by Maggie Ryan
“Yes, Ma’am,” Emmie said, shivering just a bit at the reminder that her ordeal was not over and yet knowing she wouldn’t feel completely forgiven until she had paid the full price of her naughtiness.
Chapter 6
Stefan helped her from the carriage when it pulled to a stop in front of his large townhouse. Bertha took her hand and looked down at the beautiful young woman, her sympathetic expression acknowledging that she was aware the small woman was uncomfortable. Emmie flushed hotly, the plug in her bottom seeming to become even heavier. Clenching her bottom tightly made her ache even more, but despite her Papa’s assurances that it wouldn’t slip out, she was terrified of losing the plug. She obediently followed her nanny up the steps into the townhouse.
There were servants standing to welcome them home and help with the luggage. Emmie was hugged and petted by the staff, all loving the special young woman. When the cook hugged her, Emmie enthusiastically returned the embrace. The two had a special connection; Emmie often spent hours in the kitchen helping the woman prepare meals. Though it was totally unnecessary, Stefan knew his little one thoroughly enjoyed cooking and thought it a worthwhile endeavor as well as serving to keep her out of mischief.
“Are you going to come help me with the pies? The market had some lovely apples and peaches. I’ve been looking forward to baking with my girl again,” Mrs. Lundston asked, and Emmie looked to her Papa.
“May I, Papa?” she asked, knowing that her punishment had not yet been completed and fearing her Papa would most likely deny her request.
“Perhaps, Emmie,” Stefan said. Never one to attempt to hide or soften what was required of her in their home, his entire staff well aware of his demands for his little child-bride, he told her the conditions of his approval: “You must behave during your session, make a proper penance and take a good nap.” He turned his attention to the cook, “Matilda, I hope that Emmie will find her way to the kitchen after her nap. I think a pie made with my little one’s help will make a nice welcome-home dessert for our supper, but that will depend upon her obedience.”
Accustomed to hearing the little woman crying, wailing, and pleading, promising once more that she’d never be naughty again as her Papa or nanny roasted her rear, the cook gave Emmie another hug. “I understand, Sir. Though it’s a shame our Emmie seems to have earned herself a session, I trust she will behave. I’ll look for you after your nap, Emmie. You be a good girl for your Papa.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Emmie managed to whisper, even as her heart pounded upon hearing the word 'session'. A session was far, far more difficult to endure with the expected graceful submission than any other discipline. Matilda nodded and bustled off to get their luncheon on the table.
After the delicious meal was enjoyed, Stefan sat back, drinking his second cup of tea. “Emmaline, do you believe you are ready to try again to drink your milk without fussing?”
Emmie’s eyes darted to her nanny, knowing that the woman was more than prepared to bend the girl across her lap and give her the liquid through an enema nozzle, as she had done after every meal during their train trip.
“Oh, yes, please, Papa,” she said. “I won’t ever fuss again. I promise.”
Nodding, Stefan said, “I’m glad to hear that. You may go ask Mrs. Lundston to prepare you a bottle. If your words prove true, we’ll see about allowing you to use a glass soon.” She smiled and slid from her chair. Before she could step away, her husband gave her another order. “Ask Mrs. Lundston to prepare a large ginger plug, as well.”
Her eyes snapped to his, her face coloring. She saw his eyebrow rise as if to question her hesitancy, warn her to obey, and remember her recent promise all at the same time. “Ye … yes, Papa.” She shuddered as she slowly made her way to the kitchen. The room was empty save for two kitchen maids busily washing dishes. “Excuse me, where might I find Mrs. Lundston?”
Sarah turned from the sink to see Emmie. “Welcome home, Miss Emmie,” she said, with a quick bob of her head. “I believe you might find her in the pantry,” she replied, nodding toward the large walk-in butler’s pantry.
“Thank you,” Emmie said, walking into the pantry to find the cook replacing luncheon items back into their proper place. “Excuse me,” Emmie said softly, not wanting to startle the woman as she slid a stack of plates onto a shelf. Matilda turned to the young woman and started to smile, but at the look on Emmie’s face, simply nodded. “Papa asked me to ask you to prepare my bo … bottle of milk,” Emmie managed. The cook smiled and nodded, even as she reached for one of the many bottles lined up on a shelf.
“Certainly. Are you off to nap, then?” she asked, as she started to move past Emmie to reenter the kitchen.
“In … in a bit,” Emmie said, her eyes darting to where a large woven reed basket sat on one shelf. Its contents caused her to tremble.
Matilda followed the girl’s gaze and instantly understood the reasoning for Emmie’s quiet tone, as well as her slightly trembling hands that were worrying the fabric of her pinafore. “Is there something else your Papa requires?” she asked, gently.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Emmie acknowledged. “He … he requests that a … a ginger root … be prepared.” Emmie felt her face heat. Having to actually ask for a simple garden root that both women knew would soon become an instrument of embarrassing, intimate punishment was horrible—especially asking the cook, a woman she adored.
“How am I to prepare the ginger, Emmaline? Does your Papa wish to have a cup of ginger tea or perhaps some ginger cookies?” The cook gave her precious girl a pointed look, both knowing exactly what her Papa had requested.
“No … no, Ma’am,” Emmie said, quietly. “Pa … Papa requests a … a ginger plug for … for my bot … bottom.”
“Ahhh, I see,” Matilda said with an approving nod. “Did your Papa tell you what size he’d like?”
Emmie wanted to die, the mortification of having this conversation almost as bad as the upcoming punishment was going to be, something she knew her Papa intended as another part of her session. She shook her head forlornly.
“Well, then, I suppose it is up to us to decide, isn’t it?” Matilda asked, not expecting an answer from the obviously-embarrassed young woman. She picked up the basket and carried it out into the kitchen, placing it on the table that served as a work surface. “Tell me, have you been just a tad bit naughty or is your Papa having to give you a harsh lesson?”
Emmie shuddered. “I … I was … was very naughty,” she confessed, and then looked up. “I … I didn’t mean to be … I … I …”
“Never you mind, Missy,” Matilda said, as she set aside several small roots that she deemed unacceptable. “I suppose that since this is a continuation of your punishment, your Papa won’t be satisfied with a little root.”
Emmie nodded and then flushed furiously as the two girls at the sink looked over to see what the cook and she were discussing. When their eyes slid to the basket, Emmie saw their eyes grow round and heard their quick gasps. Though they never stopped washing the pile of pots and pans in the sink, Emmie saw Sarah and Constance continuing to sneak glances over their shoulders, soft giggling barely audible but extremely embarrassing to the young woman who should have been the mistress of the manor. Emmie fought the urge to run from the room, remaining rooted in place as the cook left the basket on the table. She poured some milk from a pitcher into a small pan and set it on the stove to warm before returning to the basket of ginger roots.
“While that warms, I’ll peel your root,” the cook said, selecting two larger roots from the basket. “Which of these do you believe will teach a proper lesson?” Matilda asked, knowing that being made to participate in her punishment would increase its effect.
Emmie looked at both roots, one not even as large as the presence she currently felt between her cheeks. She knew her Papa would most likely not be pleased if she presented that root to him. With a soft sigh, her hand lifted, and though she wanted to point to the smaller of the two, she pointed to t
he largest one.
“That’s a good choice,” the cook said, before picking up a small knife. Emmie could do nothing but stand and watch as thin slices of the root’s skin fell to the surface of the table, the pungent scent of the ginger soon filling the kitchen. The largest finger of the root was very thick and about six inches long, despite its twisted and very knobby appearance. One end flared into a large bulb that Mrs. Lundston held as she prepared the root. Matilda carved the root into the usual embarrassing shape that very closely resembled the thick plug already in Emmie’s bottom. She made sure to only remove the skin down to where the root bulged at the end, leaving the greenish-gray covering in place to make it easy for Lord Northbridge to grasp.
Emmie knew from past experience that this end would be the only part of the root visible outside of her body by the time her Papa was finished with the insertion. As she watched the woman lightly score the surface of the root, her eyes closed briefly and her bottom clenched yet again. When the cook finished and rotated the root to make sure every part of its surface was scored and would be more freely able to leak its irritating juices in a naughty girl’s bottom-hole, Emmie couldn’t stifle a soft whimper.
“That should make a proper plug for the job,” the cook announced and placed the root into a small bowl.
Emmie couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the horrid object. Though she had been figged before for naughtiness, she’d never had to ask for the implement herself. Her Papa had simply pushed the root into her bottom and she quickly learned how uncomfortable the procedure could be. Before today, she’d not known that Mrs. Lundston had probably been the very one to prepare that first ginger plug. Lost in memory, Emmie wasn’t even aware that the cook had finished preparing her bottle of milk and was once more back at the table until the woman picked up the bowl and held the items out to Emmie.
Emmie took both objects, remembering to thank the cook. Matilda stood watching, her arms crossed over her chest as the girl turned to leave the kitchen. She fought the urge to call out to Emmie, knowing the girl needed to remember what her Papa had declared the last time she had been gingered. Just when she had decided that Emmie had forgotten, she saw the beautiful young woman stop and turn back. Matilda relaxed her stance, a smile of approval lighting her face.
“Excuse me,” Emmie said softly, as she returned to the table. “I … I forgot to ask for … for the pep … pepper pot.”
Matilda nodded, once more taking on her role as a participant in Emmie’s harsher lessons. “I see,” Matilda said. “Yes, I do believe a nice coating of pepper oil might serve well to enhance the experience. Tell me, Emmaline, do you believe you were naughty enough to deserve to be both peppered and gingered?” The cook adored the young woman but had grown up under strict and embarrassing discipline herself. She was well aware of how a hot, juicy root in a bottom served as a very good reminder that a girl should behave for her Papa. She waited until Emmie met her gaze.
“Ye … yes, Ma’am.”
“I’m proud of you, Emmaline,” the cook said. “I know it is difficult to admit being so naughty as to have earned a hard lesson. I understand from what your Papa said that you are facing a continuance of some punishment. So tell me, little girl, why do you think your Papa would want to make sure the lesson is well-learned?”
“He’d want me to remember not … not to be so naughty and to accept my pun … punishment without fighting or arguing,” Emmie admitted, remembering how upset her Papa had been at her behavior, as well as being displeased that there had not been enough time to finish her punishment or for her to make a proper penance before time to disembark the train. “He would want me to learn that I would be hap … happier if I didn’t misbehave and … and earn a … a session.”
“That’s our good girl,” Matilda said. “I hope that you take your Papa’s lesson to heart, little one.” Emmie watched as Mrs. Lundston returned from the pantry with a dark brown bottle and a small paintbrush, knowing the bottle contained oil that had been infused with pepper seeds.
When the cook removed an additional two roots from the basket, Emmie gasped. “Oh please, Papa said only one …” she began, but Matilda reached out and patted her hand.
“These two aren’t for you, sweetie,” she assured Emmie with a smile, before she turned to address her kitchen maids. “Sarah and Constance, I suggest you finish those dishes before I finish preparing your roots.” Both girls turned around, their faces showing their shock, their eyes widening at the sight of two ginger roots lying on the table. She was proud to see that Emmie managed not to smile upon seeing the astonished disbelief on the other girls’ faces.
“Girls that giggle and belittle another who is facing punishment find their own bottoms paddled and undergoing a good figging for being so petty and disrespectful,” Mrs. Lundston said, with another smile at Emmie. “Go along now, Emmie; I’m sure you don’t wish to keep your Papa waiting. I’ll see you after your nap.” Emmie nodded, clutching the items in her hands. As she walked from the room, she could hear both of the maids apologizing and promising never to laugh again.
Stefan watched his wife returning, the requested items in her hands. “Did you or Mrs. Lundston choose your root?” he asked.
“I … I did, Papa,” Emmie answered, her face flushing but her eyes meeting his.
“That’s my good girl,” he said, taking the bowl from her and approving the large ginger root. “What’s this?” he asked, seeing her holding both her bottle and a small brown jar.
“It’s the pepper pot, Papa,” Emmie said, softly. “I … I remembered you told me the next time I was naughty enough to make my pen … penance with my bot … bottom, I would be well-oi … oiled.”
She was learning to accept his discipline, and though he knew she’d spend an uncomfortable few hours, she would be much better for it. “I’m proud of you, little one. It takes a very brave little girl to admit she needs such an uncomfortable lesson. Are you ready to have your punishment done?” At her nod, he took the jar and brush from her and then took her hand, leading her up the stairs into her nursery.
Chapter 7
Within two hours, Emmie was in her crib, and though exhausted, she was relieved that her ordeal was finally completed. Upon their arrival in her nursery, her Papa had dismissed Bertha after she had undressed Emmaline down to her drawers. After the nanny left, giving her own reminder to Emmie to be a good girl and submit to her session, Emmie was ordered to bend over and clasp her arms around her knees. Once bent, her legs trembling, Stefan slowly parted her naughty girl drawers, making sure his little one was aware of her bottom's being bared inch by inch until both globes and the plug between them were well exposed. It had been highly embarrassing, feeling her husband’s fingers between her cheeks, working the large plug from her bottom, but relief filled her when it finally popped free. After the plug had been dropped into the bowl on her washstand, Stefan made her step out of her drawers and guided her to the tall punishment horse that stood prominently in one corner of her room. Emmie gave her first sob as he lifted her, arranging her across the pillows on one end of the horse. Once her wrists and ankles had been secured, she watched as her husband removed a strap from its hook on the wall next to her punishment horse.
“As I promised you on the train when you failed to submit to your strapping, I’m going to freshen your welts before we continue,” he informed her. “The next time you are instructed to offer your bottom for my strap, I hope you remember this lesson.”
“Ye … yes, Sir,” Emmie whimpered, extremely sorry she had been so disobedient on the train and wishing with all of her soul that she had submitted properly that morning. She was soon pulling against her restraints as stroke after stroke of the strap bit into her bottom, each crisp snap sounding loudly in the room. “Papa … please, no … oh, Papa,” she wailed, the strap never slowing until the entire surface of her bottom was throbbing. When she felt the strap land against her left thigh, she wailed louder and pulled harder against the restraints, und
erstanding this was an additional element her stubbornness had earned her. Stefan didn’t lower the strap until he’d given her right thigh the same treatment, and her bottom another dose, leaving the entirety of her bottom—as well as a great deal of her back of her thighs—crimson and well-striped.
She was still sobbing when she felt him move between her well-spread legs, his fingers delving between her nether lips to find her extremely slick. She moaned when his fingers withdrew and then gasped as she felt something hard and large being pushed into her cunny, her moans indicating her discomfort as Stefan seated a large, oil-slicked rubber phallus deep inside her.
“Naughty little girls that earn the strap earn something else, don’t they Emmaline?” Stefan asked.
“Yes…yes, Sir,” she sobbed, her cunny full of the phallus, the burn inside her channel beginning to rival that of her bottom and thighs, her small, puckered flower seeming to pulse in anticipation of her penance still to be performed.
