The Harlot Bride by Alice Liddell

well thrashed for your impertinence, I will replace it with a larger button and require you to keep it in longer.”
    Lucy was still now, although her breathing was ragged, and from time to time she emitted a soft moan.
    “In time, I will train you to accept buttons far larger than this, ones that will fill you completely and hold you so far open that as long as they are in place you will be unable to think of anything but he who placed it there, and why.”
    He tapped her on the back of one bare thigh, and told her to get up.
    Lucy rose, awkwardly and uncomfortably, trying to come to terms with the unsettling sensations produced by the object inside her bottom. It held her muscle open most uncomfortably, and the knob inside made its presence felt with every movement. Meanwhile, the knob on the outside pressed and teased at the inside of her bottom cheeks, and she feared it protruded into plain sight, even with her standing.
    Lucy kept her gaze low, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to look at either Lord Tazewell or the young maid at his side. Lord Tazewell noted the pose, and observed with no small amount of satisfaction that it was the first time – the very first time – that he had seen this young filly even the slightest bit subdued.

 
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Lucy spent much of the next few weeks with a button in her bottom, and often, it seemed, standing in a corner with her skirts up and her freshly spanked bottom on display. Matters of her discipline had escalated considerably since her introduction to the bottom button, and although she was now doing her very best to please Lord Tazewell, and so avoid the pain and humiliation of another punishment, it seemed she was spending more time over his knee than not.
    And twice a day, whether she was good or not, he called for her to place herself face–down across his lap so he might, as he put it, “attend to her naughty bottom.” As many times as she had now heard these words, they still brought a hot flush of shame to her face.
    Lucy had not adapted easily to these changes, and had in particular resisted him when he demanded her submission downstairs or in front of the servants. The first time this happened was the morning after the day he punished her with the strap.
    On that morning, Lord Tazewell was already at the table when she came down for breakfast. He did not bother to look up when she entered the room, although he must have heard the rustle of her skirts as she came in.
    “Didn’t I tell you to be in your seat before I come to breakfast?” he said in a cold voice.
    Lucy stiffened. She had come down intending to be reasonable with him, but he had to meet her halfway. At the very least, she expected some measure of solicitude after all she had suffered at his hand the day before. Surely he regretted being so hard on her, and taking such liberties with her person.
    “Perhaps you did,” she replied, all prickles and pride again. “But as I’m sure you can understand, I’m not particularly anxious to breakfast with you after…after…well, after the events of yesterday.”
    That caused him to look up from his letters.
    Lucy was pleased that she finally had his attention, but her courage faltered when she saw the expression on his face. It was clear that she had once again started off on the wrong foot with him, but once again she couldn’t seem to help herself. The least he might have done, she reminded herself, was inquire after her pains and bruises.
    “In fact, I believe, sir, that you owe me an apology,” she said, most unwisely, thus sealing her fate.
    “Is that so?” Lord Tazewell said, rising with a swift movement.
    Lucy flinched at the sound of his chair moving back but did her very best to maintain her chin it its position of indignant self–importance.
    “If you think I owe you an apology, young miss, it’s time I put a fresh blaze on that insolent bottom of yours,” he said, already halfway around the table. “I believe I shall attend to