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Edward walked around the desk as she struggled with herself, emotions she’d never considered swirling through her. She was both shocked and instantly comforted when her guardian pulled her to him and gave her a quick hug.
“I know you did, my dear. However, you will feel better over your errors if you pay for them. A bit of pain now will help you remember your lessons when it really counts tomorrow.”
Her eyes closed and she trembled, but for some reason, instead of protesting, she nodded slowly in acceptance of his declaration.
“That’s my good girl,” he said before placing a kiss on the top of her head. Setting her away from him, he added, “Bend over the arm of the chair, little one, exactly like yesterday.”
Lucy shuddered but some part of her felt as if she was only getting what she deserved. She could only blame herself as she’d not only failed to learn the subject over the past few months, she’d left one question completely blank. Edward had warned her that any mistakes would be dealt with in a corporal manner. She was almost to the chair when she came to an abrupt stop, suddenly realizing that her professor was seated on the settee. He’d obviously been present this entire time.
“Lucille, do as you were told. Over the chair, skirts up and bloomers down please.”
Lucy felt tears fill her eyes as her face flushed at the order, and her knees threatened to buckle at the sound of her guardian’s key opening the cabinet door. Edward wouldn’t humiliate her like this, would he? He couldn’t expect her to obey him with her professor in the room, could he? Though it had become clear to her that her tutor had witnessed her cries yesterday, surely Edward would tend to her punishment in a private manner. Her eyes flew to him in time to see him remove a leather strap from the cabinet. His promise of a strapping if she should fail the test last evening replayed through her mind. She had expected and had been prepared to have a paddling. However, seeing that strap hanging from his hand brought back the memories of her strapping the evening before when she’d been foolish enough to run from the house after screaming at her guardian and throwing what she admitted had been a tantrum.
Forgetting her tutor’s presence, she said, “I-I am so sorry I failed you, sir.” Her voice was broken as she remained frozen in place.
* * *
Edward slowly walked toward her,the strap brushing against his leg.
“You haven’t failed me yet, little one. You will only fail me if you disobey my order to prepare yourself. You will only have four strokes; two for each missed equation. Four, if you do what you were told immediately. If I have to tell you again, that count will double. If I need to call for assistance in preparing you, the count will double yet again. Now, tell me, little one, how many strokes would that require you to take?”
Lucy didn’t even hesitate, her voice wobbly as she said, “Sixteen, sir.”
“Correct, Lucille. Your lessons have done you well. What shall it be then? Four or sixteen?” He kept his eyes locked on his ward’s though he was well aware of Charles’ presence. This was not only a test for Lucille; it was also one for her professor. Edward had known exactly the moment his ward had become an object of interest to the man. He had seen the look in Charles’ eyes when a very well-paddled student had been returned back into his care. Edward had seen both Charles and Louisa standing outside the windows of his study knowing they could easily hear Lucy as she sobbed from her chastisement the day before. He’d seen the young man struggle with emotions Edward was quite sure were alien to him. He knew Charles was beginning to question his own desires and this test would allow Edward to learn even more about him as a possible suitor for his lovely young ward. But at this moment it was another who required his complete attention.
Edward wasn’t surprised in the least when Lucy turned to face the chair that would hold her for her strapping. He watched as she reached under her dress and untied her bloomers. He heard Charles’ gasp as the white silk fell into a puddle at her ankles. The men watched as Lucy threw herself over the padded arm of the chair, burying her face in the thick brocade cushion before gathering up the hem of her dress and petticoats and slowly pulling them up. She finished baring herself and shuffled her feet slightly apart. Edward waited but she became still. He smiled, understanding how extremely hard this was for her, but also knowing she was testing him and his authority, even if she wasn’t aware of that fact.
“Present yourself correctly, Lucille, and you haven’t yet answered my question. Shall it be four or sixteen?” Lucy sobbed and buried her face in her hands even as her legs parted a bit more.
“Fo… four… four please, sir.”
“Good girl, four it shall be if you can raise your bottom up properly.” Hearing his words, she raised herself up onto her toes, her bottom high and pushed it out. Edward smiled and knew that Charles was having a very difficult time remaining both still and silent. “Very good, Lucy, you are indeed learning that it is far better to behave rather than fight the punishment you earned. Are you ready for your strapping, little one?”
“Yes… yes, sir. I’m… I’m ready. May… may I have my strapping, sir?”
Edward’s opinion of her rose even higher. She was doing exceptionally well. He stepped to the side of the chair that allowed him to keep his eyes on Charles as well as on Lucy’s upraised bottom. Though her skin had never been broken, she still bore some slight marks from her caning and birching. He raised his arm and gave her the first stroke on the underside of her bottom. The force of the stroke lifted her up and almost off her feet. She cried out but remained in position. The second stroke landed but an inch above the first and again she wailed and her hand reached back to flutter behind her a moment before descending to rub furiously at her reddening buttocks.
She bounced on her toes, her bottom bobbing up and down. “Ohhh, ohhh please no more… please. It… it hurts.”
“Surely that is enough… can’t you see she is in pain? It was only two questions. Isn’t a stroke for each enough of a price for her to pay?” Charles said, jumping to his feet.
Edward stood, the strap lowered to his side. Evidently Lucy’s cries had lit a fire of a different kind. He first addressed his ward.
“Rubbing your bottom is not allowed young lady. That stroke will not count and will be repeated twice over.” He saw her hand jerk from her bottom and grip the cushion of the chair where her face was once again buried. Edward then turned to Charles.
“Sir, I do not appreciate your interference. It is not up to you to try to mitigate Miss Furniss’ punishment. She knows what is expected in this household and, in fact, you were witness to not only her expectation but also her admittance of her need for the punishment. Your interference is doing nothing but prolonging her shame at having to present her bare bottom even longer. If you prefer, you may wait outside until we are done here, but rest assured, Professor Lloyds, any decision regarding Lucille’s discipline is mine alone.” He wasn’t the least bit surprised when he saw the younger man flush, but seat himself in the chair once again.
He didn’t smile but turned back to his ward. “Lucille, present your bottom. Raise it high for me.” He watched as the small bottom lifted and pushed back toward him. “That’s a good girl. Now, you need to relax and round your buttocks. The stroke won’t do its work to teach you properly if your bottom is all clenched and tight. You need to purposefully relax, willingly submit and accept each stroke you’ve earned with grace.”
Again he watched as she responded to his soft but non-relenting voice. Both globes of her ass loosened and lifted even higher as if aspiring to please him, as if wanting to make sure she took all that she had earned. The third stroke seared into her and was quickly followed by the fourth. Lucy cried out, her bottom wagging up and down with the heat of the strokes. Edward could see her desperately trying to obey him as she started to rise and then remembered his earlier words. She settled back over the chair’s arm.
“That’s very good, Lucille. I see your math skills have indeed been honed. Tell me, how many strokes do you have left?” He could practically see her mind whirling as she tried to do the problem in her head while her bottom burned hotly. Her count had originally been four, which she had just received. However, her hand touching her hot bottom had cost her that stroke and earned her an additional one.
Though she hadn’t broken into tears, her face was stained with those that had escaped. “T… tw… two, sir… two more.”
“Excellent, little one. Stick your bottom out and push it well up for me now.” He watched her face flood with color with her shame over his request, but once more was proud when she forced herself to lift her bottom and push it out for the strap. Though her entire body jerked when the stroke cut into her, she kept her hands trapped under the cushion, her face buried into its brocade and her bottom lifted. He was very pleased and yet kept the strap against his leg, waiting for her to remember another of his requirements. It took another moment before she gave a soft moan, her bottom softening from its tight clench until both of her small buttocks were once again smooth and rounded—totally relaxed and open for her last stroke.
“Very good, Lucy. That’s a very good little girl.” He knew she expected the last stroke to land at the top of her bottom, following the pattern he had been painting on her posterior from the first stroke on her most tender sit-spot. However, he had a different plan. She needed to learn that not only would obeying and remaining in position serve her well, but that attempting to guess what exactly he was going to do was fruitless. Lifting the strap, he let it fly until the leather cracked loudly to land precisely over the first. He knew the pain was like fire and she couldn’t help but rear up, her body arching as her skin burned.
