other silly social gathering females her age delighted in around London. She had no friends outside of the servants. Why would this mysterious lord want her hand in marriage in exchange for what she was sure was a sizable voucher from her stepfather?
"If you ask me, this more than settles the matter,” her stepfather was saying. “I think you are getting too much of a bargain out of it. Emily is a comely lass and assuredly untouched. I think perhaps you should owe me some additional coin for dropping such a prize in your lap. In fact..." But his bold speech was abruptly cut short by the sound of a crash and feet scuffling. She heard the low, rich tone of His Lordship but again the words spoken were too low for her to make out through the door.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please let go!" her stepfather was pleading. She heard another crash and the study door swung open violently. Caught completely by surprise, Emily could only gasp and flatten herself against the wall, hoping that if she remained still the lord would not see her. She held her breath as he turned back to the study to address her stepfather where he lay sprawled on the floor.
"She is mine now,” he said. “Never attempt to contact her or I will ruin you." He turned to her then and she could feel his eyes assessing her as he said the last bit, but kept her face averted, refusing to meet his gaze. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint as she felt him take a step closer. He smelled faintly of leather and tobacco and she could feel the heat radiate from his body as he braced one arm against the wall high above her head, leaning in. Her corset felt tight and constricting as she struggled to breathe. The silence stretched. Finally, she felt his gloved fingers below her chin, forcing her gaze up.
His eyes were cold, the anger towards her stepfather still present in the gray depths. But his gaze softened as he focused on her face. He was incredibly handsome with a strong brow, sharp jaw and aristocratic nose. Emily was surprised to see his mouth quirked in a half smile.
"Little girls who eavesdrop get punished," he said with only a hint of amusement. He stroked her cheek, leaving a trail of heat.
And then he was gone.
She felt like he swooped all the air and energy out of the room with his departure. It took her several moments to recover from the intensity of his gaze.
"Little girl?" Emily wondered in confusion.
CHAPTER TWO
New Home
Emily could barely sleep. She could not remember the last time she had eaten and was consumed by a nervous energy. Her stepfather refused to answer any of her questions about her new husband. All she was told was that the paperwork had been signed and the whole business wrapped up without so much as a by your leave to her.
She was informed that she would not be allowed to take any of her belongings to her new home, not that there was much left to take anyway; her stepfather had seen to that. Since she did not have to occupy herself with packing for her departure, Emily busied herself instead by trying to rectify the household accounts and gathering any documents her stepfather would need for the continued running of the estate. This was not the usual work of a woman but there really had been no other option. After hours of poring over countless columns of numbers and legal documents, she retired to her bed with a pounding headache, only to be rudely shaken awake in the dawn hours by her stepfather.
"Get up you lazy tart!" he barked. "The carriage will be here soon."
Emily poured some frigid water from the pitcher in the corner into a basin and splashed her face and arms. Warms baths were for households with full staffs and money. When the carriage did arrive, her stepfather was nowhere to be seen. No one bade her farewell save for the weary housekeeper. Emily entered the carriage knowing nothing of her new life, not even her own married name.
The carriage was richly appointed with soft, brown leather cushions. In the center of the seat across from her was a stuffed bunny with a large, pink bow wrapped around its neck; in its lap was a card.
For my Little Emmie, it said.
Emily studied the note, perplexed. It seemed an odd way to greet one’s wife, and she assumed her new husband was referencing her size. She was diminutive, and her cheeks warmed at the memory of how he had towered over her when he’d caught her spying. But the gift, if it was a gift. A toy bunny? How childlike, she thought, as she reached for the stuffed animal. Its fur was soft and plush and she couldn't help rubbing it against her cheek. Curling her legs up on the seat, she cuddled with the bunny as the gentle rocking motion of the carriage lulled her into sleep.
And that’s how Lord Richard Burkewood found his new bride when the carriage pulled up to his secluded country estate – curled up fast asleep with the bunny clutched to her chest.
"Isn't she precious?" exclaimed his housekeeper, Mrs. Weatherby, eagerly peering over his shoulder.
Lord Burkewood could not agree more. He looked down at Emily's features, softened in sleep. At barely five-feet in height, she was dwarfed by his over six-foot frame. She had soft, light brown hair, currently constricted into a tight bun he knew would fall in gentle waves to her waist once loosed. Despite her small stature, she had generous breasts and rounded hips. He particularly loved her buttocks, which were round and pert. He couldn't wait to see them blush from the heat of his hand.
He smiled, pleased that she was finally here with him. At thirty-eight years of age, Lord Burkewood had been a good friend of Emily’s mother, and had watched Emily grow up, but always from a distance. He was delighted that she had retained her doll-like appearance, with a rosebud mouth and large eyes that dominated her face.
Lord Burkewood remembered Emily’s mother as being equally beautiful, but also with a willful independence that led to a poor choice in husbands. He knew she did not want the same for her daughter, and even though she knew the kind of lifestyle and discipline the Burkewood family espoused, she’d come to him shortly before her death and bade Lord Burkewood to care for Emily once she was gone. It was an easy promise to fulfill, and her stepfather's degenerate gambling made it even easier. It had been difficult to wait until the two long years till she was of a proper age and out of mourning, but he’d exercised restraint. And now Emily was his.
He saw her little body tense as she became aware the soft rocking of the carriage had stopped. She slowly stretched and turned her big sleepy eyes to his.
"Your Lordship!" she exclaimed, at a loss to comment further. Lord Burkewood took note of the dark circles under her eyes and her gaunt appearance.
"Mrs. Weatherby, please take Mrs. Pew’s charge to her room and see that she is bathed and rested," he said without taking his eyes off Emily. His voice sounding more strained then he intended, for he had to restrain himself from grabbing her by the hand and dragging her to his bed. The marriage papers were all in line, but Lord Burkewood could not truly consider Emmie to be his until he spread her legs and thrust his cock deep inside, taking her virginity. His body was coiled with tension. Perhaps a long ride across his estate would help tamp down his primal urges, and give her a chance to become acclimated to her new home.
"Young Lady, I will see you at dinner. As there are no adult guests, you will be permitted to dine with me." With those perplexing words, he turned and mounted his saddled horse, which had been waiting patiently to the side. "Mind Mrs. Weatherby and Mrs. Pew,” he ordered. “Don't give them any sass."
Emily was terribly confused. Whatever reception she was expecting, this had not been it. As the ne
w lady of the house, she should have been introduced to the staff. At the very least, her Husband could have escorted her into her new home. Instead, he spoke to her as if she were a child! What on earth did he mean by implying she would not be eating with other adults?
CHAPTER THREE
Bath Time
"Come along, ducky. You poor thing," cooed Mrs. Weatherby. "Let's get you into a warm bath. That will fix you up!" She grasped Emily's upper arm, the one not clutching the stuffed bunny, and led her into the house.
Emily had barely caught a glimpse of the sprawling house with large Grecian columns before being ushered inside into an imposing black marble entry hall. A massive central staircase covered in red velvet carpeting led to a second floor, where it branched off in different directions. Emily had scant moments to take in the valuable antiques and artwork before being hustled up the staircase and to the right by the ever-efficient Mrs. Weatherby. She had expected to be brought to a suite of rooms adjoining his Lordship’s. Instead she was ushered up a smaller staircase at the end of the hall to the third story.
Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she followed Mrs. Weatherby to a pair of double doors at the end of a second hallway. The doors opened on their approach, and Emily came face to face with a severe-looking woman in a serviceable gray gown with long sleeves and a high collar. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore no jewelry save for a small silver watch fob pinned over her left breast.
"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Pew,” Mrs. Weatherby said. “I have your new charge here. Isn't she precious?" Mrs. Weatherby beamed, her ample motherly appearance standing in sharp contrast to Mrs. Pew's expressionless countenance and thin frame.
"Bring the child in." Mrs. Pew turned into the room, barely sparing a glance for Emily.
