The Submission of Little Emmie (3 page)

"But I am not a little girl," Emily said softly.

"Nonsense, you are His Lordship's little girl,” Mrs. Pew said as she finished bathing the embarrassed girl. “Now I will not tolerate any more such talk. Up you go!" With that Mrs. Pew pulled her out of the bath. 

Emily knew better than to move away as Mrs. Pew approached with a large, fluffy cream-colored towel and proceeded to dry every intimate inch. She then grasped Emily's hand and led her naked into the bedroom. Emily's skin glowed a dewy pink from the hot bath and vigorous scrubbing. The exception was her bottom, which was an impressive rosy red. Mrs. Pew led her charge to the wardrobe, throwing the double doors open wide. Emily momentarily forgot her embarrassing nakedness as she gazed at the contents inside.

The cabinet was filled to overflowing with small, frilly dresses in every color of the rainbow. Emily saw a dress with a wide pink sash around the waist that tied in a big bow in the back. Another had delicate white lace over pretty pale blue silk. And yet another bright yellow one had small white embroidered flowers around the hem and collar. Mrs. Pew opened a drawer to pull out a small, delicate white nightgown with a violet ribbon woven around the high collar and above the lace-covered cuffs.

"Arms up!" she ordered, but Emily hesitated. 

"This cannot be the wardrobe my husband meant for me!” she protested. “It’s for a child!”

"I assure you, His Lordship had all of these pretty clothes made especially for you with your measurements in mind. Everything will fit. Arms up." The last command was issued with more force.

Reluctantly Emily raised her arms and was horrified when she realized her pink nipples were clearly visible through the delicate weave of the nightgown, which barely reached the top of her thighs.

"Please, can I have something with more modesty?" she begged.

"Hush, it is time for you medicine and nap."

"What medicine? I am not sick!" Emily objected.

Without another word, Mrs. Pew snatched Emily's shoulders, turned her around and placed her bottom up over the edge of the child's bed. She pulled up the sheer nightgown, exposing the girl’s already abused bottom and gave it three quick smacks. Emily screamed in outrage and tried to protect her bottom with her hands. 

"Move those hands immediately or I will take a switch to your palms!" ordered Mrs. Pew.  Emily was beside herself. She screamed as Mrs. Pew's strong hand came in contact with her bruised and swollen buttocks. After another quick three smacks, Mrs. Pew swung Emily's legs up onto the bed, placing her on her right side. 

"Now, now. Calm down. It’s just a few deserving smacks to your pert little bottom. You will get far worse in the coming days." 

With her eyes closed from tears, Emily did not notice the thick leather belt Mrs. Pew pulled from a nearby drawer. The belt was about four inches wide, with two wrist cuffs secured to the top and two additional longer cuffs secured to the bottom. Mrs. Pew wrapped the belt around Emily's waist, securing the large buckle in the back. It was the pain from Mrs. Pew's hands brushing her bruised bottom that brought Emily back to reality.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. 

"Why getting you ready for your nap. Little girls are not allowed to just flip about while in bed.  Your arms and legs must be secured to make sure you behave yourself." 

Emily started to struggle but was no match for the strong nanny. Mrs. Pew quickly had her wrists secured in the top cuffs and was now reaching for her left leg, securing the longer bottom cuff around her thigh just above the knee. Then she deftly flipped the now-hobbled Emily to her left side and reached for her right leg, which she secured with the second longer cuff around her bent right leg just above the knee. Emily was now forced into the fetal position.

  Mrs. Pew liked placing her charges in this position for naps and bedtimes. It reinforced their childlike status while allowing unobstructed access to their bums and cunnies for discipline or pleasure.         

"Now, let us get some medicine to help my little girl calm down and sleep." 

The stress of the last few days and all these new experiences were already taking their toll on Emily's tortured body. Despite the uncomfortable position, her eyes had started to close but abruptly opened when she felt Mrs. Pew parting her bottom cheeks. 

"Settle down. I have a nice suppository with lots of medicine for you take."

Emily began to whimper, having lost her voice from an afternoon of screaming. She felt Mrs. Pew's long, tapered finger push into her puckered hole, the sensation more foreign and uncomfortable than painful. After an exploratory inch, Mrs. Pew pulled out her finger and replaced it with the tip of the suppository. The tip was wider than her finger but the suppository had a silky texture and slipped easily into her resisting bottom. 

"There we go," said Mrs. Pew as she gave the suppository a final push to make sure it was secured up her charge's bum.

"Go to sleep, little one," the nanny said. To Emily's utter mortification, she did just that.

Nanny’s Instruction

After taking a moment to straighten her attire, Mrs. Pew headed towards Lord Burkewood’s study. Mrs. Weatherby had sent up a parlor maid to watch over Emmie.

The nanny took in the masculine atmosphere of the study as she entered. Rich, chocolate brown leather furniture sat surrounded by massive bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes.  An impressive carved marble fireplace dominated the left wall. Straight ahead, Lord
Burkewood lounged behind a mahogany desk piled high with important-looking documents, ledgers and letters.  Mrs. Pew was well aware of His Lordship's imposing responsibilities as a powerful peer of the ton. The room was suffused with the subtle odors of pipe smoke and bay rum.

"Mrs. Pew, do come in," he said. "Sherry?"

"No, thank you my Lord."

"So how is my little girl? Is she adjusting well to her new home?" He asked the question casually as he took a seat in front of the fire, gesturing for her to do the same.

"There was some initial difficulty, but nothing I could not handle," she answered. Mrs. Pew’s usually authoritative voice muted in his overpowering presence. His Lordship was an extremely handsome man who exuded privilege and power. She watched as his long fingers stretched around his cognac glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. She could not help but imagine what those strong hands must feel like chastising a naughty bottom.

"Tell me." His short command broke Mrs. Pew out of her musings. 

"Per your instructions, we did not explain the full extent of her new position in your household, leaving that honor to you. She showed obvious pleasure with the nursery furnishings although I don't think she has fully comprehended that the room is hers. Upon leading her into the bathing room we had to forcibly undress her which led to her first bare bottomed spanking across my knee." 

"What was her reaction?" Lord
Burkewood stared into the fire as he asked the question, as if lost in thought.

"She pleaded and begged for me to stop,” Mrs. Pew reported. “You would have thought she was dying the way she carried on. I know it was not from any true pain, but more the humiliation of the act. She needs a good dose of fear and humiliation if she is to truly give herself over to her new life here." 

When Lord Burkewood did not offer another question, the nanny continued with her narrative.

"After her bath, she was placed in her restraints - a beautiful invention of yours by the by. It puts the charge in such a wonderfully submissive pose." Her employer inclined his head acknowledging her praise. "And, of course gave her a healthy suppository to help her calm down and sleep." 

"Did you find her responsive to having her bottom hole manipulated?" he asked.

"Oh, she was most uncomfortable indeed, sir. She is obviously
very sensitive in that regard. You are a fortunate man."

He smiled as he continued to swirl his cognac, heating the expensive liquid with the warmth of his hand as he thought of other things he desired to heat with his hand as well. Mrs. Pew was correct; he was indeed was a fortunate man. His new wife was the perfect combination of beauty and innocence. When he’d caught her eavesdropping and saw how she trembled in his presence, how she submissively kept her gaze lowered, he’d known he had found his perfect mate. Unlike other men who desired a wife to share their burdens and responsibilities, Lord
Burkewood wanted someone under his complete control.  He wanted to keep his wife in a childlike state of complete dependence. He would determine what she ate, what she wore, and when she slept. He would also be in complete control of her body, training her to meet his particular needs while showing her unimagined pleasure. 

From what he had learned about Emily’s bastard of a stepfather, she had not had it easy the last few years. The old man had selfishly gambled, drank and whored his way through London, leaving the burden of running the household on Emily's narrow shoulders. It was an unnatural arrangement as far as he was concerned. It was the man's duty to protect, guide and care for the women in his life. It was also the man's duty to provide discipline and structure.   

His Emmie would have no more concerns beyond his pleasure. She would be pampered and sheltered. Never again would she know the stress or obligations of an adult woman.

"I know this was all last minute, Mrs. Pew,” Lord
Burkewood said, finally turning his attention back to the nanny. I appreciate you taking the position with such little notice."

They both knew “Mrs.” Pew was just an honorary title. The nanny had never married and was far beyond childbearing years and had devoted her life to caring for the child-brides of men who shared Lord
Burkewood’s views on marriage.

"Let us discuss my expectations for my little one," Lord
Burkewood said as Mrs. Pew leaned forward attentively. "I want Emily’s temperature taken each morning the moment she wakes up.  Rectally of course."

"Of course."

"She is very precious to me and I do not want to risk her getting ill. I want her to receive regular medicinal enemas to safeguard her internal health. She is to be bottle-fed a nourishing formula each morning and evening. You may monitor her morning bottle when I am not able, but she will get her evening bottle from me. She is to be restrained in the fetal position whenever in her bed. She will receive school lessons from you each morning and discipline training from me each afternoon.  Before the start of each training session I would like her to present me with a report card detailing how she performed with her studies. Including a description of any discipline you needed to administer, of course."

"Of course."

"She shall take her lunch in the nursery but her dinners with me. After her evening bottle, you are to take her straight to my rooms and place her in my bed. She should be nude and restrained by her wrists. It may be several hours past her bedtime that I seek my rest, and I do not want my little one to hurt herself or indulge in any inappropriate touching."

"Of course not. Diapers?"

"In the morning at first until she comes to accept her new position and of course when she needs reminding."

"What would you like your little one to call you - Sir, My Lord, or Papa?"

"I'm a traditionalist. I would like her to call me Papa. She will be referred to as Emmie, never Her Ladyship."

"Of course. Would you like me to prepare her for the marriage bed? Should I l
et her know what to expect?”

"No, I want to experience her innocence and naivety. Now that this has all been settled, I will leave you to your charge. Dinner will be promptly at six.”

"Yes, sir." Mrs. Pew rose to make her way to the third floor nursery, only to be called back by her employer.

"One more thing. Of course, I will want you to prepare her cunny for this evening."

"Of course." Mrs. Pew exited the study with a smile.   

Awakening

Emmie
came slowly awake from her nap. She could not recall sleeping so deeply. Feeling more refreshed, she was able to better process what was happening to her. She wanted to think it was all some mistake but she had this sinking feeling it was not. Both Mrs. Pew and Mrs. Weatherby had behaved with absolute certainty. If they had been acting outside His Lordship's wishes would they not be worried about getting caught? What did it mean?

She tried to stretch out her aching limbs but found them still restrained. The movement also brought a fresh wave of pain to her sore bottom. She still could not believe Mrs. Pew spanked her!  Just as she started to fidget in her restraints, the nanny appeared at the foot of her bed.

"Well, Emmie, I see we have awoken from our nap. Let's get you out of these restraints."  Emmie broke free the moment the last buckle was undone and tried to escape, but her arms and legs were cramped from being restrained for so long in one position, and she wound up falling out of the bed straight onto her knees.

Oh, you naughty girl! Now you have a boo-boo on your knee," Mrs. Pew exclaimed.

"Come with me." She grasped Emmie by the wrist and half dragged her into the bathing room. "Up you go." She pushed Emmie onto the low table with the rubber mat and positioned her on her back while quickly restraining her charge’s wrist with a buckle hanging to the side. Newly restrained, Emmie began to shout and kick her legs. Mrs. Pew simply ignored her, raising concealed stirrups and forcing Emmie’s feet into them. With her feet and hands immobilized and legs spread, Emmie could no longer fight, and since she did not have any underthings on under her short, childish nightgown she was completely exposed.

"First let's look at that knee," Mrs. Pew said as if talking to a recalcitrant child. Seeing that it was just bruised and not cut, Mrs. Pew gave it a quick kiss. "There all better. Next time you may not be so lucky, young lady!" 

Emmie only groaned and reached as far as the straps would allow in an effort to push the nightgown down between her legs.

"Stop that!" Mrs. Pew scolded, slapping
Emmie's hand. "Never cover yourself up! Your entire body is in my care and for His Lordship's enjoyment." The nanny was careful not to refer to Lord Burkewood as “Papa,” since he wanted to explain that part of her new life to her himself. "You are not permitted to shield any part of your body. Now spread your legs, so I can get a look at your sweet, little cunny." 

"No!”
Emmie refused through gathering tears. “This is too much! I cannot bear it! Why must I be strapped down? Why do you insist on embarrassing me so?"

"None of this is for you to question,” Mrs. Pew snapped. “Now behave!" 

"I won't! I won't!"

"Well, now you’ve done it! I will not tolerate such insolence!" Mrs. Pew briefly exited the room, leaving
Emmie worried about what to expect. Was the nanny off to fetch her husband? Oh god, she would die if he saw her exposed like this! Emmie squirmed and twisted as she tried to reach the large buckle to the waist restraint on the far side of the table. Just as her fingertips touched it, Mrs. Pew returned.

“Oh you wicked child! You shall be punished for your insolence
and
for not staying put as a good little girl should!" 

Emmie
was immediately contrite. Her bottom still ached from the previous spanking and she could not imagine having to go through that again.

"Please, please I'm sorry! Please don't spank me!"
Emmie hated to beg, but she hated the idea of a spanking more. 

"Stop it this instant,” Mrs. Pew ordered. “You have earned this punishment and nothing you say is going to prevent it. Naughty little girls need to be punished or they will never learn." 

In some households where Mrs. Pew had served, tradition dictated that the child-bride not only view the punishment implement to be used, but also ask for her correction. This not only increased the shame and fear, but also demonstrated proper acceptance and submission to authority. It was also instructive during discipline and training to have the various implements, like the tawse, paddle or cane - on display to serve as a warning. 

Lord
Burkewood felt differently. He was an ardent believer in using a firm hand on a bare bottom, believing that skin-to-skin contact added to the shame. He wanted Emmie to see the raised hand, knowing it was about to swiftly and relentlessly descend onto her unprotected backside. He’d instructed Mrs. Pew to handle the use of other implements in a different manner as well.

Mrs. Pew kept her implements hidden in the deep pockets of her skirt. Now she reached into a basket under the table and pulled out a thick, long strip of pink silk. Before
Emmie had time to react, Mrs. Pew covered her eyes with the fabric and tied the long strands into a tight knot behind her head.  Emmie instinctively reached up to pull off the blindfold and earned a stinging slap to her hand.

"Arms at your sides. Do not move them again."

Emmie made a pitiful little mewling noise as she dutifully complied.

Lord
Burkewood had ordered Emmie blindfolded whenever she was to be disciplined with something other than a bare hand, for he believed nothing was more terrifying than the unknown. If Emmie could not see the implement of her pending misery, she could not truly anticipate the pain until she experienced it. If she saw it in advance, she at least would form an opinion or understanding of how – say - a wooden paddle, was going to feel. By literally being kept in the dark, she would have no way of knowing what to anticipate. Over time she would inevitably become intimately familiar with and come to dread all the discipline tools, but when blindfolded she’d never would know which was about to be used. The fear would be magnified to a wonderfully effective degree. 

Mrs. Pew positioned herself between
Emmie's open knees. She could see the fearful shiver course through the girl's body as she became even more aware of her vulnerability. The nanny grasped a small crank at the foot of the table and slowly began to turn it. With each revolution, the stirrups forced Emmie's legs further and further apart till she was displayed in an almost garish manner. Emmie's mewling now became full-throated moaning and Mrs. Pew took a moment to savor her charge's incredible innocence and supplication. As she watched the girl’s soft thighs quiver in fear, she could not resist what lay between them, and reached out to pet the soft, downy hair that covered her young pussy. Emmie violently started at the touch. 

"Please don't."
Emmie whispered. Her heart was beating so fast she felt faint. Despite being eighteen and well into marriageable age, her sheltered, naive mind could not possibly comprehend why Mrs. Pew would touch her “there.

"I want you to place both your hands under your bottom.  This will help you resist the urge to reach out once your punishment has begun, although with time you will be trained to keep your arms still without such assistance."

Emmie began to cry in earnest now. Mrs. Pew reached into her hidden skirt pocket and pulled out a heavy leather tawse. It was a Lochgelly, made of the finest leather and longer and narrower than the more traditional tawses. It was all the rage in Scotland at the moment, and was becoming the tawse of choice among the finer English households. His Lordship truly spared no expense when it came to his little girl!

Mrs. Pew grasped
Emmie's left knee and forced it open a little further. Then, taking a small step backward, she raised her hand and swung with all her might, aiming for the soft, delicate inner thigh. 

Emmie
screamed in abject terror and pain, but Mrs. Pew was relentless, giving five strong smacks to first the left thigh, then turning her attention to the equally soft and delicate right one.  Knowing His Lordship would be claiming his husband rights with his new little girl later this evening she did not want to be overly harsh. But Emmie would have whole-heartedly disagreed with anyone who characterized this punishment as lenient. Never in her life had she felt such blinding pain mixed with fear. The blindfold only heightened the fear and agony, for Emmie had nothing on which to focus her attentions. She desperately wanted to shield herself but dared not move her hands. She could only sway her bottom back and forth after each strike in a fruitless effort to evade the cruel punishment.  

Per Lord
Burkewood’s instruction, at the conclusion of the punishment session, Mrs. Pew removed the blindfold and demanded Emmie view the damage. She began to wail even harder when she saw the swollen, mottled red condition of her thighs. Large welts were beginning to form. Mrs. Pew instructed Emmie to describe her pain.

"I can't. I can't," she hiccupped through the tears. 

"You must, or I will be forced to give you another five smacks on each thigh since you have clearly not learned your lesson," Mrs. Pew countered.

With great, gasping sobs,
Emmie described, as best she could, the pain.

"It burns and stings. My thighs feel hot and swollen. Oh you have scarred me for sure!"

"Stuff and nonsense," scoffed Mrs. Pew. "Whoever heard of a child being scarred from a simple discipline session? Now we have fallen behind schedule and I cannot abide being behind schedule. We must have no more fussiness from you if I am going to have you ready in time for dinner with His Lordship."

Emmie
felt a small sliver of hope through the pain. She would see His Lordship tonight!  She would fall upon his mercy and he would set things right! But she had little time to ponder this before she was distracted by the sensation of something damp between her legs. Mrs. Pew was placing a warm cloth over her pussy. Emmie glanced up with a gasp to see the nanny mixing a rich lather of shaving cream with a boar’s hair brush. The older woman put the cup aside, humming to herself as she began running a double-edged razor back and forth over a shaving strop.

"What...what are you doing?"
Emmie hesitantly asked through sniffles.

"Why, shaving your little pussy, of course! We cannot have you walking about with all that awful hair! Little ones have smooth, sweet pussies. Now hold still." Mrs. Pew’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Emmie did not know how to respond. Having no experience with any of this she had no idea what to think about what Mrs. Pew was going to do, but exhausted from crying and still in throbbing pain, she simply did not have any fight left in her any way. Mrs. Pew removed the warm cloth and proceeded to thoroughly lather the soft, downy hair between those poor, tortured thighs. Placing a firm hand on Emmie's abdomen, the nanny stretched the skin above her pussy taunt. Then she slowly scraped the cold, hard edge of the razor down the front and length of those delicate lips, exposing dewy pink skin. Emmie swiftly inhaled and held her breath, but otherwise did not stir. Mrs. Pew repeated the action until the entire pussy was laid bare. She then laid a warm cloth on the area then applied a soothing cream. 

"There now - all nice and pretty. Let's get you up and dressed. I still have your hair to do."  Mrs. Pew released the waist restraint and lifted a wilted
Emmie down from the table and walked her into the bedroom. 

"Sit down on the bed while I get you dressed." 

Mrs. Pew placed an unresisting Emmie on the edge of the bed and rummaged through drawers filled with beautiful, frilly underthings.  She placed Emmie in a soft, cotton chemise, ruffled drawers and a simple white dress with a wide, pale pink sash that wrapped around the waist and tied in a large bow in the back. Emmie showed no reaction throughout the entire process with the exception of a small shiver when she noticed the similarities between the pink sash and her pink blindfold. Standing before the mirror while Mrs. Pew arranged her hair into a ponytail tied off with yet another pink bow, Emmie was awestruck at how young she looked. Her cheeks had an unnatural glow from all the crying she had just done. She was standing in an unintentionally childish pose with her knees pushed in and her toes touching in a feeble attempt to prevent her bruised thighs from brushing each other. She had the strange, sleepy gaze of someone who was numb and unaware. Between all that and a dress that barely reached mid-thigh combined with her slight stature, she truly looked like a little girl. Only her rather ample bosom betrayed her as an adult. 

"Don't you look pretty as a flower?" Mrs. Pew exclaimed with delight. She knew His Lordship would be pleased with the virginal white dress and childish appearance of his new bride. "Time to meet His Lordship!"