(excerpt)
Little Miss I 

dmund Wainwright opened the door to his tidy little Victorian house and stepped inside, out of the cold blustery weather and into its warm confines.  He removed his heavy gray overcoat and hung it on the hall tree, doffed his hat and did the same, as the tantalizing sounds of what was going on on the floor above drifted to his ears.

            “Ow – oh – no – pleeaassee – Nanny – eeeek!  Oh! Owwww!”

            Something stiff and perhaps leather or wooden was thwacking away diligently at a soft, tender bottom that would soon be – if it wasn’t already and he doubted that it wasn’t – sore and swollen from its attentions.

            His little wife, and he used the term loosely, was getting a belting, it sounded like.  Or maybe a caning, but she wasn’t really yelping loudly enough for that.  Perhaps her Nanny was using a ruler or a paddle . . .  Already greatly aroused within seconds by the possibilities of the tableau he would be gleefully interrupting, he trotted up the stairs with undue haste to investigate, to cluck and moan and verbally chastise the miscreant.  Perhaps he’d even join in the fun.

            The door to the Nursery where she received her daily lessons in Sewing, Mathematics, French, and Comportment was wide open, and Edmund had to smile at that.  Nanny Estelle was a mastermind of discipline, and she knew how much his little Lacy hated the fact that, although she was over eighteen and a married woman, she was still required by her strict, stern but loving husband to study hard – whatever subjects he and Nanny Estelle decided on (always at least one or two that she was guaranteed to have a horrible time with – like Math) – and if she did not do well, Nanny Estelle still wielded the rod – or tawse, etc – with a lethal hand, and on a frighteningly frequent basis, as her husband expected.  And with the door left open, all and sundry passing by could see the woman who should be the mistress of the house tipped bare bottomed over her Nanny’s lap – or the spanking horse that her doting husband had bought not long after she’d come to live with him when she was seventeen and a half – getting what Nanny called a “good dose”.

            That was the scene that greeted his eyes as he paused in the doorway.  Lacy lay over Estelle’s sturdy lap – Estelle was not fat but she was almost brawny, having more upper-body strength than the average woman, Edmund guessed – with her rear prominently displayed towards him, as if the Nanny had prepared this whole montage specifically for his benefit.  If she had, then he thanked her heartily to himself, and would show a more physical representation of his gratitude later that night.  His small wife’s bottom, which was much more generous than one might assume on a woman of her delicate body-type, was well-raised, her legs nicely spread to reveal that wonderful bare pussy he insisted she have – and that her Nanny scrupulously maintained – those full red lips winking together and apart in a most enticingly involuntary but lewd display, giving him more than occasional glimpse of even more private territory.

            And they were wet!  Each of those plump morsels was covered in her own spunk – how utterly humiliating for the dear girl, and how wonderful for himself!

            Edmund paused right there at the doorway for a moment to bask in the sounds of the little darling’s chastisement.  He could hear Estelle grunting over her efforts and could see the sweat gleaming on her face as she worked that bottom over quite soundly.  His little girl was fairly howling now, driven to incoherence and he wasn’t surprised when he got a good gander at her red and inflamed cheeks.  Those tremendous spanks must have smarted like the dickens, and her Nanny didn’t appear to be anywhere near finished with her yet.

            Not for the first time, Edmund counted his blessings that he’d seen fit to lend Lacy’s wastrel father what was – for Oliver Hannaford - a considerable amount of money.  Oh, he had assumed that he’d never see it again, given Hannaford’s fondness for both drink and gambling, but they had been old school chums and Edmund had been in a generous mood, having won quite a lot himself that night.  But the next time he’d run into the chap, there had been no money forthcoming, of course.  When Edmund had inquired about it quite casually, Hannaford had up and offered his daughter – in marriage, of course. 

            Edmund had spent a good deal of time avoiding just such an occurrence – matrimony, that is.  He was a youngest son – although he was forty-three currently – and there was no great impetus for him to marry.  His business and his investments were doing quite well, and he was a wealthy man with no ties to anyone.  He did exactly as he pleased.

            It was his pleasure that concerned him, however.  His . . . . interests were well known by the genteel set, very few of whom agreed with his tastes.  Prostitutes were, of course, available to all and sundry, and therein lay Edmund’s distaste.  He didn’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds, and even most mistresses qualified that way.  He’d come to the point in his life, after a lot of footloose wild oats, that he wanted his own female.  And he meant that quite literally.

            He didn’t really want a wife.  Never had.  He certainly didn’t want an equal – not that any would or could ever be his equal.  He would never put up with the kind of relationships that his brothers and friends had – henpecked by overbearing wives, each and every one of them.  Edmund wanted a woman he could mold to his own particular, slightly skewed specifications.  

            And that was exactly what Oliver Hannaford had provided when he agreed to give his daughter Lacy to Edmund in consideration of the forgiveness of his debt.  Of course, Edmund had met the girl prior to marrying her – he would never have acquired a pig-in-a-poke.  They had a friendly dinner at Hannaford’s tiny digs, and Edmund found Lacy to be eminently desirable on several levels.  She was currently underage to marry at seventeen and a half, but he was able to persuade Hannaford to allow him to move Lacy into his own house the next week by promising to hire a duenna to act as chaperone for the six months prior to the wedding.  She appeared to be quiet and demure, not loud or boisterous, and she really was quite pretty.  Lacy only stood about five feet or so tall, and she was very slender and angular, as if she hadn’t quite grown out of her adolescent gawkiness, although her breasts and bottom were delectably rounded, he’d noticed immediately.

            His mouth began to water as soon as they were introduced.  She was perfect, and was of such a tender age that she well could have been his daughter, which was exactly what he intended to treat her as . . . for the most part.  He would have her if he had to kidnap her out from under Hannaford’s nose.  She was just right for him.  And Hannaford had as much as assured him, in a roundabout manner, that she was entirely untried – in fact, Hannaford had never so much as allowed her to have so much as a gentleman caller.

            During dinner, Edmund had questioned the girl gently, drawing her out, trying to detect any faults he could.  But she was polite and charming and smiled easily, and seemed to be fairly well-spoken.  Hannaford had despaired of the fact aloud that all she seemed interested in doing was reading.

            But Edmund had raised his wineglass at her in salute.  “There’s nothing at all wrong with educating young girls, Oliver.  As long as it’s the right kind of education for them, and they don’t get to uppity about it.”

            Lacy had been installed in his house in less than a week from that night, with Hannaford being given every assurance that Wainwright would not press himself on the girl until they were well and truly married, and that was something that Edmund was entirely prepared to do.  He found the idea of having her in his house and beginning the process of molding her into the girl he wanted to be quite titillating, and he fully intended not to lay an amorous hand on her until they were married on the day of her eighteenth birthday.  He didn’t need or want the authorities after him, and everything would be entirely above board.

            After her eighteenth birthday, then she would truly belong to him, in every sense of the world, and he would do with her entirely as he pleased.                    

            That week had been spent in some flurry of activity by Edmund.  He needed a governess, but the ones that he had interviewed would not take the position – not that he had truly sensed that any of them had really understood what he wanted anyway; they all assumed that their jobs would be over in six months time, when he wed his bride.

            But they were entirely wrong in their assumptions.  That was when Edmund felt that Lacy would need a governess more than ever.

            Finally, he had had to depend on some acquaintances who knew of his particular tastes, and that was when he had stumbled on the gem that was Estelle LeTourneau.  Estelle had come to her interview in a severe black suit, which Edmund had found eminently practical for someone of her station – despite the fact that her station in his house would be a little different than it might be in other houses.

            They dispensed with the social chit-chat almost immediately and got down to business, as Edmund preferred.  He ran a finger over his still coal-black mustache.  “I want to make sure that you understand me fully, Miss LeTourneau.  My fiancée will be coming to live with me in a few days.  She is a very young, sheltered girl of seventeen and a half.  You can understand, therefore, why I require the services of a chaperone while we live here together unmarried.”  Estelle was shaking her head in agreement.  “The unusual part of this job, however, is not the chaperone component.  It is the fact that I would require much more from you than merely the role of duenna.”  He stood and paced to the window.  “I am an old fashioned man but also a man of the world, Miss LeTourneau.  My wife-to-be is a motherless . . . unopened flower who has not been very well provided for in her early years.  She needs to be guided and taught about the finer things in life by a woman older than herself.”  He turned to face Estelle.  “A strong, strict woman who can take her in hand and mold her to my ideals . . . almost a nanny, as if she were a much younger girl.  Do you follow what I’m saying, Miss LeTourneau?”

            “I believe so, Mr. Wainwright,” Estelle had been informed of the gentleman’s tastes, and they ran along the same lines as her own. “You need a woman who can act not only as a chaperone, but also as a governess to your fiancée, am I correct in paraphrasing you?”
            Edmund felt a surge of excitement.  She was the first interviewee that had come this far in the process, and she seemed to have grasped exactly what he wanted.

            “Would I – as the child’s governess, despite her somewhat advanced years to have a governess – be given full charge of her – within your parameters, of course?”

            He sat down and leaned forward, towards the seated woman.  “Let us speak plainly, if we may.  Are you, perhaps, asking whether or not you would be expected to reprimand my wife-to-be?”

            “Yes, Sir,” Estelle did not mince words.  “I could not take the position unless I knew that, aside from your word, mine was law to the girl, and that you would fully support my discretionary use of liberally, thoroughly applied corporal punishment whenever I deemed it necessary.”  Estelle was warming to her subject.  “Wife or no, she could not be running to you for comfort or commutation of her punishments.”

            Edmund rocked back in his chair, his dick hard as a diamond.  “I do believe, Miss LeTourneau, that we are in complete agreement on that matter.”  Estelle nodded.  “I also want you to know that this is not a temporary assignment by any means.  I fully intend to employ you for the rest of my wife’s life.  I cannot always be with her, and I do occasionally go away on business.  It would never be my habit to take my wife with me, but I would need to know that her need for strict discipline and stern love were seen to while I was away as well as at any other time.”

            “That’s exactly what she’d get from me, Sir.  Strictness, lots of paddlings and canings, good, wholesome food with not too many spices, early bedtimes, naps in the afternoons – and mornings if she’s fussy.  I can teach most subjects, and within the first day or so I’ll do some overall assessments of her strengths and weaknesses.  She should be educated in a variety of subjects, a few that she’s likely to succeed in and one or two that will be good and hard for her – most of them quite proper and ladylike. But the ones that are harder for her - those’ll generate most of the discipline, unless she’s the unruly sort.”

            Edmund frowned.  “I don’t believe she is.  Her comportment when I met her was that of a gentlewoman, but with marked lack of the higher social graces that I’m sure you can address.”

            “Yes, Sir.”

            He cleared his throat.  “Let me assure you that I have no hesitancy whatever about the use of physical chastisement applied to her bottom in any way you might see fit.  However I want it clearly understood that I have no interest in breaking her spirit.  She is a young, tender shoot and I would have her bend to me rather than snap in two.”

            “Understood, Sir.”

            Edmund stood, offering his hand with a broad smile.  “I do believe I’ve found the right woman for the job, Miss LeTourneau.  When can you start?”

            The sturdy woman stood, and Edmund realized how perfect the situation would be just from the physical end of things:  LeTourneau was probably close to six feet, and next to her, Lacy would look even more like a reed thin little girl.

            “Estelle, Sir, please, and I can be at your house tomorrow, if that meets with your approval.”

            “Splendid!” They shook hands, and Estelle left Edmund to muse over his find.

(excerpt)
Little Miss II

n Victorian households that could afford both a front and a back parlor, the front parlor was reserved for receiving company and the back parlor was for family use.  Lacy Jane Wainwright, of course, was almost never allowed in the front parlor at all as she did not function as the lady of the house and was rarely allowed visitors beyond the company of her father, who, as a family member, was received in the back parlor. Her life with her Papa/husband largely took place in the rooms upstairs, as befitted the little girl lifestyle that her husband, Edmund preferred for her.

            The back parlor was a comfortable room with a large, wing-backed chair for the master of the house, as well as an ornate but otherwise unremarkable couch where Nanny Estelle often resided.  In the evenings, the room was kept warm by a cheery, crackling fire, and tonight the phonograph played Strauss softly in the background.

            Edmund sighed and stretched his legs, puffing absently on his pipe.  He didn’t think that life could get any better than it was at this exact moment.  The careful investment of the small amount of cash he had inherited up on his father’s death had produced windfall after windfall in his twenties, which allowed him in his early forties to enjoy the benefits of having an abundance of funds.  He went to work each morning, but it was not really necessary, and his occasional “business trips” were generally more for recreation than any pressing business matters.  He had a comparatively small but pleasing house, with a well-run staff – indeed, specifically because of the way he managed his family there was quite a glut of servants knocking on his door and leaving unsolicited letters of interest and references . . . mostly butlers, and valets and the occasional footman.  He chuckled softly at the thought of how everyone seemed to love to watch his little girl being raised by himself and her strict Nanny.

            He was the undisputed master of his household.  His wife, now almost twenty, was nothing like the women any of his contemporaries had married, but then, he would never allow her the frivolous freedoms other wives took for granted.  No afternoon teas or late night parties for his girl, no, Sir.  Lacy had been ruthlessly molded – with Nanny Estelle’s able assistance, of course - into the kind of girl-woman he’d always desired most.  Edmund gazed across the room at where the object of his thoughts sat studiously embroidering his initials on the cuffs of his dress shirts, her ever-pouting lower lip caught between her pearl-white teeth in deepest concentration.  Woe betide if she should put a stitch wrong, Edmund knew.  Estelle LeTourneau, Lacy’s governess, did not tolerate any hint of sloppy work from her charge, and it was Lacy’s plump, white – more likely pink or red or even somewhat bruised - bottom that would pay the price for any slips of the needle in her small fingers.

            She was just what he’d wanted, and more than he’d expected.  Lacy Jane was the light of his life – her trials and tribulations as she strove to please both himself and her governess - which was no mean feat – and avoid the inevitable harsh discipline that came her way on a daily basis - brought him the ultimate in day to day ecstasy. After she’d spent the day in Estelle’s strong, swift-with-an-implement hands, receiving a proper education as befits a young lady – granted, one of much younger years as she had currently attained – she was a delight to see as she struggled to sit still at table on what was undoubtedly a sore, raw bum.  If he was feeling indulgent, which he was more often than Estelle would have liked, he knew, she would be escorted to the back parlor after dinner, which is where they were now, and where Edmund could also indulge himself in his love of studying this child-woman of his.  He could also dip a finger or two into a font of more prurient pursuits, making Estelle smile secretly as Lacy squirmed and caught her breath under his lewd ministrations.         He knew she would never leave him, although the front door was always open.  Lacy would never want her father dragged into jail on her account, to say nothing of the fact that she would have no place to live and would be penniless on the streets herself.

            But if she was ever honest with herself, it was probably the fact that she liked the way she was treated that kept her in her proper place – awaiting his or Estelle’s command, dutifully keeping busy as she should while waiting to be of service to her Papa or Nanny.  Oh, Edmund knew that she struggled intellectually with the humiliation of being treated as a child – being stripped nude daily and washed most intimately by another woman, being bent over her Nanny’s lap to receive Estelle’s brand of searing, uncompromising punishment . . . or a big, irritating enema up her bum that she would have to hold as quietly as possible while Estelle brought her to pleasure despite the terrible wrenching of her bowels . . .

            Edmund had spoken to Lacy the night he’d met her at her father’s house.  She was not formally educated, but she was an intelligent, naïve young girl.  How deliciously shameful all of this must seem to her!  Other young women of her current rank and age were having children and running households and interviewing servants and shopping and going on jaunts with their husbands.

            Lacy was not allowed to do any of that.  Lacy spent each afternoon cocooned in a bag, napping exhaustedly after her indulgent Nanny had brought her to a fierce, hot culmination on the tips of those knowing fingers.

            Edmund drank in the always pleasing sight of her, allowing his eyes to roam indulgently over the small, delicate figure.  Lacy’s wavy, long hair was loose down her back as he required, caught up in an exceedingly childish blue velvet bow at the back of her head.  Her face was entirely devoid of makeup as befitted a child – Lacy would never be allowed to indulge in the stuff – Edmund detested all of the face powder and kohl and lip rouge he saw on the women of his set.  He much preferred to bend down and kiss Lacy’s naturally rosy, downy cheek and be rewarded by the soft scent of whatever fine milled soap Estelle was using on her lately. 

            Lacy’s prominent breasts, which he knew were a source of deep embarrassment to her – but intense carnal pleasure to him – were hugged gently by the lightish cotton of her sailor-like dress.  Edmund – at Estelle’s suggestion – had commissioned a new set of dresses, made after a pattern of Estelle’s own creation, that were about a size and a half too small for his Lacy, so that they hugged her most womanish places while presenting her in a distinctly childish garment.  When she stood, the dress should have fallen in a straight column from her shoulders, revealing little if any of her figure, and the first generation of dresses that Edmund had purchased had done so, hiding more of Lacy than they ought, he’d mused.  With a few strategic tucks and darts here and there, the new dresses retained its more juvenile qualities at the same time subtly highlighting Lacy’s more adult attributes.

            He knew – because he’d watched the deliberately laborious process - that Lacy had been put through highly detailed, invasive, thoroughly embarrassing - measurement process – one that was quite calculated to make Lacy’s pristine skin flush a bright red as she struggled to deal with her own fierce sense of shame and embarrassment while Estelle had wielded a measuring tape on the nude, slightly chilled young woman with hands that wandered at will into areas that Lacy still tried to consider private, delivering stinging slaps to whatever area she was working on at that point when the girl tried to cringe in shame.  More than once, Lacy’s full, raspberry-tipped breasts were sharply smacked when she involuntarily tried to wiggle away from her Nanny’s touch.  By the time Estelle had finished with Lacy’s bust measurement, her breasts blushed a bright red that said nothing about Lacy’s shame but everything about Estelle’s belief in sure, swift punishment for disobedience.

            As he concentrated his gaze on Lacy, so diligently bending to her menial task, worrying that luscious lip of hers, Edmund shifted restlessly in his chair despite the absolute contentment of the scene.  He was barely able to keep his pants zipped; his cock was so achingly engorged that it fairly clamored for release.  Still, he delayed the inevitable, preferring to continue his leisurely perusal of the woman who was his wife.     Edmund’s eyes wafted slowly down her slim body, wondering absently if she wasn’t a little too slim as he took another puff of his pipe, but then the generous curve of those glorious buttocks was revealed as the tightish skirt of the dress was pulled around it where she sat, cupping her cheeks almost as lovingly as his hands itched to do.

            How well he knew what that pale blue fabric covered . . . Lacy’s bottom should have been painted by Botticelli, or sculpted by Michelangelo.  It was a thing of beauty to hold in one’s palms or make clench then wobble in time with a sound spanking, or to frame with one’s hands and sheath oneself within her most secret passage as she made those lovely mewls of protestation at the slow advance of his staunch rod past her reluctantly yielding rosette.  There was little in this world better than sinking himself into his wife in one way or the other, but her tiny little bottom hole was tremendously satisfying.  Edmund knew that Estelle often gave her enemas using a butt plug, but he had given the governess strict instructions to be certain not to stretch that taboo entrance very much.  That meant that Lacy was always going to have to fight to submit, to consciously relax enough to accommodate him.  Edmund felt that made her concentrate more on the ignominy of what was happening to her, that she was being forced to accept her loving husband’s rampant attentions at a place that should – according to proper behavior of the time – have been left entirely untouched.

            But yield she did, of course, and Edmund adored watching her inner turmoil as he perched her on the edge of their marital bed - which was not as high up as some, but was rather just right due to the adjustments he’d made to its height early on in their marriage – on her knees, bent forward with her bottom presented to him like an obscene sacrificed to an insatiable pagan god.  He didn’t often bind her in bed, preferring to let her body speak to him freely in its language of flailing hands and arms, rolling heads, and spasming, seeking thighs.  But when he violated her bottom hole, he liked to add another tiny layer of subjugation, and once he had her positioned in a manner that flagrantly displayed of every inch of private flesh between those normally protective folds, he would apply a generous coat of lubrication to his raging hard-on to ease his way, then introduce the barest hint of that iron-hard rod to her shy orifice.  As he looked down at the way his cock was beginning to impale and stretch her, he’d reach up and grab a firm hold of a slender upper arm in each of his hands, right above her elbows, controlling her perfectly with little effort.

            Then he delighted in simply pulling with the utmost gentleness on those weak, feminine arms until she was forced by her very position beneath him, and by the careful pressure he exerted as he brought her back, to widen around him, slowly, and with excruciating attention to her every squeak or squeal or moan or intake of breath – they all made him swell even more impressively within her.  Edmund loved not only to see and compel her submission, but to hear it, as he reveled in detecting the small signs of her private, intellectual battle caused by this humiliating - but aggravatingly titillating – existence she’d been forced into.

            Before he unmanned himself without ever even having been touched, Edmund cleared his throat and moved his review of the picture she presented down the sleek line of her legs that was so subtly revealed.  He well remembered the unexpected strength of those thighs as they clamped down on him during her pleasure.  Her frilly, ruffled pantaloons - a style meant for a girl of a much younger age than herself, complete with a light blue bow around the calf to draw attention to their presence – did indeed hang down below the hem of her dress, just as Estelle has predicted when he’d first brought her to the house.  And what a wonderful touch that was, serving two purposes:  a humiliating reminder of her childish station, and as a decorative offset to her shapely calves.  Small feet were encased in babyish leather slippers; no high heels or even button ups for his little girl.  He liked to keep her as short and small and refused to allow her to wear anything that might add to her height, which was also why her hair was always left loose rather than piled high as current women’s fashions dictated.  Besides, little girls did not have elaborate hairdos.

            Lacy shifted gingerly and Edmund saw her wince, and then her baby blues darted up uncertainly to collide with his and she blushed becomingly, as she was still quite wont to do.  Edmund found it enchanting, considering how often Lacy was stripped down and punished – or pleasured, or both – and often in front of various other people, granted they were servants but they were still relative strangers.  She lowered her gaze demurely, but looked as if she might have said something, but then little girls are seen and not heard in Edmund’s household; Lacy was not allowed to speak unless she was spoken to by an adult first – and that included servants.  Edmund preferred a quiet household and not a lot of chatter, although he did sometimes draw her into a conversation in the evenings, but more often in bed when he cuddled her after bringing the both of them to the heights of paradise.

            In the intimacy of their bedroom, Edmund liked to drape a nude Lacy over him as he held her to his side, her hand just below his breast or splayed on his stomach and her small leg between his.  This was when he allowed her to be at her most relaxed and free, where he would talk a little about his day and describe the things he’d seen and done.  It was like a bedtime story to a girl who was almost cloistered in the surreal world he’d created and kept her in.  She was not often allowed out of the house, and even then it was generally in a closed carriage.  Lacy was not permitted to keep in contact with any of her friends from when she lived in her father, and thus her whole world centered around Nanny Estelle and Edmund, which was exactly the way they both wanted it.

            Sometimes his hands would wander and he would pleasure her by degrees as they were talking.  He enjoyed keeping her wet and wanting, but not allowing her to move from his side.  It was the closest thing to an adult conversation in Lacy’s life.  Nanny Estelle didn’t really talk to her – she lectured and quizzed and scolded and ordered her about, but she would never even consider asking about her thoughts on a subject.  Lacy’s thoughts or opinions were of no concern.  Nanny Estelle knew precisely what she wanted Lacy to learn in her classes, and how she wanted Lacy to behave otherwise, and no one – least of all Lacy herself and besides Edmund - was going to tell her any differently.  Most of Lacy’s communication with Estelle was in the form of “Yes, Nanny Estelle,” or “Yes, Ma’am”, or, perhaps even more often, they were non-verbal screams and cries as Estelle set fire to her bottom.

(excerpt)
Little Miss III 

acy had been getting into terrible trouble lately, ever since her Papa confirmed for her that she was, indeed, going to have a sister, if only for the short term.  When her Pap entered their room, she was on her knees on their bed, her face planted in the fluffy comforter while her bare bottom pointed nearly sky-high at her governess’s insistence.  Her simple, child’s dress was folded neatly all the way up to her neck so that her bare breasts hung down embarrassingly whilst she received a big, irritating enema from her governess.  Sometimes the pictures that Nanny Estelle presented him – even inadvertently - of how humiliatingly she treated his little girl took his breath away.  He adored looking at her from behind, that rounded little bottom stuck up in the air as if welcoming its undoubtedly uncomfortable purging, the still marvelously tight rose forcibly spread open and violated by what he recognized as the medium plug nozzle that would mercilessly ensure that every drop of cleansing liquid would find its way up into her whether she liked it or not.  That nozzle barely fit into her, and there was absolutely no question of Lacy being able to dislodge it under even the most stressful of circumstances, but Edmund could see upon closer inspections how it clenched and released every once in a while as Lacy continued to struggle - in both body and mind - with it’s embarrassing presence within her rump.

            Indeed, as Edmund simply stood their for a few moments, drinking in the scene as Lacy’s bowels were forced to drink in their medicine, he realized that the precious little girl was whimpering softly as her Nanny worked a gloved hand quite vigorously between the poor unfortunate’s well-spread legs, her other hand steadying the small form.  There was ample evidence that Lacy had not been very well behaved that day – and prior, considering the fading black and blue bruises on her bum and the newest application of criss-crossing, fresh red wheals that resided there now.

            “Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Edmund scolded loudly.

            Estelle, who was obviously deeply involved in her work, turned sharply.  “Oh, Sir, you’re home – just in time to watch this bratty little one get her bum all cleaned out.  She’s been a naughty one today, Sir.  Cheeky, almost, and lazy.  I had to take the strop and the cane to her in one session and that was before we even made it to the nursery!”

            “Naughty, naughty Lacy!” He shook his head back and forth, but of course, Lacy couldn’t see it, but she had stiffened when her Nanny mentioned that he was there.  Of course, “cheeky”, “bratty” and “naughty” were all relative terms, but Edmund trusted Estelle to maintain the highest standards of behavior for Lacy, and to severely reprimand even the tiniest hint of any breeching thereof.  Edmund knew what was best for young girls like Lacy – lots of long, terrifyingly painful appointments between her rounded ass cheeks and the business end of a piece of leather, or a hairbrush, or a cane.

            He took a seat in the straight backed chair that was right in front of Lacy.

            Estelle, with an eye to where he was sitting, commanded sharply, “Lacy Jane – look at your father while you’re receiving your medicine.”  She leaned over and opened the clamp completely with her free hand.  She had originally set it only halfway open, in order to drag out the length of time it took for Lacy to receive the entire enema.

            Lacy raised her bright red face to look her husband/father in the eye as the deliberately irritating fluids bathed her insides, and while her Nanny stood to one side with her fingers deep inside her pussy.  “I like to check up inside her for any swellings that might be revealed when her bottom is full, Sir,” Estelle explained, continuing her probings with renewed enthusiasm, much to Lacy’s consternation, as if her governess enjoyed having an audience to play to.

            He nodded gravely.  “As always, Nanny Estelle, I trust your judgment implicitly in regards to my little girl.”

            Estelle beamed back at him and continued to work her hand in and out and around inside Lacy, often driving the girl well forwards with the force of her thrusts.

            Edmund leaned forward, so that his face was only inches from Lacy’s, watching the expressions of true discomfort crossing her face, no doubt from the enema, but then that must’ve combined in Lacy’s consciousness with the uncomfortable, highly humiliating pleasure of what the older woman was doing to her.  A soft moan escaped Lacy’s lips – whether from pleasure or pain Edmund couldn’t tell -  but Estelle’s sharp ears missed nothing.  Her tawse – always handy in one of those huge patch pockets – crashed down onto Lacy’s defenseless cheeks three times as Nanny Estelle scolded firmly, “Quiet down, Lacy Jane Wainwright, or so help me you’ll wish you had.”

            “Don’t you usually pleasure her during an enema, Estelle?” Edmund inquired casually, his eyes never leaving Lacy’s reddening face.  Her breath was literally puffing out of her as her bowels were rapidly flooded, and her Nanny’s hand was also working its way well up inside her.

            “Yes, Sir.  I was going to ask you if you still wanted me to do that – “

            “Go right ahead, Estelle.  Go right ahead as if I’m not even here.  I wouldn’t want to interrupt the girl’s training in any way – you do so well with her,” he complimented with the utmost sincerity.  He had no idea what he’d do if he ever lost Estelle LeTourneau.  It would be a complete disaster, and didn’t bear thinking of.

            Having been given the blessing of the master of the house, Estelle proceeded to do just that – she ignored him, treating Lacy as if her Papa was not in the room.  Her hand was already extremely slick from Lacy’s natural juices, so she merely readjusted the girl’s legs that much further apart, for the shame of the position if nothing else, making sure that she kept her pelvis tilted upwards to receive the medication her Nanny was giving her.  Then Estelle took the chair that was intended for Lacy’s vanity – that she, of course, would never have any use for - and sat herself down on it, right directly behind Lacy’s totally exposed bum, with it’s long tube reaching out to the bulging red bag Estelle had hung from a discreet hook that had been previously positioned just above hip height in each of the four posters on the bed for just that purpose. 

            As Lacy continued to keep her eyes locked on her father, and her bottom continued to gulp down its medicine, Estelle lay all of her fingers over Lacy’s prominent little button, feeling the girl’s whole body contract in response to all of the stimulus she was being subjected to.  Estelle’s grin was distinctly evil.  She was going to add a considerable amount more than that before she allowed Lacy to find her completion.  Estelle bought the three completely dry fingers of her left hand together and formed them into a stiff unit, with which she proceeded to violate poor Lacy.  Her governess knew that the drier her hand was, the more her fingers would scrape those sensitive internal tissues as she pressed herself well up inside the girl, no longer even under the guise of an examination, but purely to add to the poor girl’s shame and humiliation – and thus her involuntary pleasure.

            Despite the ample lubrication for her other hand, though, she reached into her pocket and took out a tube of something the friendly apothecary had recommended for just such an occasion – he was such a nice and helpful man.  He’d also suggested that a little pepper juice could make things quite interesting for the recipient, but Estelle had yet to put that theory to the test on Lacy.  The jelly she was using was quick thick but slippery, and it did the job admirably, coating her index and middle fingers, the ones she was going to frig Lacy with.

            Before she did that, though, she looked at how the bag was draining and checked things out just to make sure she wasn’t going to be interrupted, or that she wasn’t missing an opportunity to reprimand her recalcitrant little charge.  But Lacy’s arms were folded across her back where they were supposed to be while she was receiving a treatment, and her eyes were still on Edmund, although Edmund’s eyes were on Estelle right now.

            “I’m going to bring her to pleasure now, Sir,” she informed him.

            “Go right ahead, Nanny Estelle.  I’m sure it’s the best thing for her.  Her belly’s got to be getting pretty full,” and it was, as was evidenced by the way it was beginning to hang beneath her. 
            “Yes, Sir, that’s why I keep her on her knees like that, Sir.  Gives the stomach room to expand as the fluids fill it, plus it gives me access to the areas I need to get to while administering the enema.  Plus I believe that bringing her to completion allows her relax and accept more also, Sir.”

            Edmund nodded.  “All of this discomfort and humiliation could have been avoided if she’d just been a good girl.”

            Estelle tsked loudly and laid her cold, jellied fingers over Lacy’s most sensitive spot, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.  Her governess and her Papa continued to speak about her in the third person in a most conversational tone while she was being intimately manipulated, as if she was not even there.  “Lacy’s not a bad girl by nature at all, Sir.  In fact she’s quite sweet, but she does have a bit of a stubborn streak in her, and the occasional lazy tendency, and those must be dealt with severely before they blossom into real trouble.”

            Lacy’s breathing was becoming quite labored as she struggled to deal with her rapidly filling belly as well as her governess’s determined fingers and hand.  The hand her Nanny had buried between her legs was stretching her something fierce, fucking her harder and harder. 

            “Lacy’s usually quite a good girl about things like this, Mr. Wainwright – taking her enema good and coming for me nice and hard like she should.”

            Edmund’s voice had grown hoarse.  “Yes, it appears she is taking it rather well, isn’t she?”

            “Yes, Sir,” Nanny Estelle agreed with pride.  “She’s already not far off now.  It’s all of the attention to that whole area, Sir, even though she’ll tell you flat out that she doesn’t like it – not a bit.  She doesn’t like having her bottom hole pulled wide around the plug-nozzles you bought, or it getting sluiced down by her medicine, or having my hand way up inside her like this, or my fingers rubbing her good.  It’s horridly embarrassing for her, and that’s just what she needs to reminder her of her place, of the rules she lives by, and of her position.”

            Edmund was watching in rapt attention as Lacy’s face turned several shades of red while the breath fairly bellowed from her lungs. 

            “I believe that if you tell her to come for you, Sir, we’ll be over this part of it a mite sooner.  She responds to you so well, Sir.  I know it’ll do the trick.”  Edmund bent a little further forward, then Nanny Estelle warned, “Don’t be soft on her, Mr. Wainwright.  That isn’t what she needs.  Tell her she has to come for you or you’ll take your belt to her.  You know how she fears your belt across her bottom, as well she should.”

            “Lacy,” Edmund’s voice was but a husky whisper.  He met Lacy’s eyes sternly.  “You must hurry and come for me, Lacy Jane Wainwright, or I’m going to take my belt off and lay into you good while you’re getting your enema.  I just love watching your bottom wiggle and swallow and slurp up all of its awful medicine, Lacy.  I love that your Nanny has her hand in your cunt, where it should be, stretching you good while her fingers play with you and pinch that naughty clitty of yours  - “

            The tortured young woman was beginning to keen and Estelle nodded encouragingly at Edmund.  “That’s good, Sir.  She’s almost there.  Keep talking.”

            Edmund reach across and took Lacy’s face in his big hands as he spoke.  “That’s it.  I’m only going to give you two more minutes, Lacy, and then I’m going to welt your butt good and proper.  Do as you’re told and come, daughter – “

            Almost immediately, Lacy began to contract very hard against both sets of Estelle’s fingers, just as the red bag had deflated completely, its contents violently disgorged deep into her captive bowels.  But Lacy was too involved in her orgasm to notice that small click, and Estelle was busy insisting on her second and third pleasure, until she had decided that Lacy had had enough.

            At the sight of his young daughter being attended to in this intimate and embarrassing manner by her strict governess, Edmund had to reach down and unzip his pants in order to allow for his masculine swelling.

            As Estelle held Lacy in position by the mere presence of her hand at the small of the girl’s back, forcing her to retain the enema that was sluicing through her innards, Edmund mentioned casually, “I do believe that Lacy’s little sister is going to arrive this Monday, if all goes well for her father.”

            Estelle and Lacy’s eyes became glued to him; even in Lacy’s distress, her curiosity got the better of her as she listened raptly while trying to survive the violent roiling in her swollen tummy.  “Mr. Foster  - the larger gentleman from our little dinner party, very tall and broad?”

            Her Nanny hadn’t remembered much about any of the men – her attention that evening had been on Lacy and assuring that even the smallest faux pas were dealt with severely and publicly.   But Mr. Foster had apparently been the man seated next to Lacy at dinner.  He was, indeed, large and imposing, but he was also a fine, handsome figure of a man, in Estelle’s opinion.  She nodded to the Master that she recalled him.

            “Well, it seems that he has found just the right young lady to adopt, and, as you know, he so admired Lacy’s behavior, as well as how her misbehaviors were handled, that he wanted to bring the girl to you, Estelle, with my full agreement and recommendation, of course.”

            Although she was smiling broadly that the head of the household thought so highly of what she’d accomplished with little Lacy as to offer her services in training another young girl, Estelle was also wondering how she was going to cope with another member of her intimate little household-within-a-household.

            But Edmund was continuing in his deep, soft voice.  “Of course, Nanny Estelle, for the time that Charles’ new daughter is with us, you will receive extra in your pay packet, as not only will you have a large hand in training the new girl, but you will also be helping to mold a new Nanny, so your compensation will likely double, at least, since you have such an exceptional skill in the rearing of proper young ladies.”

            The governess fairly gushed at the idea, flushing with pride at Mr. Wainwright’s obvious trust in her.  Lacy fidgeted and moaned beneath her hand, which Estelle then used to deliver six sharp swats to the miscreant’s full bottom in warning to settle down and hold her water.  “Mr. Foster has located someone to help him rear the girl?” she asked.

            “Yes, he has,” Edmund rose from his chair and indulged himself by fondling Lacy’s breasts gently but firmly as he spoke, pinching her nipples enough to make her start, which got her another slap from Estelle.  “I don’t know if you know her, but her name is Miss Lydia Henderson.  She comes very well recommended from the same sources as suggested that I hire you.”

            Estelle did know of Lydia, although she had never met the woman personally.  “I recognize the name well, Sir, although I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, and as far as what I can remember about what I’ve heard, she and I share very much the same child-rearing philosophies.  If one can trust what one hears, I believe that Mr. Foster should be quite satisfied with Miss Henderson.”

            Edmund nodded, running his hands over Lacy’s fine, soft skin, down from those luscious titties to her enormously swollen belly, which he pressed with gentle deliberateness, making Lacy try to shy away from him and earning her another set of hard swats on the already sore bum.  Moving around behind her, essentially supplanting Estelle, who took his chair in front of Lacy, essentially switching positions with him.  Edmund lifted Lacy’s hips a little then, with no preliminaries at all, drove himself into her obscenely exposed pussy, rocking her firmly back and forth on his rigid pole.  “I’m sure Mr. Foster will be glad to hear that you haven’t heard anything untoward regarding the woman he has selected as governess to his wife.”  Although he found it impossibly wonderful to take Lacy from behind like this, especially in front of her governess and while the hose from her treatment still hung from her absurdly stretched little brown rose, Edmund continued to speak on the subject, which also obviously intrigued him, as he absently rubbed the small of her back and held her hips. 

            “The young girl is daughter of one of his father’s servants, whom his father had pledged to take care of.  Since Charles, like – uhhhhhh – myself, is a younger son, his father doesn’t much care who he marries.”  It was getting harder to divorce himself from his rapidly approaching end.  “Mr. Foster thinks she might be a bit of a handful at first, but I’m sure that she won’t be anything that – you - can’t – handle – aaauuugggghhhhhh!.”  Edmund poured himself into the girl’s gaping pussy almost mid-word, which he found both somewhat disconcerting yet immensely satisfying at the same time.

            Lacy was whimpering quite insistently, her bottom wiggling beneath him, inadvertently coaxing every last drop of himself into her while she was already struggling with the other liquid that had been inside her.

            Edmund let Lacy go relieve herself, then helped Estelle put her down for her nap.  Lacy got herself spanked even more during the process when she whimpered and whined about having to go into her sack, but her Nanny wasn’t having any of it.  She lit into Lacy with the girl’s own solid wooden hairbrush, so that the poor dear ended up a shaking and shuddering mass of sobs as she was completely and calmly outfitted in her naptime attire.  When she was bound tightly in her bag, blindfolded and gagged by a dummie, they talked quietly just outside her door about the ramifications of adding another student into their unique mix.
 

(excerpt)
Little Miss IV 

acy slept wonderfully for the entire, long nap.  Unfortunately Amy could not say the same thing.

            Once they were finally alone, Amy spent the majority of it trying to dislocate every joint she owned and free herself from the blasted bag that held her completely trapped, and when that didn’t work she dissolved into tears of utter, hopeless pain and frustration.  With each stunted move her well-seared bottom was scraped even more raw by the rough canvass material, and she could feel how obscenely tight her bare pink nipples were in the cold night air, as if they were yearning for someone’s attention, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.  All she wanted was to be left alone, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen.  She was getting all of the wrong kind of attention, as far as she was concerned.

            Amy found it hard to comprehend just what had happened to her in the last day or so.  She’d been lovingly raised and gently reared – nothing in her experience had prepared her for this.  Nothing.  She wondered if it would ever end.

            Later that afternoon, the two Nannies reappeared, and while Estelle was dressing Lacy again, occasionally leveling a sharp smack to the girl’s butt if she was too slow to respond to a command, Lydia stood next to her charge and let her hand run slowly over those inviting, nubbly tips, causing the girl to draw a short sharp breath and jerk suddenly within those close confines.

            Her voice deliberately soft and solicitous, Lydia asked, “Did you get some sleep, Amy-girl?”  Her fingers never rested, brushing abrasively against those tender buds, pulling very, very gently, but just her touch was enough to cause the girl to shudder, despite any pleasure she might also be feeling.

            Estelle had counseled that this might be a little too early to introduce pleasure into the equation, and in theory Lydia agreed.  But she’d decided that her girl needed to know that there was something besides the largely unrelenting pain she was currently experiencing.  Something pleasant, that felt good.

            She let her fingers wander down to that starkly bare area between Amy’s legs, the site of her innocent nakedness quite touching, especially framed as it was by the rough fabric.  Although she’d sworn she would just give the girl a small taste, Lydia let her fingers gently delve between those soft lips, parting them surely but carefully, reaching past that little bump of flesh down to the opening of Amy’s womanhood.  Lydia could not contain her curiosity as to whether Amy was having any reaction to her ministrations beyond trying her best to avoid them – to no avail, of course. 

            She was surprised and delighted when she found her fingers baptized in Amy’s copious, slick fluid.  “Ahhhhhh, very very good, Amy.  You are marvelously wet down here, just as you should be.  I know you don’t like being confined like this, or touched like this – all helpless and unable to stop me from probing – “ Lydia deliberately reached up into Amy’s pussy, testing the strength of her virginity, then dragging her fingers up and over that little bit at the top of her delta  “ -  your most intimate areas.  But apparently your body has other ideas, and those are the ideas that we’re going to cultivate.”  The tips of Lydia’s fingers, which were kept moist and soft naturally by the application of very expensive hand lotions, just barely butterfly winged over that pulsing bud, making it strain and rise and harden as much as it could.

            Amy wanted so badly to raise her hips and follow the path of those teasing fingers – she’d never felt an ache like the one that torturous woman was conjuring within her body.  It was worse – in a different way – than the agony in her posterior when she was being attended to by whatever implements the older woman chose to punish her with.  The sensations being aroused within her, entirely without her consent, were frightening in their intensity, and Amy had to work hard to keep her hips quiet and try not to betray any signs of what she was feeling.  She knew that Nanny Lydia would merely turn her response against her somehow and make it worse for her.

            More stroking, a little less delicately, so that more of Lydia’s finger pads were in contact with – surrounding, almost – every molecule of flesh in that tiny morsel, but still gentle and inquisitive rather than demanding and rough.  A long, low moan escaped from behind the binky, much to Amy’s true shame and mortification.  Lydia watched as a fiery blush that matched the one she so often wore on her tender nates suffused the entire of Amy’s body – she could see it flush her breasts a lovely pinkish color, then the mound beneath her hand also swelled and blushed.  Lydia could just imagine what the rest of that milky white skin looked like beneath the canvass of her sleep sack.

            But, after a few long, torturous moments of intense, incredible pleasure, she withdrew her fingers, leaving Amy throbbing and sobbing, not knowing that there was a natural end to it all that she’d been denied.  Amy just assumed that this was another way that her “Nanny” – she shuddered at the use and thought of that word – was going to use to keep her in line.  Granted, it was less physically stressful, and there were no welts to be rubbed or abraded, but Amy wasn’t at all sure that this wasn’t a worse condition to be in than strapped or caned for whatever disobedience she’d committed.

            Before she had a chance to really think about it, she found herself unbound and standing next to her bed, being re-dressed into one of those silly little girl outfits.  Lacy was already having her long hair brushed, and receiving multiple swats with the big paddle hairbrush whenever she flinched from Estelle.  Amy had caught a glimpse of Lacy’s bottom a couple of times today, and she knew that the other girl was not faring much better than she was in that department, although she seemed much more resigned about it, and, if Amy were pushed, she would have to say that the girl seemed contented, almost happy living within these severe constraints as she did.

            Although lessons were over for the day, the girls were required to continue learning, just different things:  the time between the end of their nap and dinner was spent memorizing and writing passages from the Bible, studying etiquette, and, in Lacy’s case, exercising, as Nanny Estelle explained to Nanny Lydia that Lacy tended to be a little on the plump side.

            Amy heaved a huge sigh of relief when the dinner bell rang – although she shouldn’t have.  Dinner was a much worse ordeal for her than breakfast or lunch.  But at first she was glad to have the distraction from copying – to Nanny Lydia’s exacting requirements – passages from the Old Testament.  Amy wasn’t stupid, but she had never been much of a scholar although she was unusually good with numbers for a female – that had helped her when she’d taken over her father’s business, but, beyond saving her from atrociously severe chastisements, that ability really wasn’t going to do her much good any more.

            Once they were served their meal, however, and she spent most of the meal draped over Nanny Lydia’s nap getting her bottom blistered yet again for not using the right fork, or the right knife or not cleaning her plate.  One of the worst things that happened – beyond the spankings – was that she was stuck in the corner of the room, her dress pinned up in back and her bare, red-striped bottom on display for everyone to see – even the servants!  And the rest of the group just went on eating as if she wasn’t standing there sobbing softly, her nose pressed into the corner, stinging bottom jutting out for all and sundry to see.

            She barely got any of her dinner between the spankings and the corner time, and was put to bed directly after – in that horrible restraint sack – right afterwards, only to be further molested by her horrid Nanny.  At least she had learned, for now, to submit – however reluctantly – to the ignominy of that tight confinement, especially after her experience this afternoon and the current dull throb in her bottom from the many spankings during dinner.  Amy did not want a repeat of the atrocious caning she’d experienced earlier, from which she was sure she was still sporting the welts.

            Lydia’s hand again wandered over her as if she owned the rights to Amy’s very soul – tweaking her nipples until they rose and strained like little berries, then claiming that shameful place between her legs with those long fingers.  At one point, Lydia leaned down and blew her warm, moist breath over those vulnerable outer lips whilst she invaded them, holding them open just a bit, enough that Amy could feel that heated air wafting over her, making her swell again and strain for more of that lovely agony, yearning for it, arching towards Lydia’s touch despite the strength of the ache and its residual pounding as she was left, alone, and bound, the blood coursing through that whole area, front and back, with no relief in sight.

~ ~ ~

Over the next several days, all Lacy Wainwright could think regarding her new companion in captivity was “poor girl.”  Lacy could see that Amy was trying her best to adapt to the rigid code that was being forced on her.  She was trying - after almost a solid week of almost nothing but continual and constant punishments that were doled out more often than she herself got, even in the beginning.

            Nanny Lydia didn’t let her charge get away with anything.  Just like with Estelle, especially at first, even the smallest of transgressions was cause for severe chastisement.  Lacy was now uncomfortably familiar with the sight of Amy’s scalded rump draped over her Nanny’s knee, or the horse, or the big desk up front, getting what both older women deemed necessary to help her learn to behave herself in the proper fashion.  Even a week later, Lacy still hissed and jumped when she heard the cane whistle ominously through the air, and then the terrific snap of it against someone else’s buttocks.  She might as well have been on the receiving end herself, and she knew that her own Nanny thought that it was a great thing that she was present for pretty much all of Amy’s corrections.

            As a matter of fact, she was commanded to watch, especially if it was going to be a particularly severe session.  Once, even, she was even required to participate, and it had earned her a spell under the cane herself.

            It was after Amy had been with them for about two weeks or so, a time just after the Nannies had generally come to the realization that Amy was settling into her circumstances a bit, and was less fidgety about what was being demanded of her.  She seemed more resigned and was fighting the restrictions less, and therefore the punishments were easing off just the slightest.

            She and Amy were in the nursery, being taught how to walk properly, and despite the fact that she’d already gone through this type of training, Lacy was having about as much trouble as Amy since her Nanny hadn’t had her doing this in quite some time.  They were each wearing a large tome on their heads to help them be conscious of their posture while they were walking.  A corridor had been cleared at the front of the room so that the girls could stroll back and forth from one Nanny to the other.   Each woman scrutinized the girls closely, watching how far back they held their shoulders, how gracefully she was walking and if she kept her head well up or looked down at her feet all the time.  Lacy was the one that got the most smacks for that.  She had a definite tendency towards clumsiness, and always automatically tried to make sure of where her feet where, even though she knew intellectually that there was nothing in her way to make her stumble.

            Each girl was in her usual little girl dress, but for this exercise the skirts of the dresses had been pinned up to mid-back, and both girls were divested of their bloomers, totally exposing each girl’s lovely white backside - only neither remained that pristine color for very long, as each Nanny held a longish wooden paddle in her hand that had a rounded head, approximately three inches in diameter, with which she chastised whichever girl was closer for whatever transgression she had committed – not keeping the book on her head, looking down, not turning gracefully enough . . . the list was long and, as was planned, it was nearly impossible for the girls to avoid getting many hard, sharp swats as they walked reluctantly back and forth.

            “Lacy!”  Nanny Estelle chastened, catching the young woman around the waist and bending her over unceremoniously to give her ten hard licks with that nasty implement, raising ten perfectly round welts on those lusciously rounded cheeks.  “Keep your eyes ahead of you – watch where you’re walking but not your feet – are you being deliberately stubborn, child?”

            “No, Nanny – owww – ohh – ahhhh – please – “ Even after all this time, there was little that Lacy could do when faced with a swift, hard correction by her loving Nanny, other than bawl and try to bear it.  In truth, it never seemed to get any easier, and now, with the addition to the nursery, it was worse because she knew that she sounded exactly the same way Amy did when Nanny Lydia took her over her knee.

            “I have told you more times than I can count not to watch your feet, haven’t I?  And what do you do?  You continue to defy me!”

            By the time Estelle released Lacy and made her go back to walking with a heavy volume of Dickens on her head, Lacy’s plump red nates fairly glowed in the dark, and just walking hurt because of how swollen tight the skin of her bottom was.

            Not that Amy was faring any better.  While Lacy went back to pacing back and forth, Nanny Lydia had Amy’s ear in a pinching grip, pulling the girl along behind her to bend her over the end of the desk the governesses shared.  Lydia hastily exchanged the paddle for the cane.  “When I say stand still and watch your companion getting what’s rightfully coming to her, Amy Foster, that’s exactly what I mean!”  Lydia used restraints on Amy when she caned her, not wanting to accidentally strike the hand or hands the girl might put back there to try to defend herself from the righteous blows.

            In a trice, the girl was trussed up wrist and ankle, unable to move as the cane bit into her – whoosh  -  snap – repeatedly.  Whenever each girl got more than one or two smacks, the other was obliged to stop and watch her friend’s punishment.  So now Lacy was standing at attention, book still on her head, staring at the way Amy’s sit upon wobbled with each assault of the unforgiving implement.

            Suddenly, Estelle was struck with a thought, and she corralled her little girl into squatting right in front of Amy’s head as the girl took her punishment; that fine, spirited head with its mass of sable curls rearing back with each stroke.  Estelle thought it would be good for Lacy to see the agony that she herself bore on frequent occasions portrayed starkly on her friend’s face.  “Put your hands over hers and if you know what’s good for you you won’t look away from her eyes.”

            So there Lacy sat – her hands over Amy’s, feeling the punishment in the tenseness of her friend’s body, a forcible witness to her friend’s torture at the hands of their Nannies.  Lacy couldn’t help but cry as the tenth and eleventh stripes landed, making Amy scream with the pain and Lacy flinch as if it was her own bottom.  Amy was bawling, sounding exactly the same way Lacy did.  It was almost – almost – worse than having it done to herself.

            But then she made an error.  In deepest empathy for her friend’s plight, Lacy had reached out to caress Amy’s cheek, hoping to convey her sympathy and sisterhood in pain, but Nanny Estelle’s hawk eyes caught her small movement, of course, and before she could even begin to protest Lacy found herself stretched out next to Amy, facing the opposite direction, fingers holding tightly to the edge of the desk.  Unlike Amy, Lacy was experienced enough with her Nanny’s brand of discipline to know that even if she desperately wanted to reach back, it would never be worth the extras she knew she’d end up getting – extra strokes, perhaps even something nasty in her bottom for the rest of the day, or worse yet an enema...!