Chapter Eight
Kingston
She’s fast asleep.
I stand in the doorway of Faith’s bedroom, deriving comfort from the peaceful expression on her face. I’m glad to have her back home, within the safety of the house and far away from the orphanage and her bleak past.
Pride reverberates in my chest. My little girl had been so brave today as she walked into her former residence, collected her journal, gave away the rest of her belongings that had been tucked underneath her mattress, and said farewell to Mrs. Hawthorne and a few of the other girls.
The noise of the place had been overwhelming, with babies screeching, small children wailing, and dozens of girls running about. The older girls, the ones Faith said goodbye to, reside on the top floor in a small, crowded room. I’d been shocked to find her mattress nothing but a pile of old rags stitched together and arranged on the floor, a thin blanket riddled with holes resting on top. She didn’t have one of the new blankets I’d brought last year. I suppose there hadn’t been nearly enough to go around.
Anger surges through me, at the world and at myself.
I should’ve brought more than food and medicine and blankets over the years. Lords knows I have the funds. I’d inherited three successful factories in Gerrardsville, and I owned dozens of properties throughout the town, most of them businesses that usually paid rent on time. I should have done more, and as I stare down at my sweet bride-to-be, I resolve to do more. It also makes me rage inside, knowing that if Faith hadn’t run into me today, she would’ve likely had no choice but to prostitute herself. The thought of another man touching her…
God, I could murder someone. A growl rumbles in my throat and I clench my fists until they ache. She’s here for a reason. I have to believe that, and I have to believe that when her thirty days are up, she won’t decide to leave. Today, she gave me a taste of her sweetness, her innocence and her light.
But I want more. So much more.
Everything, every little part of her is meant to be mine. I want to strip her nightdress off and have my wicked way with her, yet I don’t wish to frighten her. I’ll have to be patient.
Please let her be ready soon. God, how I need her.
She sighs in her sleep and rolls over, and I can’t help but smile down at her angelic form. She’s curled on her side, her golden curls obscuring most of her face. Watching her sleep brings me a peace I’ve never known, and I vow to do whatever it takes to keep her safe and make her mine.
Forever.
The next morning, I receive a missive from a minister friend of mine that states he’ll be over around three o’clock to officiate our wedding. My heart races and excitement spirals through me. In mere hours, Faith will become my wife. I pen a quick reply and hand it to Matheus with instructions to deliver it at once. With that errand out of the way, I venture upstairs to see if Faith has awoken yet.
I find my little girl still asleep, but in the most adorable position. She’s kicked the covers off herself, and her nightdress is hiked up to reveal a hint of her flower print panties. She’s lying on her stomach, one arm tucked under her pillow, and the other dangling off the bed. Her back rises and falls steadily, and the sound of her deep breathing interspersed with the tiniest, cutest snores, brings a grin to my face. I sit on the bed and pat her panty-clad bottom.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” I pat her bottom again, a bit harder this time.
“Mmmfffth.” She emits a frustrated noise and shifts onto her side, curling up in a ball and facing away from me.
“Faith, it’s after nine in the morning. Time to wake up and get some breakfast. You have a big day ahead of you.”
“Five more minutes. Wait, no. Twenty more minutes!” She grabs the pillow and pulls it over her head.
“Absolutely not. You get up this instant, young lady, or I’m going to add some color to your bottom cheeks.” If she’d gone to bed late, I might allow her to sleep in a bit longer, but I had her all tucked in at eight last night, despite her protests that it was too early a bedtime. When she continues to ignore me, I yank the covers fully off her and apply five firm swats to her buttocks.
“Oh! Ouch! I’ll get up, Papa. I’m sorry.” She tosses the pillow off her and tries to escape my hold, but I have her pinned firmly on the mattress. She peers over her shoulder with wide eyes as I peel her panties down. “No, Papa, please! No more spanking!”
“Yes, little one. More spanking. You’re getting ten more swats to remind you that you’re not the one who’s in charge around here. Now, hold still for your punishment, young lady, or I’ll be adding extras to the backs of your thighs.”
She whimpers but doesn’t move, other than to clutch onto a pillow. Before I deliver the lesson, I let my hand roam over her quivering bottom cheeks, caressing and occasionally squeezing those once creamy white globes. A tinge of pink decorates the center of each buttock. I urge her legs apart by tapping the insides of her thighs.
“Spread your legs, Faith. Wider. Be a good girl and let Papa see your little flower first.”
Hiding her face in the covers, she acquiesces, parting her thighs and giving me a full view of her smooth pink cunny. A hint of moisture glistens between her folds, but I don’t think she’s been touching herself again, or the evidence of her arousal would be far more damning than this smidge of moisture. I simply wish to look upon her, and I suspect the shame of having to spread herself during her punishment will make the lesson all the more lasting.
I settle myself over her legs, to prevent her from kicking or moving out of position. I don’t plan to go hard on her, or even bring her to tears, but she needs to learn fast that I won’t allow her to get away with any disobedience.
A gentle, slow spanking is in order this morning.
One that will reinforce our roles as Papa and little girl.
I cup her right cheek and then raise my hand, preparing to deliver that first swat. “After your spanking is over, young lady, you will stand in the corner for ten minutes with your panties around your ankles, your nightdress lifted up, and your red, punished bottom on display.” I bring my flattened palm down on her right cheek, smacking her just hard enough to sting.
After rubbing her spanked cheek for several long moments, I move to the other one and give it a gentle thwack. A glance at her privates shows her cunny lips are swelling larger and a copious amount of moisture is now evident. I repeat my actions, caress and spank, caress and spank, over and over again, until the tenth blow has fallen.
Then I dip my hand between her thighs.
“So wet, Faith. Is your flower achy right now?”
“Yes, Papa.”
I stroke through her increasing wetness, but purposefully avoid her clit, teasing her with slow drags along the insides of her folds. She attempts to lift her bottom up and press against me, but with my weight still situated atop her legs, she can barely move. Though I long to plunge deep into her flower and pump my digits in and out until she screams her release, I withdraw from her cunny and give her chastised bottom a playful slap.
“All right, little one. Up you go. Time to stand in the corner.”