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Straightening her out by bending her over in this age play trilogy.
When innocent Charlotte Wainscott meets the wicked Lord Rutherford, she finds him intimidating and appealing in equal measure. Having planned to join a convent when she reached womanhood, Charlotte instead finds herself torn between remaining chaste or submitting to her new Lord’s intoxicating mixture of seduction and spanking.
Shocked by her visceral reaction to Lord Rutherford’s depraved lifestyle, Charlotte runs away to the convent, to beg forgiveness for her sins. Can she move on from the man she loved more than any other or will she give in to her desires, return to her Lord and embrace the submissive life of a little girl forever.
Daphne Hardcastle didn’t know much about the rules of high society but even she knows that a man who spanks you the first time he meets you is a man to be avoided. But now he’s back and this time he won’t take no for an answer.
The Earl of Conway is in trouble. If he can’t find a model for his latest painting, he’ll lose a lot more than just the commission. When spanking Daphne doesn’t persuade her to pose for him, he decides he’s going to have to find another way to make her submit, a way that quickly leads her into the life of a little.
Now Daphne has vanished without a trace and the Earl is in a race against time to track her down before a rival artist uses her in his dark masterpiece, The Murder of the Muse.
Contains dark romantic elements, age play, bondage, spanking and power exchange.
The worst brats respond best to the severest spankings.
Eva Belvoir’s parents have had enough of her tantrums. When their friend and private tutor, George Jenkins, offers to improve her behaviour, they accept his help gladly.
Eva has no idea why she is travelling to Mr Jenkins house but she soon finds out. Stripped of her dignity and her clothing, she is made to wear a diaper, keep a pacifier in her mouth and submit her bottom to repeated spankings. But just as she begins to learn the lessons her tutor has to teach, he vanishes and now she must make a decision. Either go home and try and forget about the first man she has ever truly loved or risk her own life in order to save his.
All three stories contain dark romance, spanking, age play, anal play and power exchange.
As the door closed and I was left alone in the house with him, my hands began to tremble. Was this the hysterics my mother had warned me about? I could not be certain. There was only one thing of which I could be certain. This was not how my adult years were supposed to begin.
“What is your name girl?” he asked, scowling down at me as I did my best to meet his gaze. Although my expression remained as neutral as I could manage, inside I was terrified and with good reason. Lord Rutherford was well known throughout the county as a hard man. He had endeavoured to purchase my parents’ home five years previously and when that had failed, he had set his sights on a very different prize, one of much higher value. Me.
“Charlotte, sir,” I curtseyed, my eyes lowered. I wished with all my heart that the door would open again and my parents would burst in and tell me it was all a mistake, that they wanted me to return home with them. I was to be disappointed.
“Well Charlotte, it may come as no surprise to you but I am unmarried. Indeed who would take a cantankerous old fool like me for a husband?”
“I do not know sir.”
“Of course not,” he murmured. “It was a rhetorical question. Follow me.”
I walked behind him along a dimly lit hallway into his drawing room. He motioned for me to sit and I did so, perching awkwardly as he poured himself a brandy. He carried over to a battered armchair by the fire and sank into it with a sigh, staring into the flames and seemingly oblivious to my presence.
I looked at him for a moment while he was distracted, wondering once again why my parents had sent me here. They knew my ambition had always been to join the convent as my two sisters had done before me. With them, there had been no argument, no discussion, just acceptance that they had chosen their path in life. They were serving God to the best of their abilities. When it had come to my eighteenth birthday and we were sat at our modest dining table to decide my future, I had been expecting the same acquiescence.
“What do you wish to make of your life Charlotte?” my father asked, his arms folded as he leaned back in his chair and stared at me.
“To follow in the path of my sisters, father.”
“Are you a fool?” he replied. “I thought you would have grown out of that silly desire by now.”
Silly?” I said, my eyes wide, shocked at his words. “You consider it foolhardiness to wish to serve our Lord and Saviour?”
He sighed and held out his hand, gripping my own in a manner that was almost pleading. “You are beautiful Charlotte, far more so than Dora and Elizabeth. They chose the convent purely because they knew none would want them for a wife. I suspect even God was disappointed that they chose to marry him.”
“George!” my mother interjected. “How can you say such things?”
“Come my dear, you know it to be true.”
“But in front of Charlotte. It is not seemly to talk of such things before a child.”
“She is of age now and it is time she learned some of the cold truths of life.” He turned back to me and continued. “My darling. We are destitute. Business is failing and without immediate income we will lose everything.”
“Father?” I asked, my shock evident in my voice. “Is it true?” The modest collection of retailers he supplied had always had reasonable profits and he had fought off most attempts from wealthier competitors to take over his trade.
He nodded sadly. “You are not to entertain the idea of joining the convent, is that clear?”
“But then what is to become of me?”
“I have a different Lord for you serve.”
I opened my mouth to reply but my mother spoke before I had chance. “Do you remember Lord Rutherford?”
“Of course mother.” It could be some time before I forgot that scoundrel. He had made the boldest attempts to take over my father’s little empire, undercutting him with some of our largest clients.
“He has made a most handsome offer of a dowry in return for your obedient hand in marriage.”
I almost fell from my seat, jerking my hand free, my eyes widening. “You cannot be serious. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I furiously thought to myself. So, since he cannot buy you out of business, he will buy me instead. Was I worth so little?
“Deadly serious,” father said without a hint of sadness in his voice. If anything, he actually sounded pleased.
“You would give me away to the man who attempted to ruin us, and all for thirty pieces of silver?”
“He has offered far more than that and without it we will be ruined anyway. Smith’s of Bristol changed over to him last week. I will have no one left to sell to if this continues.”
“Well I refuse. I will not marry that beast. I have heard how he treats his servants, he is a cad and a villain.”
Father bristled, sitting rigidly upright in his seat. Though usually serene, there was a fury in his eyes I had never seen before. Mother looked away as if the fireplace were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“You will not disobey your father,” he said firmly. “The decision has been made. We ride out to his home in a week to make the arrangements.”
Mother stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. “Try not to be downhearted,” she smiled weakly. “You are to marry into one of the oldest and richest families in the country.”
“But I do not want to.” The tears began to fall in earnest then but as I looked up at mother, I saw the tiredness in her expression.
“I am sorry,” she said, turning away again. “But what you want is immaterial.”
Seven days later I was by their side as we rode to the Right Honourable Lord Rutherford’s country house twenty miles from our own, his land abutting onto our fields. As we passed through his estate I could not help but think he saw me as nothing more than a way to extend the boundary of his land, or perhaps as simply another part of my father’s ruination.
My parents said their goodbyes soberly at the front door before leaving me in his care, their carriage rattling away as Lord Rutherford bade me enter, taking me into the drawing room a minute later before proceeding to ignore me for some time. As he remained lost in his thoughts, so I became lost in my own.
I attempted to think of any way in which I could remove myself from this awful situation. To marry not just a man, which was sinful enough to me, but to be forced to marry a man such as him. That was sure to land me in the hellfire of damnation if that was not where I had just arrived. He looked devilish enough, little more than a brute, even in that expensive suit of his. His eyes were as black as the fabric of his jacket, his hair a ragged mess atop his formidable head. His lips were pursed as he sipped his brandy, taking it as if it were iced water, not expensive liquor. Even his hands were more suited to a beast than a man, thick fingers that looked as if they may crush the glass into a thousand pieces at any moment.
“Why do you think I want to marry you?” he asked out of nowhere, turning to look at me without a hint of humour or kindness anywhere on his face.
“I do not know sir but I wish you did not.”
“That wish is a zephyr, it will pass soon enough. Though I must say I am somewhat surprised. There are many young women who would be delighted to marry one such as me.”
“In which case why not take one of them as your wife.”
“Because,” he began, his eyes narrowing, “I want you.”
I felt furious. Why was my opinion the only one that seemed to count for nothing? Was I the only person who had no say in my future?
“I am not getting any younger,” he continued. “And I have been informed by people who earn far more than they deserve that without an heir, a very long line of Rutherford’s will come to an end when I die. I need an heir. Do you understand that?”
I remained silent. The very thought of giving him a child sickened me. I was supposed to remain chaste, to serve God as my sisters had done before me. I was not supposed to become a common whore for the avaricious desires of this wicked, sinful, and undeserving man.
“Speak up girl. Do you understand me?”
I sat up straight, summoning up all my courage in the face of that furious expression. “I have no intention of marrying you sir, let alone bearing a child for you.”
“Is that so?” He set down his glass and stood up, towering over me as the tremor in my hands grew ever more pronounced. “Your parents have other ideas. They have given me free reign to do with you as I will. What make you of that?”
“Let me go home,” was all I could think of in response. “I want to dally here no longer.”
He grabbed hold of my arm, pulling me to my feet. The sheer brute fury of his grip made me gasp out loud. “This is your home!” he snarled. “So you had better get used to that notion.”
I attempted to pull my arm free. “This will never be my home. I despise this place as much as I despise you.”
“You are a wilful one,” he said, a flicker of lightness appearing in his eyes for the first time. “I will grant you that but I have dealt with children such as you before.”
“You will unhand me this instant. I am not to be sullied by you or indeed anyone.” I lashed out, landing a kick on his shin. He did not flinch.
“If you are going to tantrum like a child, I shall discipline you as one also.” He twisted my arm as he sank into the nearest chair, pulling me over his lap and ignoring my protesting shouts. Reaching down he yanked up the bottom of my dress, exposing my legs to his gaze. I fought ever harder to free myself but he was far stronger than I. “You will learn to obey me or you will face the consequences,” he said, lifting his free hand and landing a solid smack on my left buttock. Although clothed, the blow stung with such immediate pain that I could not help but scream. As I did so, he laughed at my evident discomfort.”
“You struck me,” I yelled in disbelief.
“You struck me first,” he replied with a smirk. “Though I may perhaps have struck you harder. Now are you going to behave yourself?”
Another blow landed, this time on my right buttock, heat spreading rapidly through my bottom. The warmth and tingle of shock remained long after he had shoved my dress back down and stood me up again. Maintaining his grip on my arm, he moved his face towards mine until his lips were mere inches from my own. From this distance I could smell him, a scent of masculinity that I had never encountered before, so different to that of my father or my tutors. I felt myself shrinking downwards as he stared unblinking at my eyes. “Make no mistake Charlotte,” he whispered. “I am in charge here and the sooner you learn that, the better it will be for you. Now sit down and we will continue this conversation like two civilised adults.”
He lowered me into my chair, my posterior stinging afresh as it met the hard surface. He picked up his brandy and drained the glass, turning to face me once more. “Why do you think I chose you?” he asked.
“Because you are wicked and would defy the will of God.”
No, it is simpler than that. Your parents offered you to me in person.”
“What?” I could not believe what he had just said. “You are lying.”
“I am afraid the deceit comes from your family in this instance. No doubt they told you some cock and bull story about our engagement but you deserve the truth before our marriage is arranged. They contacted me, out of the blue I might add, offered you up in return for a substantial loan. They even added a caveat that the loan would serve as dowry if I might be so kind as to agree to take you for my wife.”
“That cannot be true.”
“I have never been one for lies Charlotte, unlike your father. I have long been looking for an unspoilt girl to provide me an heir, a girl who would not run off with the first tinker or baker who crossed her path. Here you are. I am sure you know better than most that the Lord works in the most mysterious of ways at times.”
“Do not ever speak lightly of Him.”
“I do not jest. I sought a bride and here you are, unspoilt, chaste, beautiful. I am sure you will make an excellent bride and an equally excellent mother. Although that reminds me of another matter we must discuss.”
“Tell me, what do you know of sexual matters?”
Daphne could only watch as the glass fell sideways from her tray. Perfect, she thought as the amber liquid splashed over the side of the crystal tumbler and rained straight onto the waistcoat of the ninth Earl of Conway. Just perfect. First day on the job and its ruined thanks to that wag sat there with a ridiculous smirk on his face.
Gaining the job as waitress at the Four Oaks club had seemed too good to be true but within an hour of starting, Daphne had realised why the vacancy had come up. The waiting staff were put upon by every single person in the club. Even the cleaners sneered at them. She had been berated for arriving on time, told she should be there at least an hour early if she wanted to get paid for her work. She had been accosted for her hair being down, told her lack of make up was unacceptable for one serving the gentry, even laughed at for her accent.
Her first job was to read through the list of rules for completing the probationary period. It took ten minutes just to reach the end of the list. She was then tested on her knowledge of etiquette and protocol before finally being allowed to collect the first orders from the members on the floor.
She had carried the tray of whiskies out to the group by the fireplace. Around a low table sat a member of parliament, an Earl and a decorated Major just returned from a lengthy campaign. As she leaned between the Earl and the Major to place the drinks on the edge of their gaming table, the M.P nudged her arm just enough for her tray to tip upwards. Before she had time to react, the last remaining tumbler rolled forwards, spilling its contents straight down the Earl’s waistcoat.
“Oh, I am so sorry, my Lord,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.”
The M.P was already laughing. “Clumsy staff they have working here, Richard.”
“No matter,” the Earl said, climbing to his feet. “Though if you gentlemen will excuse me a moment.”
His expression fixed on Daphne and it did not take a genius to work out what it meant. It said, follow me. She did so, watching as the Earl strolled casually through the room, pushing open a door marked, ‘Tier 2 Only,’ a door she had expressly forbidden to pass through under any circumstances. She paused at the entrance, glancing around her. Nobody was watching, they were all busy discussing ruling the world and filling the room with pipe and cigar smoke.
She pushed open the door and stepped through, wondering if she was about to lose her job before it had even begun. On the other side, the Earl was standing in the doorway of a small room, tapping his foot impatiently. “Come on,” he said. “I haven’t got all day.”
He waved her inside before closing the door as she looked about her. The only thing in the room was a table and a frosted glass window. The light from outside was dulled as it passed through the glass, as if the sun was already setting despite the early hour. It matched her mood, her heart sinking as the Earl folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Come on then,” he said, nodding towards the table.
“I am sorry, my Lord, I do not understand.”
“You embarrassed me in front of my colleagues,” he replied. “You surely did not expect to continue with no consequences?”
“Are you going to get me sacked? It was not my fault.” She began babbling, unable to stop. “That man you were with, he shook my arm. I would never intentionally do such a thing. I am so sorry my Lord, please, I need this job. My parents worked so hard to get me an interview, I promise I will not do it again, please, I beg you…”
He held up a hand, silencing her in an instant. “You have no idea what this room is for, do you?”
“No, my Lord.”
“It is for disciplining the staff.”
“Disciplining, my Lord?”
“What’s your name?”
“Daphne, my Lord.”
“Have you ever been spanked before, Daphne?”
“Answer the question. Have you ever been spanked before?”
“Of course, when I was little.”
“Then you know what it entails. Bend over the table.”
“My Lord, surely you do not mean to…”
“Do you wish to lose your position and any chance of a decent reference?”
“No, my Lord but…”
“No buts. Bend over the table and take your punishment for embarrassing me, ruining a brand new waistcoat, and worst of all, wasting the finest whisky in the country.”
“Please, my Lord, I beg you to reconsider.”
“I will not bargain with you. Either accept your punishment or I will talk to the club master about this.”
The club master was a vague figure in Daphne’s life. She had seen him in the background during her interview but had not spoken to him in person, being far too low down the food chain to warrant direct interaction. She shuddered to think what would happen if he found out about this.
Turning towards the table, Daphne leaned over it, her legs shaking as she did so. Her chest pressed into the wood as the Earl walked up behind her and then stopped, not saying a word for a long time. The only sound was his slow steady breathing competing with her own laboured wheezes as she waited, her mind going back to the last time she had been in this position.
She had been twelve years old, caught in the kitchen with her hand in the jam jar by the cook. It had been six blows to her behind, her little form held tightly in place by the cook even as she begged for mercy. When her parents had found out, the cook was let go and she was showered with affection in light of the ordeal she had undergone.
This was different to then. For one thing she knew she could stand up and walk away but to do so, she would lose her post and the only way of supporting her parents. For another, she could not get over the thought that this was some kind of test. She had the strangest feeling that if she held up her end, it would be revealed as some kind of initiation and one that she had to undergo to keep her job.
“I think two for the waistcoat, two for the embarrassment, and two for the whisky,” the Earl said, speaking for the first time in over a minute. After each strike, you will say, thank you, my Lord.”
It was only when his hand struck her behind, that Daphne realised it was not a test. He intended to go through with it. He was actually spanking her. She was right that it was different to last time. It felt far worse. Being spanked as an adult was infinitely more humiliating, particularly as he seemed utterly indifferent to the shriek of pain she let out.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she managed to gasp in the faintest tone.
The stinging pain of the blow had barely had time to spread through her buttocks before the second blow landed, this one even harder than the first, the table scraping forwards across the floor with the force of it. “Thank you, my Lord,” she said, a tear rolling down her cheek.
He slammed down on her posterior a third time and the pain spread, her nerve endings on fire, her breath catching in her throat. “Thank you, my Lord,” she wheezed as the fourth spank hit her a second later.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she muttered and as the fifth strike hit her right buttock, she screamed, the pain too much for her to handle. He paused then and that was worse, waiting for the last blow to come made her silently yearn for it, wanting this insanity to be over. When it came, she almost collapsed to the floor, her legs giving way. “Thank you, my Lord,” she muttered, turning and grabbing the edge of the table to remain upright.
He was already gone, leaving her to stagger across to the door, her posterior on fire, her heart pounding in her chest. Her body felt as if it was on fire, the air thick and overheated. She needed air, she needed fresh air more than anything else lest she faint. Weaving from side to side, she made it out into the body of the club, hearing the voices around her, certain they were all talking about her. She caught a glimpse of the Earl, already back in his seat, no doubt she was already forgotten.
It was the last thing she saw before she swooned, everything fading to black as her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor, fainting dead away in the middle of the room.
Lord Edward Belvoir looked out of his drawing room window and sighed. “What are we to do with our daughter?” he asked, turning away from the sight of a young woman gesticulating wildly out on the lawns to face his wife. “We must do something.”
He glanced back outside whilst Lady Belvoir continued knitting in silence. Through the glass Eva was berating one of the gardeners for having had the temerity to be weeding whilst she rode her favourite horse through the flowerbeds. Even with the window closed, Lord Belvoir could hear what she was saying. It was loud enough for the entire household to hear.
“How dare you?” she yelled. “You would speak back to me? I am the daughter of a Lord and your superior in every respect.”
The gardener tugged at his cap and muttered an apology before no doubt coming to Lord Belvoir to complain about her behaviour. Lord Belvoir would be forced to defend his daughter whilst silently agreeing that she was in the wrong. Worse than that, he had recently come to realise she was a brat, a brat about whom something must be done.
“Next time I shall not pull on his reins and you will be crushed under his hooves and it will be your own fault if you are broken into pieces!” Eva said before riding away, leaving the gardener to attempt the resuscitation of Lady Belvoir’s prized azaleas.
Lord Belvoir watched her riding off at a gallop. With a sigh borne of sheer frustration, he walked across to the liquor cabinet and pulled open a bottle of his favourite brandy.
“Before noon dear?” Lady Belvoir said, speaking up for the first time that morning, her eyebrows raised.
He did not reply until he felt the fiery liquid settling in his stomach. Only then did he slump into the nearest armchair and speak. “What are we to do with her?”
Lady Belvoir set down her magazine and smiled as supportively as she could. “We might consider returning her to boarding school?”
Lord Belvoir took another sip of the brandy. “She is nineteen dear. Old enough to be out of boarding school and getting married, not tantrumming violently and causing three of my staff to hand in their notice in the last month alone. A husband is what she needs, someone to straighten her out.”
“Edward, I am very fond of you but sometimes your ideas are a little far fetched. Who on earth would want to take on Eva?”
Lord Belvoir got to his feet, digging out his pocketbook as he did so. “I’m going to give a pound note to the gardener. If he leaves, we will only have two and no one in a twenty mile radius willing to be hired. Not that I blame them with her churning up the lawns on that horse of hers.”
“A pound? Must you dear? The staff will soon be rich as Solomon and we will be destitute.”
“They threatened to leave en masse after her last outburst. Pouring scalding soup onto the chef. I was so embarrassed. I swear I do not know where she gets it from.”
“You mollycoddled her from too young an age Edward. I wanted her looked after by a nanny like all children should be but you had to attempt to raise her yourself. It was the most nonsensical notion I ever heard. You are an intelligent man Edward but you are no nanny. She needed discipline, not love.”
“Are you suggesting I should have shown her no affection?”
“Look where affection has got you. You are throwing her a birthday ball that is costing us a fortune and she has not even debuted yet. It is simply wrong.”
Lord Belvoir managed to look sheepish. “She gave me the eyes,” he said.
Lady Belvoir groaned. “I hope her eyes are her approval are worth the ten pounds this is costing us.”
Lord Belvoir left without admitting he had not realised the total cost of the evening. Ten pounds for his daughter to celebrate turning nineteen. Still, it would be worth the money if his plan worked. He had an ace up his sleeve. He had invited George Jenkins.
Having known George for more than ten years in a social capacity, he had slowly become privy to many of the younger gentleman’s secrets. Jenkins was a sort of tutor, a tutor of the most private and secret kind. Against all the socially accepted mores of society, he had one woman after another living with him. He took in one incorrigible young woman at a time, the most fierce brats no match for his mental and physical strength. They spent a period of time at his home, what occurred during that time was a mystery even to Lord Belvoir. They then emerged like butterfly from a chrysalis, all thoughts of bad behaviour banished. They were meek, they were submissive, most of all they were well behaved. It was little short of a miracle and George had often joked that he could straighten Eva out in a matter of days if only the Belvoirs would give him the chance.
Lord Belvoir had refused to see the problem. He had not seen the issues with his daughter for many years. Before she was even born, he had decided to raise her himself. He had read the works of a German doctor who had produced a study which clearly demonstrated the dangers of allowing someone else to raise your child. Having agreed with the study, he had taken it upon himself to raise his daughter without the help of a nanny, ignoring the cruel words of those in his social circle who suggested such behaviour was not proper. But it had hurt to find out they were right. To see her behaviour deteriorate and have to admit he had been wrong. By the time he did so, it was too late for Eva and her behaviour only seemed to worsen no matter what he did from then on. No governess could tame her, no boarding school could teach her right from wrong. He had shown her only love, he had given her everything she had asked for, he had never ever said no to her. It made no sense to him. She should love him but she was angry all the time. Nothing he did was ever good enough and if Tabitha was correct about the price of this party, she could potentially bankrupt the entire family within five years.
When he had bumped into George Jenkins quite accidentally, he had mentioned his concerns regarding his daughter. By the end of the conversation Lord Belvoir had a plan in place, a plan to straighten out Eva once and for all.