Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 2.

Charles Ryder just had an e-book out called The New Government, a BDSM anti-feminist novel that many of you may enjoy if you like stories here. You can find it at A1 Adult E-books. 

And now on to the next chapter of Managing the Heiress.

by Charles Ryder

Later that evening Stephen returned, but he wasn't alone. He entered the living room with an older gentleman. He introduced the man to her as Major Lytham.

"Mrs Darnley, it's a pleasure to meet you at last ma'am. Your husband has told me a very great deal about you. And ma'am, if I be so bold, he has much underestimated your beauty and charm."

Charlotte blushed prettily and thanked the Major.

"Let me explain the situation, Mrs Darnley. I am your husband's senior officer. He is one of my most valuable men. The reason I'm here is to explain his role with us and to beg a favour from you. Your husband is soon to go undercover on our behalf. That is to spy on this country's enemies." 

Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. "But Major Lytham isn't that terribly dangerous? Will Stephen be in danger at all?" 

Stephen and the Major exchanged glances. "I'm afraid that yes, it is potentially very dangerous. However, it's a matter of crucial importance to Great Britain. Your husband's a very brave man, although I'm sure you know that already, Mrs Darnley." 

Charlotte nodded, proud of her valiant husband but scared at the same time. "Before I go, I have to get you to sign the Official Secrets Act. Also, on a more personal note perhaps inform you that your husband will be coming and going at all hours of the day and night. He will probably have to dress and act differently to what you are used to. We have to create a new life for him in the short term. But please don't be too alarmed. We hope that this subterfuge will last no longer than a year at most." 

Once he'd taken his leave, Charlotte ran to her husband and hugged him fiercely. "Oh darling, darling, you're so brave."

"Do you understand now why I have had to do certain things, my dearest?"

"Of course, I do and I'm so proud of you." That night their lovemaking reached new peaks. 

Stephen was regularly absent now. Charlotte was left to the tender mercies of Agnes Francis. Before he left, he'd sat the two down and explained to Charlotte that because of her age and lack of experience he was going to ask Mrs Francis to take charge. He didn't want to burden his young wife with the task of running a large house, dealing with tradesmen or even shopping. In the short term, Mrs Francis would rule the house. Jane the young housemaid had been dismissed without a reference, something about a missing item apparently. As a result, Charlotte found her workload actually increasing.

"Do you mind helping out Charlotte? As you can see I have so much more to do now that Jane's not here." 

Charlotte didn't really have the nerve to suggest that Mrs Francis's workload had hardly increased at all and, whereas hers had become onerous. What was once a chance to learn how certain duties were efficiently carried out, had now almost become her occupation. Mrs Francis had found her an old pair of boots to work in and insisted that she polished them to within an inch of their lives. Every day she was required to put on one of her increasingly grubby black dresses, a pair of black woollen stockings, her crisp, white apron and work. And work she most certainly did! Either reaching and stretching with a little feather duster, or down on her hands and knees scrubbing and polishing. There appeared to be no end to her chores. One particular evening it all came to a head. Charlotte had worked hard all day and was looking forward to a well-earned rest. When Mrs Francis asked her to make them both a cup of tea, she reacted rather petulantly and told the woman to make one for herself.

"You seem to be very fractious tonight, young lady. I think you need an early bed time." 

It took Charlotte a little while to realise that her housekeeper wasn't joking and did indeed intend to send her to bed. She looked at the older woman in amazement.

"I'm perfectly fine Mrs Francis thank you. I think I'm old enough to know whether or not I'm tired, don't you!?" 

Charlotte regretted her words as soon as they'd left her mouth. The housekeeper had gathered her things together and stormed from the room. An hour passed, and then another. The woman had still not returned to the living room. Charlotte began to feel more and more guilty. After all the poor woman was only thinking about her health. Eventually she swallowed her pride and went to find the offended woman. She found her darning a pair of socks in the kitchen.

"I'm very sorry Mrs Francis, it was very rude of me to snap at you like that. You're right, I am very tired.

" Go and get changed for bed and then I'll come upstairs."

Too scared to argue this time she scurried upstairs and found her pyjamas. Mrs Francis followed her upstairs and then sat herself on the edge of her bed. Charlotte stood in front of her not sure what to do with her hands.

"First thing first, young lady. I’m most certainly not used to being spoken to like that, especially by an unruly little child like you. I’m going to teach you that that sort of behaviour is unacceptable. I want you to pull down your pyjama bottoms and then place yourself over my knee." 

"Surely you don't mean to spark me Mrs Francis, I'm nineteen years old." Wailed the girl.

 "Yet you act like a nine-year-old. You need to be punished young lady. It's either that or I'll leave this house immediately and you can explain my absence to your husband!"

 Charlotte knew when she was beaten. How would the house run if Mrs Francis wasn't there to do it? What would Stephen say when he returned to find her gone? Tearfully she dropped her pyjamas to the floor and then lowered herself across the formidable woman's knee. All thoughts of her humiliating position vanished just as soon as she received the first stinging smack to her pert backside. She gasped out loud, was the woman's hand made of wood? The humiliating, painful spanking just went on and on. She began to kick and squeal and struggle but she was easily controlled by the much larger woman. It felt as if every inch of her bottom was being heated up. Still the hand continued to deliver stroke after punishing stroke. She'd gone way beyond squealing now. She was howling and begging her housekeeper to please, please stop beating her. When eventually she'd run out of energy even to plead, she just lay there and cried. Finally, it was over, she was pulled to her feet and allowed to dance around the bedroom, weeping and desperately clutching at her scorched buttocks.

"That, young lady, is how insolence is dealt with in this house."

The following day she was taken shopping, instructed to hold Mrs Francis's hand 'in case you get lost, dear'.  Their first stop was the place that sold servants uniforms. There Charlotte was measured for a variety of outfits.

"Until we get a new girl you may have to help out a little more Charlotte. I don't imagine that will be any sort of problem for you?"

 "N...no Mrs Francis."

 "After all we don't want to get your clothes dirty do we? You're certainly not the most graceful of young ladies, I'm afraid to say."

 "No Mrs Francis." 

Then it was on to a cafe where Mrs Francis ordered her a sandwich and orange squash without bothering to consult her.

" I'm going to buy you some clothes suitable for a modest young English girl to wear rather than those rough African things you insist on. Mr Darnley has left me enough money to take care of the various transactions.”

To her surprise she was led by the hand to a children’s clothes shop. When she enquired as to why that would be, she was rewarded with a sharp slap to exposed thighs. 

“You must learn, dear Charlotte that I will not be questioned by rude little girls. Nor will I explain my every action to you. If you must know we are shopping for clothes for you that will actually fit you. To be frank with you dear girl you don’t yet have the figure of a woman. You may or may not be nineteen as you claim but, in my opinion, you not only have the figure of a fourteen-year-old, but the disposition as well. That being the case you will be dressed like a fourteen-year-old while you continue to look and act like one. Do you understand me now?”

Charlotte could hardly believe her own ears. Like a fourteen-year-old? How dare she? Surreptitiously she rubbed at the sting in her legs and agreed that yes, she did understand.

“B... but at home in Rhodesia I have lots of beautiful clothes that fit me perfectly, how...”

“You’re not at home in Rhodesia now though are you missy? Interrupted the woman rudely. “You’re here in a civilised country. You no longer have dressmakers, you have department stores where you may only buy clothes that fit you. Now take my hand and enough of this nonsense.”

Then followed perhaps the most humiliating hour of Charlotte’s young life. She was led into the large shop and directed towards the children’s section. There, with the assistance of two smirking junior assistants she was provided with a selection of appropriate clothes. Short, pleated skirts, plain simple blouses. White knickers and vests suitable for a much younger girl. Neat little white ankle socks Plain black, patent leather shoes, brown sandals and two Empire dresses. She was so shocked and cowed by the experience that she didn’t even question the deliberate lack of support for her -budding little breasts. Not that the young assistants even suggested such an item as a bra. After all what fourteen-year-old girl was provided with such an item?

Hand in hand and laden with luggage the two left the store. Mrs Francis had insisted that her mistress wear one of the A-line Empire dresses, a flouncy pink and white creation bedecked with pink ribbons, a pair of ankle socks and her shiny new, brown leather sandals. When one of the assistants enquired as to what they should do with the rather smart dress that Charlotte had put on that morning she was informed by Mrs Francis that they could burn it for all she cared. It was quite clearly unsuitable for her ward, far too grown-up in style for her rather plain appearance. Similarly, the assistants could either keep Charlotte's elegant heels or simply throw them away if they preferred. Her little girl had no further use of them.

Charlotte was mortified, Mrs Francis actually used the words 'her little girl'. Really! This was simply too much, shown up in front of a couple of giggling shop girls who were certainly no older than she herself. And her lovely dress! It was one of her favourites, and her heels.  Did Mrs Francis even have an idea how much they cost? She very nearly complained, but one look at the woman's grim looking face rather warned her off that particular subject. Instead she allowed herself to be guided out of the store by the hand like a meek, compliant little girl.

"You look very smart darling, those clothes suit you far better than the ones hung up in your wardrobe. I think we'll have a sort through those when we get back, dear. And now to compliment your lovely new dress think it's time for you to have your hair tidied up, Charlotte. What do you think? I know it's a lovely colour, but it is rather...unkempt. Mr Darnley has often remarked on it.

"Oh yes please Mrs Francis that would be lovely. Can we go to a proper salon to have it done?"

 "I don't think so Charlotte. Have you seen the prices they charge, quite scandalous in my opinion."

"B...but I don't mind paying, Mrs Francis. I don't expect you to pay for me. I do have quite a lot of money you know."

 "Is that so dear? How much money do you have on you at the present time?"

 "I...well... I don't have any presently, as you know. but I thought that perhaps we could go to a bank and sort of take some money out." She tapered off lamely. She looked so confused that Agnes Francis had to fight to keep the smirk off her face as she explained the situation. Her and husband's account was a joint one. Because she was so young, he had to jointly sign every cheque she wrote. He even had to be present if she went to the branch. Agnes watched the naive young girl struggling to comprehend. But eventually even she had worked out that Stephen's continued absence meant that she couldn't access her own money.

 "We're going to a barbershop young lady, and you will be grateful for that I hope."

"What's it to be madam? Short back and sides for your daughter, back to school is it?"joked the jovial barber. Sorely tempted by the idea of taking the brat down a peg or two Agnes Francis nevertheless explained that she wanted Charlotte's hair to be tidied up and put into two pigtails. The barber carried out his work. He exchanged pleasantries with Mrs Francis and whistled tunelessly. It slowly dawned on her that the barber had assumed she was a child and that her housekeeper really was her mother!  Looking at herself in the mirror she found it hard to blame the barber. She actually looked the age that her housekeeper considered to be correct. The combination of her clothes, her young-looking face without make-up and her lack of any discernable figure did indeed make her look like a fourteen year old! Oh, the utter shame of it. Putting her hair in pigtails would clearly add to the subterfuge that Mrs Francis was creating. When the man was finally finished, she was shown the finished product and then she was directed by her own housekeeper to thank the man who’d ruined her beautiful hair! Would this shameful day ever end?

 Stephen returned the following day and stayed the whole weekend. She was ever so pleased to see him, he looked so dashing in his uniform, and she kissed him and told him so.

 "I love your new clothes as well darling, they suit you very much."

"Thank you dearest, but don't you think they look a little, well ... childish? "

“No, not at all. In fact, I think you're very lucky that you have the looks and the figure to wear those type of things. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked so young. A simple white blouse and blue skirt, white ankle socks and black lace-up shoes. She looked like a schoolgirl.  Her hair as well! Now she had pigtails!

"But darling, I'm a married woman. But It hardly looks that way."

 "You underestimate yourself, darling. You always look like the perfect wife. Anyway, from what Mrs Francis tells me, your shorter hair style won't get in the way when you're helping out around the house. And let me remind you, darling, and I want to make it quite clear, that Mrs Franco is in sole charge of the house and its occupants while I'm away. Do you understand?"

 "I suppose so, Stephen. It's just that... I rather thought that ...well what I mean to say is, I rather thought that I'd be in charge by now." 

The man smiled at her earnest young face and sighed, "clearly you will be in charge one day Charlotte, but at the moment when I'm away your safety is paramount. The only way I can guarantee that is to place you under Mrs Francis's wing as it were. Do you follow, darling?"

 She pouted and sulked at this news. Just like a teenage girl he thought with an internal smirk.

 "She only has your interests at heart, dearest."

“But yesterday ... Yesterday, well Stephen ... She... She spanked me!"

 "Spanked you?"

 "Yes, spanked me and jolly hard too, and she bared my bottom. It was so shameful, darling, I wouldn't be surprised if she's bruised me." 

"What did you do to provoke the poor woman. I can't believe she spanked you for no reason?"

The girl blushed prettily. " I ... I erm...she said I was insolent."

 "And were you insolent, young lady?" 

"Y... yes I suppose I was in a way. But I was very tired and I did apologise!"

 Stephen's expression changed suddenly. "Have you been listening to anything I've said, young lady? Haven't I made myself crystal clear? Mrs Francis is in sole charge of the house when I'm away!"

 He walked to the door and called for the housekeeper. She appeared a minute or so later, wiping her hands on her apron.

 "Do I understand correctly, Mrs Francis, that you recently had the need to spank my wife?"

 "Yes sir," The woman was completely unconcerned by the question.

"Over your knee with her buttocks bared?"

"Most certainly, sir. A thrashing is not a thrashing unless it's on the bare, sir."

 "Might I enquire why?" 

"Of course, sir, the young madam was quite insolent so I took it upon myself to chastise her sir, following your instructions, sir." 

"I see, run upstairs Charlotte and bring down your hairbrush please."

Minutes later the slim young woman was placed over her husband's tweed clad thighs. Ten minutes later she was still being thrashed. The heavy Maple-backed hairbrush was striking the surface of her naked backside with relentless purpose. Much to Mrs Francis's secret pleasure she watched as the so-called mistress of the house was handed a blistering bare bottom spanking by her irate husband. Watching the arrogant young madam dressed like a child, squirming and begging over the Master's knee was a sight to behold. Agnes could feel herself becoming a little damp at the spectacle.

"You will learn your place in this house young lady even if I have to beat it in to your backside every day of the week. Do you understand me your naughty little girl?"

Each word was punctuated by a resounding slap of wood against a pair of rapidly purpling bottom cheeks. Eventually she was allowed to get to her feet. Bawling and dishevelled she ran upstairs to her room and flung herself on her bed, desperate to massage the pain from her bottom. An hour later she was called down and required to make a stuttering apology to her own housekeeper.

 "You do understand don't you darling? I hate having to chastise you, but ultimately it's for your own good. You do understand and accept that I presume?”

“Y...yes Stephen but...but it’s so shaming. And it hurts so....I am so very sorry, darling.”

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