If Rose had been thinking about things properly, she might have been embarrassed by the way the day went. But her mind was fixed on the things she was going to do when she was finally alone. So the morning conference with her parents passed her by with barely a thought. She stood before them next to Titus. She wore a frilly pink dress, a nappy in place underneath it, her legs in bright white stockings, exposed to the light as if she were an infant, not their fully grown daughter. They talked to her about who knew what. She was barely listening.

She recalled afterwards fiddling with the lace on her dress. Something about this not being proper, about looking ridiculous. Papa spoke for her, telling them she was learning fast and learning well, that by the end of the week she would be exactly the daughter they needed. She wanted to curl up in his lap as he talked, he was so clever with his words, so talented at making them understand why he was doing this, that he was helping her, that he was helping them.

She walked out in the grounds with Mama in the afternoon, learning the names of the plants in the walled garden, knowledge that left her head almost at once. “You may need to know such things for when you grow up,” was Mama’s answer when she asked why she was being given so much information.

Glad to return to the house, she had dinner in Mama’s room, another bottle of that sweet and creamy warm milk that she had quickly grown to love. Afterwards, her need for the toilet grew as if from nowhere. She did not want to wet the nappy again. Having done it once already, the sensation was one she was certain she would never get used to. But Mama insisted, the threat of a spanking enough to scare her into going that way again.

It felt so strange, letting go whilst not sitting on a toilet or a chamber pot. To expect it to run down her legs but for it to instead soak into the cloth, the heat of it pressing into her skin as the cloth began to sag with weight. It was the oddest sensation, making her feel far younger than her years. The cloth chafed her skin for some time before Mama changed her, taking her off to bed afterwards. “You sleep well,” Mama said, kissing her forehead as she tucked her in.

Rose sighed with relief as the door closed and she was left alone in the dark. Almost at once, her hands went to the nappy, untying the knots and tugging the cloth away from between her legs. She was in a thin nightgown and with a last glance at the door to make sure it was closed, she slid her hands down her chest, feeling her nipples stiffen under her touch. How had she never wanted to play with them before? To tug and squeeze them sent shivers of pleasure through her in such a simple way, how had she never realised?

Her hands went lower, finding the bottom of her nightgown and wriggling it up her body. She stroked the skin of her breasts, groping and caressing the globes of flesh, feeling her core coming to life, ready for her, ready for him.

Her mind went to Titus as she slid her fingers down to the shaved skin above her core. She stroked her thighs whilst picturing his hands doing the same, his face between her legs, his tongue gliding over her. She began to breathe more heavily as she shifted on the bed, moving her knees apart, her fingers seeking out the nub he had so expertly tended to.

She found it a moment later and when she brushed over it, she could not resist letting out a little moan. Closing her eyes, she explored the sensitive spot, finding which ways brought pleasure and which did nothing for her. Two fingers either side of it and rubbing in a scissor motion almost made her scream for joy, pressing too hard did nothing. Slowly, she began to focus on the motions that brought most pleasure. Using wetness that gathered at her entrance, she rubbed softly in a circle, using two fingers on her nub and the palm of her hand pressing down above it, teasing the nerve endings that wanted something heavier there, the weight of him perhaps, the bulk of his body pressing into her instead of just her hand.

She didn’t hear the sound of the door opening until it was too late. The familiar sense of her body tensing up had arrived and she was concentrating on pushing herself over the edge. By the time she opened her eyes and saw him looming over her, candle in hand, he was already furious. The climax that was about to arrive vanished in an instant, leaving her both frustrated and scared by the intrusion into her room.

“What are you doing?” Papa asked, not waiting for an answer. “I told you not to touch yourself, didn’t I?” He spoke in a bare whisper but the sound was more terrifying than if he had screamed the words. She felt so scared, she could not even move her hands away.

“I’m not doing anything,” she managed to reply as he set the candle down on the bedside table.

“Lies upon deceit,” he growled, grabbing her bedcovers and yanking them down. “Do you not think I know the sounds of your body by now? Do you take me for an imbecile?”

“I…I am sorry, Papa.”

“Not as sorry as you will be. Get on all fours and do not move a muscle.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Her body was still tingling from her touch as she sat up in bed, turning over to kneel on all fours, her posterior pointing towards her Papa. As she waited for the inevitable, her ears went haywire, hearing every sound with an intensity she’d not known before. Floorboards creaked as he moved behind her, the clock in the hallway downstairs seemed to tick so loudly it was a wonder the windows didn’t rattle. Her own heartbeat was loud enough to make her think she must be dying. All the while, nothing happened at all.

“You have let me down,” Papa said at last, his voice still a low whisper. “I am disappointed in you, Rose.”

“I am sorry, Papa. I will not do it again.”

“I think not, especially not after I remind you of the consequences of disobeying me.”

She did not know what hit her, not at first. All she knew was that it wasn’t his hand. When the object struck her behind, it was a sharp pain totally unlike the spanking she had undergone. It seemed to bite into her skin but in a much smaller area, an intense heat to the pain that she could not define. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Papa was brandishing a riding crop. She had time to see it whip through the air again and then it struck her once more.

“Ow, that hurts!” she cried out, the pain making her feel faint.

“Less noise,” Papa said, shoving a dummy into her mouth, tying it in place with the ribbon. “Wouldn’t want to wake the household now, would we?”

The crop struck her again and Rose screamed into the dummy, the sound muffled and faint, as if coming from a long distance away.

“To think I came in to kiss you goodnight and read you a story. For shame.” The crop whipped through the air again, the pain of it hitting her making her legs buckle. She almost fell but managed to remain in place, determined not to let him down again. “You will not touch yourself without permission, is that clear?”

Rose nodded in response, a tear running down her cheek as the crop descended again and again.

“Your pleasure comes from those in charge of your life,” he said, pausing for a moment to lecture her. “It is for me and your Mama to decide when you shall have pleasure, not you. You don’t get to pick and choose which elements of your life to give up to the grown ups. We are in charge. You are little; you do as you are told. Is that understood?”

She nodded again, letting out a quiet yelp as instead of the crop, the gentle touch of his palm brushed over her posterior. “Good, little Rose,” he said, his lips kissing her buttocks a moment later. “You will soon learn.”

As he kissed her bottom again, Rose shuddered. The blows from the crop had brought every nerve ending in her posterior to life and the feel of his lips on her was intensified by the heat passing deep inside her at that moment. “You think you want to be a grown up big girl who can touch herself?” Titus said, turning her round and lifting her to the floor, standing her up in front of him. “Big girls are expected to do things that little girls are not, do you know what they are?”

Rose shook her head, unable to speak through the dummy.

“Then I shall show you. Get on your knees.”