The Science of Submission

by Victoria Winters

  Archie sat with the two women long into the night, trying to provide comfort by his very presence. He had come to value Marjorie’s little family, not having one of his own. Somehow this nightmarish situation had brought them all close together. He felt very fortunate indeed; it could have gone in quite a different direction.

  Chapter Seven

  Nanny led little Margie through the wooden paneled outer room until they came to the inner sanctum. As they turned and entered the room, their feet made not a sound, not even Nanny’s metal leg. The floor was covered with the most lavish, thickest carpet she had ever seen in a beautiful pale blue. It wasn’t even a rug, but seemed to extend from one wall to another, completely covering the floor. The inner room was decorated in dark blue velvet, even the walls seemed to be hung with it. There was an immense crystal chandelier and under it was a single piece of furniture, a magnificent throne set with large gemstones. As she stared at the back of the chair, her thumb found its way into her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as she realized that the chair was turning until she could see the man sitting in it.

  As his face came into view, she recognized Lord Cavendish. He had been intimidating enough when she’d had tea with him in the parlor at Archibald’s place. This man was even more regal, magnificent really, a nobleman of the highest ranking. He looked so commanding with his smooth-shaven handsome face and dark hair, parted on the side and swept back. He was wearing a black coat with velvet lapels, an ascot at the collar of his white shirt and tuxedo trousers. He looked spectacularly handsome and he studied her with his penetrating gaze. Without a nudge from her nanny, she dropped into a deep curtsy, holding out her little skirts. She held the position, not daring to lift her head and look directly into his eyes.

  Stefan smiled at Nanny Trinka. He was very pleased indeed. The child’s training was so complete that she had not reacted to the realization that he was her abductor. He nodded at Katrinka and she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Margie still curtsying before him.

  “You may rise, child,” he said speaking with complete authority. She stood before him, shaken at having such a magnificent man’s undivided attention. He looked her up and down and tried to hide his grin. She looked adorable, like a little doll with her hair in shiny curls, her sailor dress, her pantaloons peeping beneath them and her little ruffled socks and shiny black slippers. Her eyes were wide, she was sucking her thumb and holding a rag doll clutched to her chest.

  Lord Cavendish held open his arms. “Come to me, baby girl. Come to your papa.”

  With a sob, Margie ran to him, indescribably happy to see a familiar face.

  He leaned forward and put his arms around her, pulling her up on to his lap. She put her little arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear, as she’d been instructed. “I love you, my papa.”

  “And I love you, my little one,” he replied, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, her little face now buried in his neck. As he held her, he realized she had lost weight over the last few days since he had carried her aboard. A diet of baby food and milk and frequent deep cleansings could do that, he supposed. He did not want her to lose too much weight, though. Her beautiful breasts were perfect just as they were. He ran his fingers through her golden curls. She lifted her face, big blue eyes stared up at him with adoration.

  “And how is my little one? Have you been a good girl for your nanny?” he asked.

  Margie flushed and lowered her eyes, remembering her spankings when she had displeased Nanny Trinka. Her papa knew about them. He knew everything.

  “Oh Papa, I’ve tried so very hard to obey Nanny Trinka, but I have earned many spankings,” she confessed, whispering in a little girl voice. She leaned in to the big strong man holding her in his arms and laid her head against his chest.

  “And all of those spankings, did you get them on your bare bottom?” he asked, remembering when she’d had her little pussy spanked. He’d watched through the peep hole as she had been laid on her back on her changing table, her legs spread, holding her nether lips open as her nanny stood behind her with a cane tapping on the seat of her pleasure. He had a perfect view of all of it and had almost come, watching Margie obey her nanny and hold herself open even though he could tell she hated the cane being applied to such a sensitive spot.

  “She-I-she….once she made me—made me…open, while she…”

  “Did Nanny spank your little pussy?” He asked gently.

  “Yes-yes, Papa,” she replied, burying her face in her hands. “It was ever so shameful!” she began to wail.

  “It’s going to be all right, baby,” he whispered, pressing his lips against the top of her head. “Little ones have much to learn. When you are naughty, you will be spanked. It is that simple.”

  Margie snuggled into her papa as she settled down and stopped crying. He continued to whisper to her.

  “I am so glad you are here, you know. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.” He had wanted a little one of his own for years, many of his friends had one, a young lady that they kept as their very own little girl, to coddle and toy with and spoil with love.

  “Papa, I will try to always be a good girl for you so that you won’t have cause to spank me.”

  “That is probably not possible little one, as you have much to learn. And I shall very much enjoy teaching you.”

  Suddenly she was being set on her feet before her master. She began to tremble as he looked upon her.

  He leaned forward and said, “Margie, I want you to bare your little bottom and show Papa how very naughty you have been. Right now, lambkins,” he ordered sternly.

  “Yes, Papa,” she whispered, flushing a pretty pink.

  Stefan held his breath as she paused for just a moment. Then she slowly turned around until her plump little bottom was right in front of him. She pulled down her pantaloons and then lifted the skirt of her little dress. Stefan stifled a gasp, her bottom was perfection, a little inverted heart. Those cheeks, full at the bottom, were created for chastisement. He pressed on her upper back and she bent forward, touching her toes.

  Stefan reached forward and touched the plush little pads in front of him. He longed with every fiber of his being to light into them, to watch those cheeks gyrate as he struck away with hand, birch or cane. He inspected her little cheeks. They were actually almost a pure white, just a hint of pinkness remained. He could see that Nanny Trinka had not used undue force in keeping her in line. Margie had begun to move about in her nervousness, rubbing her knees together, which caused her cheeks to jostle against one another.

  “Shhhhh,” he calmed her, reverently stroking her buttocks. Nanny Trinka had told him late last night, when he’d tiptoed into the nursery and watched over the sleeping young woman, that Margie was a virgin. He couldn’t believe it having heard the stories about how she’d comported herself with her former fiancé, but Katrinka said she had seen and felt the evidence. He decided to find out for himself. He began to run his finger up her little slit. Margie gave a cry and almost fell forward. He put his hands on her hips to steady her and took advantage of the moment to lean in close and kiss her soft cheeks.

  “Now, now baby, hold very still. Papa wants to see all of you. You must become accustomed to showing yourself to me. I am your master, after all, and you are my dear little one.” His hands were shaking as he put his thumbs on either nether lip and spread her, gazing upon her little quim. She was a delicate pink on the inside, the same exact color as her nipples. He longed to lick her from stem to stern, but knew she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. As he manipulated her, touching her inner lips, tickling the opening of her womanly tunnel, he realized that she was dripping wet. It was deeply gratifying. Clearly the little one found being exposed to his gaze to be most exciting. The bare skin he found there was highly titillating. He would have to thank Katrinka for shaving her. He leaned forward, stroking her inner lips delicately as the scent of her arousal wafted up to his nostrils.

  “Oh little one, what have you
been spanked for, hmmmm? Tell your papa,” he ordered.

  Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door. Stefan cursed inwardly. He had arranged with Katrinka to give him no more than a few minutes alone with little Margie. He didn’t trust himself for much longer than that. He knew he had to bring her along slowly.

  Margie jerked out of his hands at the sound of the knock on the door. As she stood and arranged her clothing, Katrinka poked her head inside of the room.

  “Pardon my interruption, sir, but it is time for little Margie’s constitutional,” her nanny cheerfully announced.

  Margie frowned, she could only imagine what her “constitutional” would consist of. It could be anything from a rendezvous with a clyster to exercise of some sort. Nanny Trinka greeted Stefan’s scowl with a wide smile. She intended to serve as chaperone as long as little Margie was disoriented and vulnerable. She would back off once the young lady began to come back to herself, but that was a long way off.

  “Has little Margie been a good girl, your lordship?” Katrinka asked.

  “Yes, she was a very good girl,” Stefan replied. Trinka smiled. Was that fatherly pride in his voice?

  “Then I believe she has earned herself a lolly,” her nanny replied, producing a large round lollipop. Margie’s eyes grew wide and she shyly smiled as she took it from her nanny, giving her a sincere thank you. Stefan sat there, transfixed as Margie’s little tongue went to work on the large round sucker. He was already aroused from gazing upon her pussy and felt himself growing even harder within his trousers.

  “Shall we go for a walk on deck then?” Nanny Trinka suggested.

  Stefan leapt at the chance to clear his head and regained his composure. He grabbed his walking stick and followed the ladies up on deck. As they promenaded in a circle around the deck taking in the fresh air and sunshine, Margie looked exactly like a little girl licking her lollypop.

  Captain Andersson watched them from the helm. This was his first sighting of the child, Lord Cavendish’s ward. She looked to be around 11 or 12, a darling girl with blond ringlets and delicate features. She looked like a little princess. She was a very lucky little orphan to have a guardian as well seated as Lord Cavendish.

  Margie was excited to be on deck, taking in the vastness of the ocean with her big eyes. “Where are we heading, Papa?” she piped up in a little girl voice.

  “We are heading north, child, to the tip of Scotland.”

  “Oooh,” Margie replied, wide-eyed with wonder. She had never before been to Scotland. She wondered if she’d be able to see it from the yacht. Katrinka and Stefan smiled at each other over her head. As it turned out, Margie was in her crib, sound asleep when the anchor was dropped off the coast of Scotland later that night.

  Chapter Eight

  The Felicitous Fortune set anchor a mile out to sea from the northernmost tip of Scotland. A steam-powered tug boat appeared through the mist and pulled up alongside the yacht. Lord Cavendish climbed down a rope that had been lowered down the side and boarded the tug. He greeted the familiar bedraggled old man who was steering the boat, Captain Stokes. There was also a poor unfortunate lad, covered with soot who was shoveling coal into the boiler.

  The tug chugged along towards the shore. As they got closer to land, through the mist he could make out the outline of Creeker Castle, a sight which never failed to take his breath away. To those in the know, it was called the Dragon’s Crypt. It appeared to be the ruins of an ancient abandoned castle. The tug turned the bend and appeared to the casual observer to be sailing away but instead it entered a covered dock that disappeared under the castle. Lord Cavendish gracefully hopped from the bobbing boat on to the dock and was greeted by a butler holding a lantern.

  “We have been expecting you, Lord Cavendish,” Ferguson, the butler said, bowing to the distinguished earl. Lord Cavendish looked quite rakish as he swirled his hooded cape around him to keep out the chill.

  Stefan turned to look as the false stone door closed, hiding his transportation. He followed the butler inside the building. Tourists climbing over the ruins on the outside would be astonished by what it looked like underground. He walked over marble floors, past room-sized tapestries and priceless works of art. He was led to a staircase that took him even further below ground and emptied out to what, for all intents and purposes, looked like an exclusive gentleman’s club.

  It was customary to invite a visiting member to first be shown to the club area for refreshments. It was not needed in Stefan’s case, but few travelled with such luxurious accommodations as the Felicitous Fortune and probably appreciated having time to pull themselves together before facing the Grand Council.

  Stefan looked around the room, it was long and narrow with dark wood inlaid walls. There was a crystal chandelier and crystal sconces around the wall, all lit with candles, giving the wood a warm glow. There were leather chairs and couches in various arrangements around the room. At one end of room was a fireplace with a fire crackling merrily away. The overall effect was most welcoming. Lord Cavendish took a seat and was quickly brought tea and a cigar. He looked about, the evening was still young and various gentlemen were starting to arrive. He recognized most of them, nobility of his acquaintance. A couple of former school mates approached him and they sat and smoked together. Because it was a secret society, everyone knew better than to share anything but the most mundane of chatter; the weather, their mode of transport, the last time they had seen one other. A young man he did not recognize joined the group and he was introduced. Stefan heard for the first time that the boy’s father and older brother had perished and he, the second son, had recently become the Earl of Tensley.

  All too soon, they began taking their leave as one by one they were called to meet with the council. As Stefan had been the first to arrive, so he was the last to be called. He sat back, sipping a bourbon and recalled his indoctrination into the Order. There were many ways men paid their dues to the brotherhood besides going on missions. As a young lad, he had spent his summers being initiated, learning the rituals and ultimately serving as a crypt keeper.

  He grinned, recalling having to bow on various occasions for the discipline that becoming a member entailed. On more than one occasion, he’d had his naked flanks beaten as each of the young men did. It was a way to prove their fealty, to be held accountable and to toughen up for the duties that lay ahead. Sometimes the canes and paddles were wielded by visiting nobility or the older boys, sometimes by the Council members themselves. It was considered an important step in proving oneself fit for participation in the society.

  He closed his eyes, recalling having to travel through the “Dragon’s Lair” for one memorable punishment. He had been required to strip naked and enter a dark cave, lit only by torches. There had been a dozen or so crypt keepers, hidden within their red robes who had formed a line. He’d had to crawl through the legs of the older boys as they had struck his buttocks with paddles. At the end, he had been asked which of them had struck the hardest. He had chosen number twelve, a young man with a swing that had actually gotten a yelp out of him. Number Twelve was then called forward, congratulated and allowed to give six more with a cane to Stefan’s swollen backside. Those last six had made him dance in place, he recalled fondly with a grin.

  Suddenly Ferguson was standing before him. He bowed, indicating that Stefan should follow. After a long walk through winding corridors, Stefan was brought to the door of the council. A tall figure in a red cloak stepped forward, his face hidden under the hood. He quickly anointed Stefan with the customary oils at wrist, throat and temples and spoke the secret Latin words. Stefan spoke the proper response and Ferguson helped him don a red hooded cloak to wear before the council. Lastly, he adjusted his Order of the Dragon ring, making sure the symbol that could also be used to seal wax on a document, pointed upwards. He was ready.

  As if by some hidden command, the doors to the council swung open silently as Stefan strode into the room. The six council members sat on a raise
d dias looking down at him, the Grand Dragon sitting in the center. There were crypt keepers lined before the council, holding lit torches. Although they were hooded, he knew that each one was a young Viscount serving a year-long internship. Stefan bowed before them and swore his fealty to the Grand Dragon in Latin words that had come down unchanged through the centuries. He then stood quietly waiting to be addressed.

  A disembodied voice spoke: “Stefan Cavendish, Eighth Earl of Whitehall, member in good standing of the Crypt Keepers of the Dragon. You have been called before this council for a special assignment.

  A hundred years ago, after the Revolutionary War and during the reign of King Charles III, his wife, Queen Charlotte, gave a precious star sapphire and diamond necklace to George Washington’s wife, Martha, as a gesture of goodwill. Unfortunately, this necklace, known as the Jewel of the Mediterranean, is the property of the Throne and was not the young Queen’s to give away. Repeated requests for it to be returned have been ignored by the American government.

  Your mission is to travel to the United States, to the city of Boston in the state of Massachusetts, retrieve the necklace and return it to the Tower of London where it belongs with the rest of the crown jewels.”

  Stefan raised one eyebrow. Retrieving a necklace, a rather mundane, routine mission. Oh well, it was an opportunity to take the yacht on a cross-Atlantic voyage. Captain Andersson would be pleased.

  “Do you accept this assignment, Lord Cavendish?”

  “I do, Grand Dragon and the Council of Six. I will travel to America immediately.”

  “Further information about the whereabouts of the necklace and it’s description will be given to you upon your departure. Be safe, Lord Cavendish and God speed.” The men sitting on the raised platform nodded at him.

  Stefan bowed and backed out of the room. After the doors swung shut and before his robe could be removed, Ferguson asked. “Sir, we have a discipline session starting shortly. Would you be willing to lend a hand?” Stefan smiled. Strapping some muscular young male buttocks sounded like a jolly end to the evening and he nodded his consent.