Something about the way he asks the question makes my stomach flip over. Mrs. Fairfax shakes her head and sighs.
“She did not even read it or allow Madame Atout to read it to her. She has no idea what is in it.” Mrs. Fairfax’s disapproval radiates out from her and it’s all I can do not to stick my tongue out at her.
If she’d had my life, she would know that whatever this duke wanted, it was worth the price he was paying for it.
He shakes his head.
“When will they learn?” he murmurs as he picks up his quill and dips it in the ink before signing with a flourish. I watch, fascinated by his quick and easy movements and the curling letters.
His signature is much prettier than mine.
Putting the quill down, he pushes the papers to the side of the desk where Mrs. Fairfax is standing and looks up at me. Even though I want to drop my gaze again, I am caught by his eyes,which are boring into me and I find that I can not onlynotlook away, but I can scarcely breathe.
The slow smile that spreads across his lips is not reassuring.
“Come here, little Betty,” he says, pushing his chair back, though he does not get to his feet.
“Bettina,” I correct him even as I make my feet move. I walk around the side where Mrs. Fairfax is standing, feeling somewhat comforted by her presence, though I could not say why. Perhaps because she is a fellow woman. Or perhaps because she is the most familiar thing in this very unfamiliar room, despite our short acquaintance.
“Oh, no. It is little Betty now.” He smiles at me, holding his hand out, and I hesitantly reach out to put mine in his. My fingers are much smaller, much slimmer, and I can feel the strength in his hand, especially when he suddenly pulls me toward him.
Crying out, I stumble, my free hand trying to catch my fall, but there is nothing to hold onto.
I end up over his lap, his broad thighs against my stomach and tucked under my breasts. He releases my hand and curves his fingers around my side, holding me in place when I try to push myself back up. My hands are on that soft carpet, but just barely and there is no strength to my attempt.
“Stay still, little Betty,” he orders, and I feel air on my legs as my skirts are flipped up.
“Bettina!” I do not know why I keep repeating my name, but it’s like my brain has frozen. It is the only thing I can think of to say. I do not know what he is doing or why he is doing it, but I do know my name and it isnotBetty.
“You should have read your contract more closely.” Those strong fingers close over one of my thighs, sliding up toward my pussy, and I suck in a breath of shock. The movement and my position hanging over his lap causes my breasts to do whatthey’ve been threatening all morning, and they pop out of my dress. Immediately, I reach to cover them with one arm, the other still keeping me balanced on his lap.
“For the next six months, you are mine to do with as I please. You will answer to the name I give you, dress in the clothes I provide, eat the food that is prepared for you, and be my good Little girl who does whatever her Daddy asks of her.”
Before I could answer or respond in any way, his hand came crashing down on my upturned, completely exposed bottom. This was not akin to the small swat Mrs. Fairfax had given me earlier. It was harder, crueler, and far more painful, the sharp sting radiating outward and going much deeper than the surface level.
Crying out, I begin to fight to stand up again, to get away from him, but it is no use. He is far bigger and stronger than I am, and his hand comes crashing down on my upturned bottom again, spanking me like I’m a naughty child rather than a full-grown woman… rather than a mistress.
Tears spark in my eyes and began to drip down to the floor as the crisp swats pepper my cheeks, the painful heat growing and spreading over my skin.
It hurts more than I would have thought possible.
“Please, please stop! Please, please, please.” I start begging, because I do not know what else to do.
To my shock and relief, the spanking stops. His hand comes to rest on my bottom, which is hot against his palm. I whimper, but I’m too relieved that the actual spanking has ceased to protest the way he begins rubbing my tender backside.
“Now that we understand each other, let’s go over the rules,” he says, his tone utterly reasonable, as if he had not just flipped me over his lap and brought me to tears.
I gulp in air, still holding my breasts with one arm, wondering if I can stuff them back into place in my dress, though that hardly seems the most important thing now.
His fingers tap against my sore posterior as he begins to read the contract to me.
It is simple enough at first, exactly the kind of thing Madame Atout had told me to expect. He will provide me with housing, clothing, food, and everything I could possibly need, as well as occasional gifts. In return, I will provide him with the services he requires of me.
The list of those services and his expectations are what cause my mouth to drop open and my head to go dizzy in a manner which has nothing to do with still being upside down.
“You cannot treat me like a child!” I protest, squirming as I tried to get off his lap yet again.
The arm across my back is like an iron poker, giving me not a single inch as his hand lifts from my bottom again.
