Claiming Her Innocence (9 page)

She was a woman, complete and fulfilled in every way.

Chapter Ten: The Hidden Longing

Lady Penelope Westcott.

Writing the words now was no longer a glimpse into a murky future, but a privilege of her present. Penelope smiled as she folded the letter and affixed her seal to the back.

“Shall I take these for you, Lady Westcott?”

“Thank you, Betsy,” Penelope said, placing the stack of letters into her maid’s hand.

“I’ll see these get into the post straight away,” Betsy said. “So much you have to do, m’lady!”

“Yes.” Penelope’s smile faded as she glanced at the stack of correspondence in Betsy’s hand. Lord Westcott’s need for privacy had been the reason for their small wedding, but since the marriage, the couple had found themselves in high social demand. Invitations that had been easy for a bachelor to ignore were more difficult to refuse now that Alton had a wife. Since the holiday, entreaties for their company had arrived almost daily. Nearly everyone in the region wanted to dine with Lord and Lady Westcott. A fair number of the inquiries came from crucial business associates and could not be ignored, but Alton worried that only dining with those who benefited would cause even more problems. Mothers all over the region were still mourning the failure of their own daughters to snag such a catch. Should he and Penelope become too reclusive, there would be no shortage of jealous women eager to cast his wife as a snob and blame her for Alton’s absence from their tables.

It was decided that they would socialize more. And Penelope, eager to please her husband, answered each invitation personally. If they’d decided to attend a dinner or ball, she wrote to thank the hosts and to express her enthusiasm at meeting them. If they’d decided to decline, she expressed her deepest regrets and promised to see them at a later date.

Alton indulged her with an entire wardrobe fit for her social engagements. And since they’d begun to receive more visitors at Westcott Manor, the modified girls’ dresses with their dainty ribbons were soon replaced by gowns that left no doubt of Penelope’s station as lady of the manor. Her hair was no longer worn down now. The childish bows that had accentuated her tresses were obsolete now that she wore her locks in elegant chignons fastened with mother-of-pearl combs.

It was, Penelope knew, all quite necessary, at least until she began to notice subtle changes in how her husband treated her.

She had always been an amenable sort, and in the convent had been a diligent student. She learned quickly, and was pleased when Alton praised the eloquence of her correspondence. To further please him, she asked if she might handle other duties a lady might assume, and to her delight he allowed this. But it was a decision she soon regretted. As Penelope settled into her duties as a lady, Alton slowly backed off the guidance he’d given her. It made sense, of course, for what sense did it make to give guidance and correction to an obedient wife who did not need it?

Alton still dominated her deliciously in the bedroom, and here Penelope found herself fulfilled. But how could she tell the husband who praised her growing household independence that the only time she felt truly happy was when she was on her knees, naked, looking up in expectation of his next command? How could she tell him that being ordered to suck his cock and threatened with a spanking if she spilled a drop of his seed made her feel more loved than the freedom of her newfound responsibilities? How could she tell him that curling up in his lap as he explained why he’d punished her brought her more happiness than his praise of her household management skills? How could she explain that the simple bow in her hair thrilled her far more than expensive jeweled pins?

But she’d been given to this man. And she told herself that a godly wife lived by her husband’s leave—that her role now was to cast off childish things and be the woman he wanted her to be. Alton had been clear when she’d come into his home that he would prepare her for marriage. He’d been equal parts guardian and seducer, providing Penelope with limits and guidance while also fostering her growth as a woman. It made sense that he would abandon the guiding hand now that she’d matured into the role he’d intended for her. But the sense of loss was growing, and Penelope had not a clue for how to handle her growing sadness.

She could not even voice her needs to Betsy, who had become her closest confidant. She could not give words to her new shame, could tell no one that while she loved her husband and loved sex, her desires were impacted by something she craved on an even deeper level—the regression she’d grown used to in the weeks leading up to her marriage.

Penelope thought she’d never refuse her husband’s touch. But as the new year dawned, she’d found herself doing the unthinkable: making excuses to avoid his advances. The dynamic they’d had before marriage was essential to kindle the burning fire he’d started. Without it, the fires of her passion were going out. Dominance in the bedchamber was no longer enough, she realized; she needed it outside as well. She’d come into his life as ward and future wife. Now that she was wife, she needed to return to that other part of herself. She needed the guardian in him to care for the child that still remained inside her misleadingly polished exterior.

That she pined for this surely represented some personal failing, she surmised. For what woman desired
to be bent over her husband’s knee and spanked like a child? Her husband had told her pain could add to the pleasure of their lovemaking, and it had. But Penelope wanted the pain of correction outside of her lovemaking. She wanted—no, needed—to be spanked to tears, and then to be held afterwards. In those magical moments, she felt complete. In those moments, the needs of both woman and the little girl inside her were met. She needed that still, but she was too ashamed to tell him.

“What twist is this in me?” Penelope wrung her hands as she paced the empty room. It was the middle of the day and she was alone. Her maid had gone to deliver the letters and Alton was meeting with his secretary regarding some financial matters.

Penelope walked to the chair by the fire and sat down, staring into the blaze. The last time her husband had spanked her had been in this very room. It had been a few days after their wedding, and now she shifted her gaze to the small horsehair settee across from her, recalling how Alton had put her over his knee and punished her for refusing to go to bed even though she was overtired and cranky.

At the time, she’d cheekily maintained that she was a wife now, and therefore above such indignities. But her husband had countered that he’d not allow Penelope to run herself down.

Why had she crossed her arms and refused even after that, she wondered. But it was silly to ask. Penelope knew exactly why she’d dug her heels in, even if she didn’t recognize it at the time. She’d
wanted
Alton to enforce his will upon her. She’d
craved
the affirmation of his authority. She’d
needed
to know that the vows they’d spoken had changed nothing between them.

Her protests had been genuine when he pulled her over his lap. Her tears had been real when he raised her skirts, jerked down her pantalets, and peppered her bottom with hard smacks until she was sure the servants outside the door could hear her cries. Her wails of agony as he’d introduced her to a bundle of birches that left fiery red lines across her rosy bottom could not have been faked. Her remorse and contrition had been sincere when, later, she’d stood in the corner, her hands on her head as her bottom throbbed with hurt. But the satisfaction had been the strongest feeling of all—not because she’d wanted the pain, but because she’d gotten the reassurance she’d wanted.

Now as Penelope thought back to that spanking, to the deep feelings of submission she felt, she leaned back in the chair and spread her legs. Penelope sighed as she slowly pulled up her skirt. Remembering Alton’s unapologetic mastery of her had caused her pussy to throb with need.

The pantalets she wore had a split panel and she reached down now to fondle the bare pink lips of her shaved pussy. She arched her back, eager to exercise the skills she had honed before she was married. Alton had taught her so much. She knew that the little nub hidden now under the hood at the top of her cleft would grow and swell much as her husband’s cock would, and that just a rub or a flick could bring on a powerful orgasm when she was so wet and aroused. But she also knew that there was a sweet spot inside of her, just up inside her pussy, and when that was pressed the sensation of pleasure was so strong it could take her breath away. She felt herself in need of a powerful release. It was hardly with a thought that she desperately reached for the small marble figure of a man sitting on the table beside her. Its mate, a marble woman, seemed to be looking on in silent surprise as Penelope gripped the base of the little statue and pushed it inside her. Moaning, she leaned back in the chair, throwing a leg over one arm as she worked her clit with her fingers while thrusting the statue in and out of her pussy.

The waves of pleasure built, and she was nearing the crest when she cried out. But it was not a cry of ecstasy that escaped her lips, but rather a cry of surprise.

Lord Westcott was standing in the doorway, his expression one of undisguised shock. He said nothing as Penelope hastily withdrew the statue and scrambled into a sitting position. The heat of passion fed by the memory of her husband’s dominance was doused entirely by the chill of his expression.

She could not meet his eyes, but she could feel them on her, and for a moment she wondered if he’d left the room. Then he spoke.

“So less than a day after you spurn your husband’s advances, you slake your lust with him?” He’d walked over and leaned down to pick up the marble statuette, still glistening with Penelope’s arousal. “Is he my competition now? Do you prefer cold stone to the warmth of my touch?”

He turned suddenly, and Penelope stifled a cry as her husband hurled the statue across the room. When he turned back to her, his expression was one she’d never seen before: one of hurt.

“Why?” he asked, his voice resounding off the walls. “For the last several nights now, I’ve been asking myself what I’d possibly done to wrong you. Here I am—a man who’s never had a woman turn him down—finally with a woman I could be faithful to, a woman who returns the intensity of my affections. And now to find this?” He held his arms out. “Am I so repellent so soon, Penelope?”

Penelope slunk from the chair, riddled now with hurt and shame. The sobs that rocked her were deeper than any she’d ever experienced. She wanted to answer him, but each intake of air fueled only more cries of anguish.

After a few moments, she felt him kneel beside her. She wanted to calm herself, but was shaking and could not stop.

“I’ve scared you,” he said quietly. “It was not my intention.” With a sigh, her husband lifted her and sat down, holding her on his lap. “Calm yourself,” he said. “Calm yourself and talk to me, Penelope. Tell me what you need.”

Penelope relaxed into his arms. She knew she had to tell him, and with her cheek against his hard chest, she silently prayed that she would find the strength. Still, her heart pounded hard. What if he didn’t understand?

“This,” she said quietly, her voice still hitching from the tears. “This.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You need me to hold you?”

“Yes.” Now she did look at him, mustering all the courage she could. Her lip quavered as she spoke. “But not just to hold me. Oh, Alton. I fear telling you because I’m afraid you’ll think me mad. I was so innocent when I came here, but you woke me up to so many feelings. You taught me how to take pleasure, but as a guardian teaches a ward. You prepared me to be your wife, trained me to be the good adult companion.” Fresh tears slid down her face. “But now I miss what we had. I suppose it’s because my parents never parented me. That feeling of guidance and control—the kind a father gives his little girl—it’s special. Somehow it became entwined in my carnal feelings and now I can’t separate the two. I need what we had.” She burst into fresh tears. “Oh, forgive me, husband! What you must think of me!”

“Oh, my sweet little wife.” Alton gently lifted her face and the eyes looking down into hers now were filled with love and understanding. “The fault is with me.” He sighed. “When I decided to marry, I did so without the expectation of feeling the depth of love I feel for you. It took me by surprise, and I wanted you to be happy. When you began asking for more responsibilities, I interpreted that as a sign you were moving away from what we’d had before we took our vows.” He smiled. “I cannot tell you how happy this makes me, although I do wish you’d come to me before employing the services of your new marble friend.”

She flushed deeply now. “Oh, Alton…”

He tipped her off his lap. “No, my dear, it is not at all a problem to return to what we had. In fact, I think it is something we both need. You are in need of a minder, it seems, and I am in need of someone to mind. And it starts now, for you need a stern lesson to remind you to always come to me if you feel vexed.”

He turned her around and just like that, Penelope found herself back over her husband’s knee, and her heart soared even as fear caused her belly to fill with butterflies.

“You know, those little statues came all the way from Florence, Italy,” he said as he raised her skirts to bunch around her waist. “They belonged to my grandmother. I can only imagine how she’d have felt if she’d known the poor little man was so thusly abused.”

She moaned in embarrassment as her husband, chuckling, continued. “I have to say I’m a bit jealous of him, however, although I believe after the spanking you’re going to get, he’ll be quite safe from such further attentions.”

The cool air of the room raised gooseflesh on her nates as Alton parted the open halves of her pantalets. Penelope gasped at the feeling of his hand—so large and strong—on her bottom.

But when it fell, she realized that this would be a spanking designed to send a message. The heat of the blow turned into an awful sting, and she wailed as another fell. And another. And another.