Maybe because she sees that I really am trying, Nanny takes it a little easier on me as the lesson goes on.
By the time it’s over and she takes me back to my room for a nap, I am truly exhausted and am grateful to not have to do anything. She undresses me, puts me in a nightrail, and plugs my tender bottom before diapering me, then tucks me into the crib. I fall asleep almost immediately.
When I wake up, my bladder is so full that I fear I may end up using the diaper after all, but thankfully Nanny takes mestraight to the bathing room to remove the plug again and allows me to relieve myself. It is very strange to be grateful to use the facilities, but I am. My bottom is still sore and tender, but there’s been some improvement.
I’m put into another dress and taken out to the back garden with Nanny where she sits down on a bench and begins to crochet, leaving me to wander the area. There are toys there. Children’s toys. I ignore them. I might be forced to play this role for the payment I’ve been promised, that does not mean I need to feed into the delusion when left to my own devices.
Also, I have never been in a garden like this before. It is filled with flowers and leaves and all sorts of things to look at. I find a blanket that I can lay out and lay on to stare up at the clouds. It gives me the illusion of being alone. I feel more like myself again and not the Little girl that Nanny and the Duke are trying to turn me into.
What perplexes me the most is that I do not hate it as much as I think I should.
I certainly do not like all of it.
But…
I feel as though I should hate it more.
And I don’t.
Eventually Nanny packs us back up inside and I am led to the Duke’s study.
He sits behind the desk, as powerful and handsome as ever, his gaze steady on me as Nanny gives him the rundown of my day and I look everywhere but directly at him. Trying to look directly at him feels like trying to stare at the sun. Too dangerous.
When Nanny gets to the part where I threw my piece of chalk, I wince as my bottom throbs in remembrance of the spanking that followed. I duck my head down when I catch the frown onthe Duke’s lips, folding my hands in front of me and trying to look like a good girl.
As she finishes up, the Duke gets to his feet.
“I’m disappointed to hear you were so naughty on your first day,” he says sternly. “If only you had been a good girl in the afternoon, like you were in the morning. Bring her around to this side of the desk, Nanny.”
I whimper, but do not protest, as she bends me over his desk and flips my skirts up so he can inspect my bottom. My insides clench as his fingers trace gently against my skin, making me shiver as arousal swirls in my core.
“The pink has already faded,” he notes. “Except in these spots.”
“I believe that would be the ruler, Your Grace,” Nanny replies.
“Well. You did a good job, but I want to ensure that my little Betty knows what’s expected of her for the future. We want to drive the lesson home on the first day so that she remembers to be good all day and not just part of the day.”
“I’ll remember!” I blurt out, sensing that he’s leading up to nothing good for me. “I promise, I’ll be good!”
“Yes, you will, and we’re going to make sure of it. Hold her down, Nanny.”
Hands press against my shoulders and I wail as his hand comes crashing down on my bottom. He spanks much harder than Nanny does, feeling more like the wooden ruler than actual flesh. In short order, he has me crying and pleading, kicking and sniffling. My bottom feels like it’s glowing red with heat, every inch of it having been punished by his hard hand.
But it’s not over.
“There, that was a good warmup. Now it’s time for your birching.”
“Noooo, Daddy, please, no!”
“Yes, little girl. Only Daddy will birch you, but on days when you are naughty, that’s what you have to look forward to.”
Birch me on my already throbbing, burning-hot bottom? I cry out, starting to struggle, but Nanny holds me firmly in as the duke goes to the armoire on the side of the room and pulls out a birch from a bucket within. Later I will realize that he was expecting me to need such a punishment, otherwise the birch would not have been ready and waiting. The gathered flexible branches are damp, and I can feel the cool wetness against my hot skin as he lays them against my bottom, almost like an apology for what is to come.
Chapter Nine
Being hit with the birch is like being stung by a hundred angry wasps, all intent on punishing my bottom. I start sobbing and begging after the very first blow, but that does not stop the Duke. The stinging branches come down on my already hot and painful bottom again and again.
The Duke counts out each stroke in a low voice, interspersed with my shrieks and pleas.
