Lifting the side of the crib, she locks it into place. Even if I can manage to get to my feet, I am not sure I could get over the sides of it. Certainly not without hurting myself.
A kind of despair wells up inside me. I am well and truly trapped. Even if I decide the payment is not worth it, I cannot escape. Not tonight. They have thought of everything.
I wonder how many other courtesans the Duke has lost on the first night, until they started taking such measures. Or was he always like this?
Did Madame Atout know?
Even if I did not read the contract, she could have warned me.
“Good night, little Betty,” Nanny says cheerfully, going to the side table and picking up the small gas lamp resting there to take it with her. “Get some sleep. As your Daddy said, you have a long day tomorrow.”
Staring up at the ceiling, as soon as Nanny leaves the room, I kick at the wooden spindles on my crib. It is the only thing I can do that feels like some kind of rebellion, even if I dare not do it in front of the Duke or Nanny.
In the dark, with nothing else to focus on, I can still taste him on my lips. My pussy pulses between my legs, sore from being used and yet achingly needy from all the teasing during my bath and his fondling of my breasts while he used my mouth. I want to touch it so bad, but nothing I do helps free my arms. All the wriggling in the world is useless. And with the diaper cloth over my pussy, there’s only so much pressure I can manage to put on it by pressing my legs together.
My mind whirls with all the experiences.
All the sensations.
My anger at Madame Atout.
My resentment at Nanny.
And as for the Duke… I have no idea what I feel.
But tomorrow is going to be a long day. Dread fills me, with a thin trickle of excitement hiding within it.
Exhaustion finally takes over and I fall asleep, bringing the morning on far too quickly.
Chapter Eight
“Time to get up, little girl. Did you use your nappy?”
That is how I’m woken in the morning, with the sound of the crib sliding down so that Nanny can lean over and press her hand against the cloth between my legs to see if it’s wet.
I squeak, which is about the only sound I can manage to make.
It feels like I got far too little sleep, and when I roll away from her hand and catch a glimpse of the window, I can see that it is earlier in the morning than I usually rise. Not at all thetonhours that Madame Atout operated her business during.
“You must need to use the bathroom. Come on, Betty, let’s get you up for the day.” As if Nanny’s words are able to affect my body, I am immediately aware of the pressing need to do exactly what she said. I’d held it all night rather than wetting the diaper, but I desperately need to relieve myself now.
Not only that, but the plug has been in my bottom all night and I want it out.
Nanny accompanies me to the bathing room, removing the plug for me and then watching while I relieve myself. She cleans the plug thoroughly before administering a morning enema. This one has no soap and I do not protest. The overly full feelingis not entirely comfortable, but I am very aware of how much worse it could be.
“You’ll have a break from the plug this morning and we’ll put it back in this afternoon,” she informs me cheerfully.
“Yes, Nanny,” I reply dutifully.
Again, it is not my favorite thing, but I can see the sense in stretching my bottom if the duke is going to put his cock in it eventually. I can only imagine how much more it will hurt if my bottom is not stretched for such an invasion. Besides, there is a part of me that secretly likes it. Just a little.
Not the burning sting of having it inserted but… the feeling it gives me. I am not sure I could explain it even if I wanted to. And, to be truthful, I do not wish to examine that part of me too closely.
Nanny dresses me in what seems like a Little girl’s dress. More ruffles, more lace. It only goes down to my knees, which are covered with stockings and shoes that are more like a child’s than a grown woman’s. My hair is done in two plaits, hanging down on either side of my head.
I look ridiculous.
Just do what your benefactor wants and enjoy the rewards of pleasing him.Madame Atout’s advice flits through my head.
