Should Susan ask why Lord Nele had decided to spank her? What good would it do? She had been spanked before by men who had used her, and no doubt she would be again.
But… she found that she wanted to know. How very strange. Men spanked you and whipped you and caned you because it pleased them to do that. Mostly they seemed to feel they needed no excuse.
Her favorites, though—like Sir David—always did have an excuse. Susan didn’t miss him—she didn’t miss any of them, the four men who had effected her fall from governess to enslaved whore in the guise of a housemaid. Sir David, though, had treated her best of the four despite having her last. Mr. Oldham, too, her second lover, had never spanked her without telling her the reason, and she had liked him almost as much as Sir David. She didn’t miss them, but if she had to serve the way the girls at Hobberly Hall must serve, and accept spankings and fuckings from the guests, she didn’t see why she shouldn’t hope that the guests who used her so shamefully might at least tell her why they had decided she must accept their discipline.
Or perhaps Susan wanted to know why Lord Nele Lourcy in particular had decided to punish her. Perhaps she wanted to know because of the way he had looked at her at dinner. Or the way he had touched her there, between her legs where Sir David had bared her—“to make your sweet quim readier for me,” he had said.
Lord Bertram felt her there practically every day, up against the wall of his study, as if her bareness presented some sort of novelty for him. He had only had her once, though, over his desk. She could tell as he had thrust into her that the earl resembled her first lover, the cruel Mr. Greatrex, who had ruined her prospects forever: like Mr. Greatrex, Lord Bertram preferred to corrupt girls and cast them away. Even with a cunt bared painfully by a candle flame, to have Susan between her legs, in her mouth, and in her bottom, almost seemed a duty to Lord Bertram, as if he must take all his housemaids that way but he had little joy in it.
When Lord Nele had first accepted Lord Bertram’s invitation to touch her, under her skirts, Susan hadn’t minded then, because even if the earl himself hadn’t done it so often over the past month, Lord Granby, her keeper before Sir David, had certainly let his friends play with her down there as often as they liked. Susan had grown quite used to it—even to taking fleeting pleasure from the degrading act because most of the time the gentlemen who fondled you wanted you to show that you found it pleasurable. Of course, you always risked being punished for taking too much pleasure in it, and Lord Granby loved to employ his cane at such moments, but a girl like Susan, she thought with less bitterness than once she had thought it, must take her joys where she found them.
No, she hadn’t minded at first, but then…
Then, when that horrid Mrs. Porter had asked those questions that put Susan in her place much more effectively than Miss Redding’s and Miss Heathers’ refusal to acknowledge that another girl’s quim and bare bottom were being exposed at the same dinner table where they ate their fish and saddle of mutton, she had caught sight of Lord Nele’s face below her, and his narrowed eyes had said that she should be ashamed of herself, letting her skirts be raised by Mrs. Porter. That if she belonged to him, though her skirts might often go up, they would never do so as idly as they did in Lord Bertram’s dining room. That she had something within her that remained unbroken, which he—unlike other men—knew how to master without breaking.
So as she approached the door of his bedchamber, her heart had beaten as it had beaten for no man since Mr. Greatrex had come to her innocent bed at Porstead House, and raised her nightgown in order to exercise what he called his ‘rights as her protector.’
“Mr. Greatrex? Sir? Why are you here in my chamber?”
“Susan, you have done good service thus far as Samuel’s governess, but there is a duty about which you as yet know nothing, which you must now learn to fulfill.”
“A duty, Mr. Greatrex? What duty?”
The clergyman’s solemnity gave her no pause at all as to whether he spoke the truth.
“Hush, Susan. Do not wake your mistress.”
Susan couldn’t help a rueful smile when she remembered it, now. So adept at seduction was the apparently saintly man that she had immediately supposed that Mrs. Greatrex knew and approved her husband’s nightly visits to the governess’ bed; Susan must keep quiet, though, because the vicar’s wife needed her sleep and had told the vicar that when he enjoyed Susan he must be certain she did not make too much noise as he thrust his manhood deep inside her innocent charms.
“What duty?” she had whispered.
“Put your hand here, Susan. Do you feel what I have between my legs? How hard it is?”
“Sir? I… What are you doing? Why are you pulling up my shift?”
“So that you may do your duty, girl. Hush now. Take hold of my prick. Yes, that’s what it’s called. Your new duty is simple: you will please my prick every night with your lovely young charms. Now that you are eighteen it is time for a man to fuck you.”
The word sounded so new that for a moment Susan had felt a qualm. Or at least she remembered it that way. Perhaps she only imputed the qualm after the terrible moment, three weeks later, when she had asked Mrs. Greatrex, in utter innocence of the consequences of speaking the word if not of the act itself, whether the vicar fucked his wife in her bottom the way he did to Susan.
If she smiled ruefully at her gullibility, though, she still couldn’t suppress a shudder at the thought of the caning Mrs. Greatrex had given her, with her husband standing by to encourage her to thrash the spirit of falsehood out of Susan.
“Where did you learn such words? How could you even imagine an act so profane?” he asked, over and over, as his wife brought the cane down upon the bare bottom where he had taken his rough ease only hours before.
When Susan screamed that he had taught her the words and the act, Mrs. Greatrex had only struck more fiercely, until finally Susan had admitted—at Mr. Greatrex’s suggestion, “Did you see a filthy book, Susan? Did you pollute your mind that way?”—that she had once read about such depravity. So, yes, she supposed she had known why she had undergone that punishment, but the manner in which the Greatrexes had justified it had not endeared Susan to them as Sir David’s explanation had—and perhaps, she thought with a tremor in her knees that for which she found it difficult to account, as Lord Nele’s might.
“Please, my lord… why must I be spanked? What have I done?” she asked softly, as he released her from his grasp to allow her to obey his command to bend over the foot of his bed.
She could see in his eyes that Lord Nele Lourcy did not often hear such questions from the girls he took to his bed. She saw that when he told a girl he would spank her, she invariably submitted in the knowledge that gentlemen had their ways, and the vast majority of them did not like to harm a girl, and that sort of spanking had its pleasurable side as well. They accepted that a man like Lord Nele had the right to spank them because he possessed birth and breeding and they did not, or perhaps they had fallen so far from it that they had no right to lay claim to it any longer.
“Are you not naughty, then, Sue?” he asked, just as softly.
How could he possibly have made her blush with that question? What did his voice do to her? It felt suddenly as if all the blood in her body had rushed first to her face, and then down below, to make her warm and terribly, terribly wet—and then back to her face, ashamed of the wetness. How could it be, this sudden return of her blush? Lord Bertram had sent her here to a noble guest’s chamber clad in nothing but her shift and in the certain knowledge that Lord Nele would have her, in the style she had supposed herself used to by now: the way of a man with a maid.
She would hear the command to suck, the command to bend over, even the command to spread her backside open for the ultimate, painful indignity to which the Reverend John Greatrex had introduced her. For though Mr. Greatrex had neglected to inform her of the fact, Susan now knew it as truth that from that night forward, any man who heard that Susan Grant had felt a man’s thrusting inside her bottom’s tiny ring understood her to be the most degraded slut imaginable. No man failed to ask, “Have you ever had the prick in your bottom, Sue?” and no man, having heard that another had had her bottom, failed to demand his own ride there, as the most pleasant place to spill his seed so as not to inconvenience her.
Yes, Susan was very, very naughty, but it had been nearly two years since she had blushed over it. Somehow Lord Nele, with his voice, his handsome face framed with long, slightly curly brown locks, and his warm brown eyes, seemed to have stripped away all her jaded veneer in a moment.
She felt as if a potential lay waiting in this moment: as if by saying the right thing, now, she might go back to the start and recover her ruined prospects. No, perhaps not recover those prospects—the idea that she might find a husband in the little village where Mr. Greatrex was vicar, that some handsome young man might notice the Greatrexes’ governess. But… recover some other prospects, though she had no notion at all as to how those might appear, or to what they might amount.
“I am naughty, my lord,” she said, choosing her words with as much care as ever she could muster, “though I do not believe I have committed any infraction against you. But if you spank me for all my naughtiness, will you not then lay a responsibility upon yourself to guide me into innocence?”
His eyes widened. He took a slight step back, and brought his hand to his face to cover his mouth and nose. In fascination, Susan watched him realize that his fingers smelled very strongly of the very naughtiness they had begun to discuss. As if without willing it, Lord Nele inhaled sharply, and the startled look on his face became surprised, and then, for an instant, pleased, but immediately after that very stern, the brief smile becoming a set, hard line.
Susan could tell that her words had hit home somehow, but now she felt a surge of fear that she had evoked cruelty in his nature rather than kindness. He said in a very severe voice, like that of a schoolmaster announcing a whipping for a recalcitrant pupil, “I believe I would like to accept that charge, Sue.”
Her heart beat wildly. What did it mean? What could it mean?
“Tonight, you will begin to tell me of your naughtiness, and I will punish you for it. If I am satisfied that you have repented, and wish to return to the path of virtue, and if you please my cock as a virtuous girl in your position should do for the man who has taken charge of her, I am prepared to make arrangements for your comfort. Would that please you, Sue? Or should I perhaps call you Susan?”
“Susan, my lord,” she whispered, not sure whether she could believe this strange fortune. “Yes, my lord. It would please me.” Two men had kept her, as the world usually termed such things, but neither had proposed to keep her in anything like comfort, or used such terms in their propositions.
“Then get your naughty rump over the foot of the bed as I requested. Your first spanking will occur because you need to assume a proper frame of mind, and because I wish to spank your pretty bottom.”
What had possessed him? Right now Nele didn’t know and didn’t care. All he could do was watch Susan tremble as she moved to obey him, watch her bottom under her thin cotton shift round outward over her slightly bent knees. The strange, nearly insane feeling that somehow he did this—told a girl to prepare for a spanking—for the very first time, tonight, came over him irresistibly, despite in actual fact the number of times he had spanked young women being now, in 1874, after ten years as a libertine, quite difficult to count.
But something about the way Susan, clearly fallen and clearly a trollop, had demanded… No, she hadn’t demanded, nor even requested, anything; she had merely asked a question. But that question had in it an element that struck Nele so hard at his ethical core that it had felt to him tantamount to a demand, or even an ineluctable obligation. He must take responsibility for what he did, now.
He had thought of himself all these years, from a stripling of eighteen to a hardened rake of twenty-eight, as a libertine. True, he had made for himself that single exception from the strict code of the libertine, about which girls he debauched. Rakes like Bertram regarded it as their perverse duty never to mind about a girl’s feelings or her ruined prospects except to the extent that monetary provision prove necessary to keep their affairs from becoming a matter of gossip.
Nele’s conquests, by contrast, all came from that subset of girls who had already fallen. He had maintained this practice so scrupulously, however, not because he wished to take any sort of responsibility for the way he fucked the girls he seduced. Rather, he corrupted girls who had already undergone corruption at some other man’s hands because he did not care to accept any responsibility over them. Indeed, he nearly always used their fallen condition as a pretext also to discipline them, sometimes quite harshly, just as he planned to discipline Susan tonight.
“Bare that bottom, girl,” he said, feeling his cock rise as it always did at the thought of making a girl get herself ready for a sound punishment in recompense for her misdeeds. “Roll your shift up so that it doesn’t get in the way of your discipline.”
Nele heard her breathing quicken at that, coming sharply through her flaring nostrils, seen in profile as she bent over the bed. Her hands reached back a little sluggishly, perhaps, but Nele suddenly wondered if the slowness had in it a kind of delicious anticipation of the spanking, as if Susan played at fear in order to make the whole scene last longer.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered into the chenille coverlet of Nele’s mahogany four-poster bed. Slowly she pulled the shift up, gathering it into her fingers, bunching the light fabric in her palms. Nele’s own breathing came harshly as he saw the pretty sight of her upper thighs and then her pert little bottom. She kept her knees tightly together, so no hint of the private pout Nele had degradingly exposed at the dinner table, and then peremptorily claimed with his hand at her entry into his chamber, now appeared. Nele liked it that way: they had plenty of time for him to command her to spread her knees to permit the inspection and enjoyment of her cunt. Much better to begin her discipline with the slight veil of modesty provided by Susan’s closed thighs.
On the other hand, Nele felt he must intimate to her that this veil did not represent any diminishment of the freedoms he might take with her person. He stepped to her side and brought his hands down upon her waist, where she had begun clumsily to roll up her shift in obedience to his command. Brusquely he aided her work, tucking the cotton well up and rolling it tightly, representing to Susan that he took the notion of having her bare bottom at his disposal without any impediment very seriously.
Then, with his left hand still there upon her waist, he began to stroke her rounded bottom-cheeks. He took the taut flesh of her right cheek in his hand and squeezed gently. Susan rewarded him with a little whimper. With his fingertips he traced the enticing split between the little globes, to make her think about what he might do with the hidden, secret place that lay within that valley. Surely men had had her there—suddenly he burned both to know the story of Susan’s anal defloration and to fuck her there without delay, in order that he might assert his own claim to her backside, make sure she knew who owned her lovely bottom now.
Not certain why he asked, Nele said, “What is your surname, Susan?” As he spoke, he rubbed gently, with his two middle fingers, at the most sensitive part of a girl’s bottom, just where the soft curves come closest to the arousing place between cunny and anus.
Susan gave a little sob of shame and pleasure. She gasped, “Grant, my lord. Susan Grant.”
“Susan Grant,” he said, understanding now that he had needed to know her family name so that he could—yes—take responsibility, if only for the moment, over the sense of shame she must have at the thought of what sort of daughter she had turned out to be, “how many men have had you?”
“Oh, my lord, please… please don’t ask me that.” Had she begun to weep? How astonishing—and more astonishing, Nele felt himself moved by her tears.
“But I must ask you, Susan, in order that you may atone for your naughtiness. How many? Or have you lost count?” He felt the cruelty in pressing the matter, but he also felt the tiny compulsion to responsibility that Susan had awakened in him growing stronger the further the little scene proceeded. He needed to know how far she had fallen, because… because he wanted to possess her utterly, as his own. The idea, which he had never had about any other girl, of any class or condition, shot through his heart and mind and made him draw breath even as it made his cock stand against the silk of his dressing gown and made his palm seem to tingle where he held Susan Grant’s perfect little bottom.
“It is only… it is only that I do not truly know what you mean by had, my lord.”
“Do you mean to provoke me, Susan Grant?” Nele said. He brought his hand up, and then sharply down in a spank upon her right cheek. “I am quite sure you do know.” He spanked her again, harder, right in the middle, loving the way her cheeks bounded under his hand.
“Ow!” Susan cried. “Yes, my lord, but… but two men have kept me, and I did not know…”
Nele spanked her again and again now, from side to side, as he said, “Did I say kept, girl? You know what I wish to know. I wish to know how many men have fucked you.”
“Oh, please, my lord, please… please let me explain! Ah! It hurts!”
“Of course it hurts, girl. You must learn your lesson, must you not? Naughty girls must have their bottoms well punished.” But what did she mean about explaining? Was the answer perhaps more complicated than he imagined? He had expected that Susan might say that another guest of Bertram’s had fucked her, but was there more involved than that?
Susan had begun to flex her knees to try to take away a bit of the sting, and now for the first time Nele could see a hint of her bare cunt-lips that she could not help exposing in the lewd little dance. Nele held her still with his left hand, and spanked her three more times. “Don’t show me that wicked cunny of yours, girl!” he said. “I have no need to see it now, while I discipline you, though perhaps you wish to distract me!”
He didn’t know where this very schoolmasterish sentiment had come from, but it seemed paradoxically to arouse him more than punishing any other girl ever had. Still holding her motionless with the hand atop her waist, he stopped the spanking and admired the uniform pink he had turned the ovals of Susan’s bottom, and the lovely contrast with the milky white of her skin above and below.
“Explain, then, girl. But remember that you are not to speak salaciously, or your punishment will have to be even more severe.” Yes, something about Susan Grant had awoken in him a new pleasure: the pleasure of denying the obvious lewdness they both must yearn for.
Susan sniffed back a tear, and said in a thick voice, “My first seducer only… he only had me in my m-mouth and…”
Her voice trailed off. What would she say? Nele felt his brow crease. “And what, Susan?” He made his tone softer and more confiding, and now he started to stroke her bottom-cheeks to encourage her.
Susan gave a little whimper and said, “Back there. Where… where you have your hand.”
Nele thought himself a libertine, but he could not keep his eyes from widening and his mouth from falling open. What sort of man would use a maiden that way? To have a girl’s bottom, Dr. Brown affirmed and Nele took as an article of faith, lay squarely within the rights of a natural man—but only after one had taken her in the cunt, to establish one’s natural mastery. Even if a man chose to climax there, as a way of keeping the girl from embarrassment, he must not neglect to fuck the cunt. Moreover, a girl’s bottom needed gentleness at the start, and how could a man be gentle with a bottom when he did not have the pleasure of her tight little cunt upon which to fall back, when as generally happened she could not open upon her first try, with the head of his prick pushing firmly against her tiny ring and alarming her so that she forgot how her anus might yield for his use?
“Who was he?” Nele asked softly, still stroking and trying to think what attitude to take to this strange beginning of the tale of her seduction.
With a sob that seemed to Nele to speak of a mingling of her guilt and grief with the smart of the spanking, she said, “A clergyman, my lord.”
“What?” Nele could not help his astonished reaction.
“I was governess to his son,” Susan said miserably to the coverlet. “Oh, my lord, I have never told anyone this. Do you promise to protect me, should I need protection?”
Could he? What had they begun here? All thoughts of his rakishness, of seducing girls like Miss Portia Redding and any others his libertine friends might provide—even of the eventual need to find an heiress, given that his father the duke of Panton’s estate was entailed to Nele’s older brother Robert—seemed to flee from his mind.
Nele possessed enough wit to know that such a flight could not be permanent—that he couldn’t expect that making such a promise to Susan Grant would make that promise easy to keep. Neither could he deny, however, that he found her enchanting and exquisite.
More, she seemed to him exquisite in a way made uniquely for him, Lord Nele Lourcy—younger son, notorious ne’er-do-well, friend to such unforgivable reprobates as the earl of Hobberly—who had made a picaresque career of further corrupting the already fallen. Susan Grant seemed somehow both fallen and innocent, stained and pure. He felt drawn to her as he had never felt drawn to anyone on earth.
“I promise,” he said. “I cannot say exactly what that protection shall comprise, Susan, but I will undertake to keep you safe.”
“My lord,” Susan said with another little sob. “I have come so far into this wilderness of sin and shame that the merest gesture of kindness from you gives me more hope than I have known in many months. Punish me, and have me, but… try to keep your promise, if you can.”
How very strange to hear such words from a girl whose warm, pink, bare bottom he stroked, after spanking it. “I will,” Nele said softly. “Now, if you please, tell me of this monstrous clergyman. For my promise, I expect that I shall know your full history, so that I may chastise you properly for any fault I find in your conduct.”
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