Come up here, Gypsy,” he says. “Let us look at the globe together.”

We’re tucked up in the schoolroom, which is next to the day nursery, on the far side from my bedchamber. The rooms are all interconnected, so it’s not much to let me go play for a while. Daddy came for me at six o’clock this morning and took me down to breakfast, and as soon as we were done with the meal, we were back up here.

The globe is, he tells me, a representation of the earth on which we live. It is hard for me to believe the earth can be round. Every inch of it I have travelled has always been flat or mountainous, but never round. He explains this by saying the earth is too large to see the curve, but it is there, and the reason we don’t fly off into the sky is because of a thing called gravity.

It’s plain to me that I’m more ignorant than I knew, for these are basic science facts, he tells me. I have much to learn, but he seems a kind, patient teacher.

“Do you know where Europe is on the globe?” he asks.

“I do not even know what Europe is.”

“Do you know what country you’re in?”

I remember the men talking around the campfire about Englishmen and their strange habits.

“Perhaps we’re in a country called ‘English?’”

“England, my dear. We live in England, and that makes us English.”

“I’m English?”

“Yes, Gypsy, even you are English, and I mean to turn you into a proper English young lady.”

“I must never see my people again, is that what you mean?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite that way, but yes. What good could come of it?”

I know what he means. He means they would try to steal me back. They would not understand what he’s working so hard to do. Where I come from they don’t waste time teaching girls how to do much of anything but how to breed and cook.

We continue studying the globe. He tells me about continents and countries and strange lands where sometimes people are eaten by other men. He tells me about huge, wild beasts that can tear a man apart.

“We can go see them one day. They are locked in cages, so they can’t harm you.”

“Like gaol?”

“Yes.”

“Poor beasts. It seems hard that they should be locked up instead of free to roam with their own kind.”

“Yes. It’s a pity, but that’s the only way we can keep them.”

Something about that seems very sad to me, and I feel my eyes fill with tears. He lifts my chin with one finger and looks at me.

“Are you unhappy here?”

“No, Daddy.”

“I brought you a present,” he tells me. “Stay here and I’ll go get it.”

He goes into the nursery and, when he returns, he’s holding a doll, a beautiful doll, which he hands me.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“I never had a doll before.”

“You shall have lots of playthings. In fact, you have studied hard and have been a good pupil, so I’ll give you time to go play in the nursery. Don’t forget, the seamstress is coming at eleven.”

He gives me a nudge toward the nursery and I take my doll and go inside. There are more dolls, but none as pretty as mine. I set her aside so I can climb up on the rocking horse, but I dust off the seat first so I don’t spoil my fine gown. I must set the servants to work in here, too, I see.

I ride the horse for a while, but then I bore of it and get down. I spend the rest of my playtime playing with the dolls, setting them a nice table for tea. I decide to ask Daddy for a beautiful tablecloth with matching napkins.

He comes for me a while later. “You must come along to the sewing room,” he tells me. We have picked out some old dresses that will be suitable for your new station in life. When you have something decent to wear, we can take you shopping for some new dresses and a bonnet or two.”

He shows me down to the sewing room, where there is a table with a stack of dresses on it. There is a lady standing in the center of the room near a small platform, dressed in an old-fashioned day dress. I’m a little frightened of her, and Daddy has to push me forward.

“This is my ward, Miss Lala.”

The woman drops a curtsey and indicates that she’d like me to step onto the platform. When I do, Daddy takes his leave of us. She begins immediately to measure me and pin the gown I’m wearing closer around my body. She then pins up the hem, and when that’s done, we try on the first dress from the pile, which she also pins up.

It’s a pretty, more youthful dress than the first one, with a wide pink ribbon for a sash. We do the same with all the other dresses, until they’re all pinned and awaiting her needle. There are plain dresses for everyday wear, and fancy ones that look suitable for parties. Best of all, there is a grey riding habit with a white lace collar that will be cut down to fit me.

When lunch is ready, we are summoned downstairs, Miss Carson to go eat in the servants’ hall and me to the dining room. Daddy asks me how it’s going, and I tell him splendidly.

“I’ve never had more than three dresses my whole life,” I tell him.

“You shall have many more than that. And not only dresses. You must have spencers and gloves, hats and a pelisse. And some new underthings.” I feel myself blushing when he tells me that, but he pretends not to notice. He tells me of more treasures he found in the trunks in the attic. “I found you a lovely sunshade, a couple of reticules and a few fans. I told Miss Carson to ready a dress for you to wear at dinner tonight. Oh, and I’ve mentioned to Foster that I’d like the entire staircase waxed and polished.”

“Thank you, Daddy.’

“No. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. One grows so accustomed, you know.”

I nod, but I don’t really know what he means, besides perhaps that his servants are lazy. I wonder if the maids are whipped like I will be if I am ever idle.

Miss Carson works hard the whole day, and she readies the dinner dress like she promised. She helps me put it on, and it fits beautifully. It is a cream-colored gown with a wine-colored overdress, spectacularly embroidered all around the hem. I haven’t anyone to do my hair, though, so I leave it down, and when I descend the staircase for dinner, Daddy is waiting at the bottom of it.

“How did you like your surprise?”

“The dress? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

After dinner, we follow the same procedure as the night before. He goes into his study for some brandy, and I go into the drawing room to work on my embroidery. He isn’t long about it, and when he enters the drawing room, I can see raw need in his eyes.

“Come along, Gypsy. Time for your lesson.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I put the embroidery back into the sewing box, and I’m frightened. I never dreamed a girl would put a man’s member in her mouth, and I’m afraid if I do it wrong, I shall be punished. The thought of it makes the blood pump faster in my veins, but my bottom is still sore from last night, so I hang back a little and let him lead me up the stairs.

We go to his bedroom, and when we get inside, he locks the door.

“Take your shoes and your drawers off, but leave your stockings on.”

I kick my shoes off and set them aside, and then I reach up under my skirt and untie the string to my drawers. I slide them off and put them on a nearby chair. Meanwhile, he has removed his own shoes, undressed, and is lying on the bed watching me.

Afraid to look at him, I keep my glance riveted to the floor.

“Come, come,” he tells me. “This won’t do. Come lie with me.” I know I have no choice, so I crawl up in bed, still averting my gaze. “Gypsy, look at me,” he commands.

I steal a quick glance. His member is long and hard, too long to fit in my mouth. He reaches down and grabs it, stroking himself a couple of times. He bids me to come kneel between his legs and put it in my mouth.

Feeling very aroused, I do as he asks, my face red as can be. I kneel down and settle my skirts around me, and then I bend down close and take his member into my hand to put it in my mouth. He gasps when I do, and I know this must be a rare and special treat for him.

“You must learn to relax your throat,” he tells me. I try, and I find I can get him further into my mouth. “Now suck on it like a lolly. That’s right. Up and down. Lick it. Lick me.”

Curling my tongue around it, I suck him down deep into my throat. Unfortunately, I gag on it.

He chuckles. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he tells me. “Try again.” I do, and this time I am successful. He moans and raises his hips up off the bed, but I pin him down with my free hand so I can set my own pace. He buries his fingers in my hair and says, “Oh, my sweet Gypsy. Daddy is pleased with you tonight. When I come, you will drink it down, every drop.”

I obey him as he moans aloud, urging his member further into my throat. I gag again, but I manage to drink his seed. When we are done, he makes me lie down while he crawls down between my legs. He lifts my skirt and gently touches his tongue to my most sensitive spot. It feels marvelous, far better than I expected. He licks me from my bottom, all the way back up to my joy spot.

“Oh, yes, Daddy,” I groan. “Please.”

He chuckles again, but this time I don’t feel embarrassed. It’s like we are made for this, and his licks get more aggressive, firmer against my secret little bud. I rock my hips up and down and he plunges a finger into me and uses my juices to lubricate my bottom hole. I start to protest, but he slips his finger inside me. The feeling is like no other I’ve ever experienced, and I, too, come.

“Oh, Daddy, Daddy,” I cry. “Oh, God in heaven, help me.”

He removes his finger and kneels up. I wind my legs around him so he can’t get away, and he bends down and kisses me, hard, his tongue in my mouth and my essence on his breath. This only makes me more eager, and I tell him I want so badly to feel him inside me, even if it does hurt.

“You’re a spoiled child,” he tells me. “I must have you over my lap.”

“Not too hard,” I plead.

“No. Not too hard.” When I get across his lap, he pulls my skirt up to bare me. The sight of me must please him, for he squeezes my bottom cheeks, nettling the welts. “What a beautiful, spankable bottom you have,” he tells me.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Daddy’s going to spank you now, my darling, and perhaps I’ll give you a maintenance spanking every day, with a special punishment on Saturday.”

“But Daddy, tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“I know.”

The thought of the wood slamming against my bottom makes me want him even more, and I swallow hard, ready to take the not-too-hard spanking, ready, even, to take another switching, if that’s what he desires. He grasps my hip and holds me still as he lands the first smack. It’s a little harder than I expected, but still not too hard. He spanks me for a long time, reddening my thighs and bottom. I kick around and give him a show, crying out every now and then to encourage him.

When he finally stops and lets me up, he gets out of bed and pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s get you out of that dress,” he tells me, turning me around and unbuttoning me. He slips the dress over my head and dispenses with my petticoat, and soon I am naked. He gets a towel from the washstand and spreads it out on the bed, and then he motions for me to get back in. He follows me and he’s hard again, aching, I hope, to get inside me.

I’m conscious of the softness of the linen towel against my bottom, but it does nothing to lessen the burning sensation. He spreads my legs and gets between them, and then he spits and rubs it on his member.

“My naughty little Gypsy must have all her lessons in one night,” he says, grasping his manhood and guiding it into me. There’s a struggle for a moment as he holds me down and pushes into me, and then a tearing sensation which does hurt, but is quickly gone. He pumps into me, and I spread my knees as far as I can to allow him to plunge deeper into me. I feel on the edge, but somehow, I cannot make myself come.

When he’s through with me, he gets up. I lie there a moment, frustrated.

“It’s always like this the first time,” he tells me. “We shall do better next time.”

For the first time since arriving here, I burst into tears. Daddy climbs back into bed with me and holds me.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” I tell him.

“I know, my sweet Gypsy. I am very sorry it was not.”

He lets me cry myself out, and then he gently wipes away my tears. I feel tired and worn out, and I wish he’d just let me sleep here with him, but he takes me by the hand back to the nursery. My head hits the pillow and I am asleep.

On Saturday morning, I dress and come downstairs. The seamstress has another couple of dresses done, and I look fresh and pretty in a yellow frock with lace laid over and two tiers of ruffles at the bottom.

The pain in my cunny has gone, and I had a good sleep, so I’m in a better mood than last night. Daddy is already sitting at the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He senses my arrival and puts his paper down.

“Good morning, my darling child.”

“Good morning, Daddy.”

“Would you like to go shopping today? By the way, what a charming gown you have on.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I would love to go shopping.”

“Then eat your breakfast and we shall go directly after.”

With such a treat in store for me, I eat up. When I’m done, he’s waiting for me, with a pretty bonnet in his hand. One of the maids had been sent earlier to come and dress my hair for the surprise excursion, and when Daddy places the hat on my head, he has to wrestle it onto my head because of all my hair.

“If you like, we can have your hair cut to style.”

That is something I have not yet considered. I stare at him blankly, and he says, “Think it over.”

He hands me into a beautiful carriage, a vehicle I’ve always wanted to ride inside, black, with a gold crest on the door. The seats are padded, and there are little shades for the windows, a far cry from any wagon or cart I’ve ever ridden in.

“It rides smoother, too,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“Your carriage. It rides so smoothly. How different it all is.”

“Do you feel like a fairy princess?” he asks.

“Yes. I do, in fact.”

“That’s what good daddies do for their little girls. They try to make them happy. And good little girls try to make their daddies happy, too.”

Before I know it, we have arrived at the first shop, called a milliner’s. I can see many hats displayed in the windows, and many more inside. I walk with my hand in Daddy’s and he lets me go in first.

The clerk tries to address me, but I don’t know what she’s talking about, and I turn to Daddy for guidance.

“We want a few hats suitable to a young lady who’s about to make her come-out.”

“Please. Sit. I have just the thing.”

We sit down, and Daddy instructs me to take my own hat off and lay it aside.

“What glorious hair,” says the clerk.

“Say thank you, darling. She’s just come over from France, and she doesn’t speak much English.”

“Thank you,” I say, playing along.

He smiles at me, and then at the clerk, and she gets going, finding me several hats to try on. We’re the only customers in the shop, so she has both her assistants working with her. First there’s a chapeau a la Pamela, made of straw, with a wide ribbon circling the crown, and a spray of roses over the brim.

“Do you like that one?” asks Daddy. I press his hand and he says, “Yes? So do I. Let’s have it.”

Next comes a riding hat, which we also like, and a string bonnet I fall in love with, with lilac-colored ribbons and silk tulips, and several other straw and silk bonnets, some unadorned but for the ribbons on them, and others bursting with beautiful fruits and flowers.

“Ah, so sweet, so innocent,” says the clerk when I try one of these on. “She shall be the prettiest girl in Almack’s.”

“What is Almack’s, if you please?” I ask Daddy.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Would you like to wear this one home?” she asks.

“Yes, Madame.”

“Very good.”

She sends the assistants to box the others up and take them out to the carriage. When they’re done, we settle up and leave.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I tell him, pressing his hand again.

“You mustn’t call me Daddy in public, or in company,” he tells me. “When anyone’s around, you may call me ‘my lord,’ ‘Lord Davenport,’ or simply ‘Davenport.’”

“Yes, my lord. But what is Davenport?”

“My name. I am John Chartrand, Marquis of Davenport.”

“I am confused.”

“It’s my title, Gypsy. Marquis of Davenport.”

“Why not call you John?” I ask.

“It isn’t done.”

“Oh. And I am Miss Lala?”

“In company, yes.”

“If I were your daughter, what would I be?”

“You would be Lady Lala Chartrand. If you were my wife, you’d be Lady Davenport, or Lala Chartrand, Marchioness of Davenport. Do you understand now?”

“Yes.”

“Tomorrow we’ll go over all the other titles.”

“Thank you. I do so want to do the right thing.”

“I know you do,” he tells me. “You’re a good girl, Lala.”

We go and buy some gloves and stockings, including what I am told are opera-length gloves, the kind that cover nearly all one’s arms. After that, we go and visit a modiste, which is really just a dressmaker.

“I’m to have new dresses?” I whisper excitedly.

“Yes. You need some silk dresses, and a few other things.”

“Silk dresses? Silk dresses are for rich people.”

“I am a very rich man. Now pay attention. They’re bringing the samples.”

He approves of three silk dresses, a walking dress with a matching pelisse, a carriage dress, and best of all, a beautiful pink muslin gown with white work embroidery. I must go and be measured, and the modiste assures us my gowns will all be ready by Wednesday.

We get back into the carriage, and I sit back against the cushions.

“Tired, my love?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“That bonnet you have on will look charming with that pink gown.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“I’ve decided I will cut my hair,” I tell him. “But not too much.”

“I’ve changed my mind, Gypsy. I like it long. I like what the maid did with it, but we should put it a little more on top of your head, with maybe a braid twisted around the base of it. There’s a picture in the gallery, and the woman in it looks splendid.”

“Is that not too adult-like for a little girl?”

“You can wear it down at home, maybe fasten a ribbon around your head and curl the ends.”

“And the dresses?”

“For balls and such, and wearing out in public.”

I look down at the dress I have on. Aside from that dinner dress, it is the most grown-up gown I have worn since he started dressing me.

“Will we go to the opera?”

“When the season starts, yes. I have a house in London called Chartrand House.”

“Two houses,” I say, amazed. “Two houses for just one man?”

“And a little girl.” He waits for a moment, and then he says, “Don’t forget your spanking.”

I immediately feel a twinge inside, and I look up at him. “Should I change first?”

“Yes. I like that little blue dress. And let your hair back down.”

When we get home, I go right to my room and find the beautiful little dress in the wardrobe. It’s more of a child’s dress than any of the others, and required no alteration when the sewing woman was here. It is old-fashioned, too, and I wonder where he got it. Probably in the attic, in one of the trunks. I really must go in there some day and look in the trunks myself.

I know I’m wasting time, and I know he’s probably waiting for me. I feel a wild, hungry need, and I hope he’ll take care of it. When I get to his study, he’s glancing at his watch.

“Come in, my dear,” he tells me, and he’s seated and holding the paddle. It’s rather big and frightens me a bit, but I step forward.

“Take your drawers and shoes off,” he tells me. “You won’t be needing them for quite some time.”

“Pantalets, the sewing woman called them.”

“All right, then. Pantalets. Take them off.”

I do as he says, and he beckons me forward. When I get there, he has me sit on his lap.

“I wanted to show you the paddle,” he says, handing it to me. “Touch it. Run your hand over it. Isn’t it beautiful? Look how fine the grain of the wood is.”

Nodding my head, I say, “Yes. It’s a beautiful paddle.”

He takes it back and runs his own hand over it. “It’s big enough to put you over the desk and cover your entire bottom. It’s big enough to bruise you, but we’ll save that for when you really do something wrong.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“We might as well get started, don’t you think? Stand up and get over my lap.”

I do as he says, excitement and anticipation roiling in my stomach. I immediately feel him lift my skirt and petticoats and pile them on my back. I am completely bare from the waist down.

“Don’t put your hands back, whatever you do. This thing might break a finger.”

I nod and snake my arms around his thigh, hanging onto him so I can keep myself from reaching back. I feel him pick up the paddle, get a good grip on it, and hit me with the first blow. He then turns me and does the other side. There is an instant burning pain and I cry out.

“That’s right,” says Daddy. “We’re going to spank you to tears, but I shall know if they’re real or not.”

Having the paddle applied to my backside is worse than being spanked by hand, even when he did it as hard as he could. I did not cry with any of those spankings, but I can see that I might do so with this one.

I feel the next two blows, and I cry out again. I hate myself for it, but I can’t help it.

Another two, another cry. He starts just working one side at a time, and he doesn’t mind that it makes me kick. In fact, I think he likes it, I think that’s why I always have to remove my shoes. He grabs my ankle when I kick up, and smacks my thigh good.

“Oh, please,” I beg, hating myself even more. He ignores me, repositioning me and smacking my other thigh.

My cry is louder this time. I can tell I’m nearing my breaking point, but I feel a stubborn impulse to hold out as long as I can.

As if he reads my mind he says, “We can do this all night.”

He whacks me again, and this time I force my lips together to stop my cry.

“Do you wish to play games?” he asks me. “Go and bend over my desk.”

He’s going to bruise my bottom and I know it. I feel like crying already, but some innate pride stops me. I lie across the cool surface of the desk and he comes up behind me.

“You know, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“You want to break me like a horse?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, but yes.”

Crossing my arms, I lay my head on them, and he lifts my skirts again, and then he hits me with the hardest blow of all, which is much worse than even that switching. He succeeds in making me cry out, so he hits me again and again. One more blow will be the end of my foolish pride, so he gives it to me, and then he gives me another one, just for good measure.

If he wants me to cry, he gets his wish. I start bawling like a little girl, and he puts the paddle down beside me and lifts me off the desk.

“Please,” I say. “I won’t do anything wrong. I swear.”

He carries me over to a leather sofa he has against one wall, and he lays me down. I keep crying, unable to stop now that the flow has started. He lets me lie there and cry myself out, and then he comes to me with a handkerchief and lets me get myself in order.

“Sit up,” he tells me. “Come here, my little Gypsy.”

It’s hard to feel comforted by the man who just spanked the devil out of me, but I let him comfort me anyway. My cunny is swollen and aching, but in a different way than my bottom. I close my legs to try to put some pressure on it, but it’s not enough to satisfy my swollen bud.

“Stop that,” he tells me. “You may only receive your pleasure from me. Remember that or you’re in for another good paddling.”

I relax my legs and sag against his chest. I can hear his heart beating, can feel the hardness of his manhood through his breeches, pressing against my leg.

“Will you make love to me like last night?” I ask in a small voice.

And he says, “Yes. Yes.”

I slide down off his lap, allowing him to get up. When we open the study door, no servants are about, so we sneak up to his room. When we get there, he locks the door again and turns to me, lifting me off my feet like he did in the study. He’s tall, but he’s not that tall. He dwarfs me, though. He carries me to the bed and sets me on it gently. He takes my dress and my new stays off without a care to my modesty, and he looks at my breasts. He reaches out and squeezes one of them, sending a bolt of passion to my womanhood. He bends down and puts it into his mouth, sucking on it like he’s a baby. More passion shoots down. My bottom is burning like never before, but the burning need to have him inside me overtakes the pain.

“Lie back,” he says at last. “Lie back against the pillows.”

“Yes, my lord,” I whisper. “Yes, Daddy.”

He comes up onto the bed and mounts me. He kisses me, and then he starts pounding into me. I move along with him, snapping my hips, rubbing up against him. This time I’m determined to come, and when he grabs my breast again, I do.

“Oh, Daddy,” I say, my head lolling back on the pillows. “I’m sorry I was bad.”

“It’s all right, my sweet little Gypsy.” I lie there in his arms for a moment, and then he says, “Are you happy here? Despite the spankings?”

“Yes,” I tell him.

“If you ever want to go, please come talk to me about it first.”

“I will.”

We lie in each other’s arms until we slip into a deep slumber. He’s the first one to wake, and he wakes me. The room is completely dark, and he feels his way around to his nightstand and lights a candle.

“There we are,” he says, using the first candle to light the others. I get up and stand there beside the bed, my hair covering part of my breasts. He glances at me and says, “You look lovely.” I go to the mirror and turn around to examine my bottom. Just as I thought, it’s an angry red color, and I know I’ll have bruises on my sit spot.

“Why was it so hard for you to cry?” he asks me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just couldn’t.”

“I’ll teach you to stop being so hard all the time. I’ll teach you to cry as easily as you come, and I’ll teach you to smile.”

A slight smile creeps onto my face, but it doesn’t last long.

“I’m just a serious person,” I say. “And determined.”

“What are you determined to do?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

He takes me in his arms and kisses me. I kiss him back, and he lifts me off my feet until I encircle his waist with my legs. Even just stretching my legs makes my bottom hurt, and I wish I had just gone ahead and cried. It’s dumb to hold onto principles that mean nothing anymore.

Why should I not submit to his desires? Why should I cause myself to be needlessly punished?

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re the best daddy ever.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I have a special surprise for you when we have dessert. Something you’ve probably never had before.”