The women in her family had been special nannies to gentile woman for generations. He explained that Angeline would need additional discipline and a strict schedule given she was not raised within the ton but rather as a commoner and without the guiding influence of a strong male in her early life. He felt Mrs. Chapel would be more than equal to the task.
A long, plaintive wail brought him out of his musings. Angeline was rocking on her hips and trying to raise up on her knees to relieve the pressure in her bowels.
"Oh god, please, make it stop."
He placed a hand on her naked backside and rubbed it in circles. "You still have half a bag of warm, soapy water to take up that little bottom of yours. Then you must hold it for a good twenty minutes."
Angeline started to cry. "But it hurts!" Her stomach would not stop cramping and clenching.
"I know, baby. I know," he said as he stroked her hair. "But you must do this for me."
"Why," she whispered.
"I told you, love. I'm going to use your bottom hole like I use your mouth and your tight cunny. You must trust your Papa. It will bring you pleasure. I promise."
Angeline did not respond but closed her eyes as another punishing cramp wrenched her whole body. A thin sheen of sweat made her ivory skin glisten. After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Chapel unstrapped her from the table and allowed her to run to the privacy of the water closet. When she emerged weak and shaking, she was immediately hurried into a warm bath.
Blackhurst sat in a plush chair by the fire, observing Angeline in her bath much as he had observed her in the parlor the night of the party. She was not allowed to wash herself. Mrs. Chapel used a soapy linen cloth to gently stroke up and down each limb. She even brushed over her breasts and between her legs making Angeline blush even further.
After she was dried off from her bath, Mrs. Chapel led her by the hand back to the birching table, Angeline resisted. The stinging slap to her backside took her completely by surprise. With a yelp, she turned to see an angry scowl on Blackhurst's…Papa's face. Without any more defiance, she allowed herself to be laid out on the table, this time on her back with her knees up.
"Lift up your bottom," instructed Mrs. Chapel.
Angeline obeyed. She felt something soft being slid underneath her.
"Do you have any instructions regarding her cunny, my lord?"
Angeline whimpered in humiliation as they both stared down at her exposed cunny. Blackhurst reached out and brushed a knuckle over the soft, downy hair.
"Given what we have planned, I think it best we shave it. Get the straight razor ready and I shall do it myself before her daily enema tomorrow morning," he said.
Angelina's mind whirled with all the horrible things wrong with what he just said. What was happening?
"Very good, my lord," responded Mrs. Chapel as she drew the fabric beneath Angelina up between her legs. She pulled a pin from her apron pocket and secured a corner of the fabric before repeating the same to the other side. "Okay, up you go." She helped Angeline off the table.
"No! No!"
Angeline tried to tear at the diaper that was just put on her. What was happening?
Blackhurst grabbed at her wrists. "Remove that diaper and I shall strap you down to that table and show you its original birching rod use. You remember the sting of the birch rod don't you, little one?" he asked fiercely.
"I am not a child! Why am I in a diaper?"
"Because I will it so," was his only response. He did not intend to always keep her in one, but an early harsh lesson would make a strong, lasting impression.
He turned to Mrs. Chapel. "Get her dressed and bring her to the morning room." With that, he left.
* * * * *
Blackhurst thought his little Angeline was a vision the moment she was led through the door of the morning room. Finally, he was seeing her dressed appropriately.
Her hair hung loose in large sugar-curls framing her beautiful heart-shaped face and secured
A long, plaintive wail brought him out of his musings. Angeline was rocking on her hips and trying to raise up on her knees to relieve the pressure in her bowels.
"Oh god, please, make it stop."
He placed a hand on her naked backside and rubbed it in circles. "You still have half a bag of warm, soapy water to take up that little bottom of yours. Then you must hold it for a good twenty minutes."
Angeline started to cry. "But it hurts!" Her stomach would not stop cramping and clenching.
"I know, baby. I know," he said as he stroked her hair. "But you must do this for me."
"Why," she whispered.
"I told you, love. I'm going to use your bottom hole like I use your mouth and your tight cunny. You must trust your Papa. It will bring you pleasure. I promise."
Angeline did not respond but closed her eyes as another punishing cramp wrenched her whole body. A thin sheen of sweat made her ivory skin glisten. After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Chapel unstrapped her from the table and allowed her to run to the privacy of the water closet. When she emerged weak and shaking, she was immediately hurried into a warm bath.
Blackhurst sat in a plush chair by the fire, observing Angeline in her bath much as he had observed her in the parlor the night of the party. She was not allowed to wash herself. Mrs. Chapel used a soapy linen cloth to gently stroke up and down each limb. She even brushed over her breasts and between her legs making Angeline blush even further.
After she was dried off from her bath, Mrs. Chapel led her by the hand back to the birching table, Angeline resisted. The stinging slap to her backside took her completely by surprise. With a yelp, she turned to see an angry scowl on Blackhurst's…Papa's face. Without any more defiance, she allowed herself to be laid out on the table, this time on her back with her knees up.
"Lift up your bottom," instructed Mrs. Chapel.
Angeline obeyed. She felt something soft being slid underneath her.
"Do you have any instructions regarding her cunny, my lord?"
Angeline whimpered in humiliation as they both stared down at her exposed cunny. Blackhurst reached out and brushed a knuckle over the soft, downy hair.
"Given what we have planned, I think it best we shave it. Get the straight razor ready and I shall do it myself before her daily enema tomorrow morning," he said.
Angelina's mind whirled with all the horrible things wrong with what he just said. What was happening?
"Very good, my lord," responded Mrs. Chapel as she drew the fabric beneath Angelina up between her legs. She pulled a pin from her apron pocket and secured a corner of the fabric before repeating the same to the other side. "Okay, up you go." She helped Angeline off the table.
"No! No!"
Angeline tried to tear at the diaper that was just put on her. What was happening?
Blackhurst grabbed at her wrists. "Remove that diaper and I shall strap you down to that table and show you its original birching rod use. You remember the sting of the birch rod don't you, little one?" he asked fiercely.
"I am not a child! Why am I in a diaper?"
"Because I will it so," was his only response. He did not intend to always keep her in one, but an early harsh lesson would make a strong, lasting impression.
He turned to Mrs. Chapel. "Get her dressed and bring her to the morning room." With that, he left.
* * * * *
Blackhurst thought his little Angeline was a vision the moment she was led through the door of the morning room. Finally, he was seeing her dressed appropriately.
Her hair hung loose in large sugar-curls framing her beautiful heart-shaped face and secured
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