The Science of Submission Read online

  “Yes, my lord,” she murmured, flashing a playful look at him with her beautiful blue eyes. “I hope to be spending a great deal of time with my fiancé. How else will we forge a bond that will see us through the years to come?”

  The years to come, her words echoed through his mind. Lord Cavendish pursed his lips, displeased, and looked over at the young woman who was smiling triumphantly at him. Marriage, children, these things would slow Archibald’s work down almost to a standstill. He was not pleased, not pleased at all. Despite his best attempt to contain himself, he snapped.

  “If you were my daughter, I would turn you over my knee for a well deserved spanking, young lady,” he thundered, glaring at Marjorie with his most intimidating expression.

  Marjorie stared at his lordship, shocked beyond words. Finally she found her voice. “A – a spanking … How dare you, sir!” she said, blushing furiously. Her temper flared and she found herself, perhaps unwisely, declaring her intentions. “I strongly suggest that you treat me with more respect, Lord Cavendish. I intend to become Mrs. Archibald Westerly and you will be dealing with me for many years to come. That is until I can find a way to end your association with my future husband. It will be a long time indeed, if ever, before you profit from my fiance’s hard work.” Never, if I have anything to say about it, she thought to herself.

  The two glowered at one another as the horses drew their carriage towards the address the young woman had given. Stefan unnerved her by smiling slowly as he imagined turning her over his knee, lifting her skirts, applying his hand sharply to her curved bare buttocks. She would be singing a different tune by the time he finished with her. Right then and there he began to devise a plan whereby he would have the beautiful Lady Hamilton at his mercy and out of Archibald’s way.

  The hack pulled up in front of a rather shabby townhouse. It was in a good neighborhood and had probably belonged to the family for generations, but it was rundown and in a sad state of disrepair. Lord Cavendish was surprised that it had not been sold off to pay gambling debts, perhaps it was tied up in trust? He decided to see if the taxes on the villa were paid up to date at the first opportunity.

  His composure restored, Lord Cavendish opened the door of the carriage and stepped down. He helped Lady Hamilton alight, although she had been reluctant to take his hand to descend the steps. She pulled her gloved hand back as soon as she reached solid ground. He bowed and tipped his hat, his brown eyes glittering at the young woman in a predatory way.

  Lady Hamilton walked away from him without a backward glance. She knew she should have thanked him for the carriage ride but could not bring herself to give him the satisfaction. She strode in to the townhouse and slammed the door behind her, locking it. She leaned back against the door and suddenly felt as if the life were draining right out of her.

  “Welcome home, Marjorie. There’s tea in the parlor,” her little sister Hilary said, giving her a buss on the cheek in greeting. “How was Mr. Westerly?”

  “I have just met the rudest man,” Marjorie declared. “He spoke to me most disrespectfully.” At Hilary’s surprised expression, she added, “Oh, Archie was fine. I’ll tell you all about it at tea.” Hilary did not get out as often as Marjorie did. She was still underage and could not leave the house without an escort. The ways of the world were a great mystery to her and she always enjoyed hearing about Marjorie’s outings.

  Marjorie thought about Lord Cavendish as she was sipping her tea, tuning out her mother and sister as they prattled on about their boring day. Clearly, she and he were locked in mortal combat over her fiancé. She, however, had a weapon that his distinguished lordship did not possess. She had begun to awaken sensations within Archie, a thirst that only she could quench. A touch of her hand to the side of his face, a brush of her bottom to the front of his pants, the press of the side of her breast to his arm, these small things had made him quite stimulated. It seemed her fiancé was a virgin and long overdue for physical intimacy.

  Marjorie was a woman of experience. She had been engaged once before to a distinguished doctor and had allowed certain intimacies with her fiancé, hoping to bind him to her before he discovered the state of her family’s finances. She had been quite bereft when he’d broken their engagement upon learning of her lack of a dowry. When she had seen Archie at the science exhibition, she knew that she’d found the perfect man. His inventions had been quite impressive, and he was an innocent, completely without guile. She knew he would be putty in her experienced hands. Within a very short time she had won his heart and he had proposed without realizing he was doing so. She had twisted his words of affection, pretending to misunderstand that he was just sharing his happiness at knowing her. He was too honorable a young man to announce that he had not been proposing at all, instead he had gone along with it, as she knew he would. Yes, she nodded her head in satisfaction, she would have him walking down the aisle before he knew what hit him, the sooner the better.

  Marjorie’s circumstances were quite dire. It had taken the last of her inheritance, a pitiful stipend, to create a wardrobe that would show her off to the best advantage. With her voluptuous figure and pretty face, she was her family’s last and best hope for respectability. She was well aware those assets would not last forever. At twenty-two years of age, she had no doubt that the bloom was about to fall off the rose.

  A thought occurred which made her smile. She probably did deserve a spanking! She had no intention of letting it be by Lord Cavendish’s hand though, he both frightened and excited her. He was devilishly handsome, his family name above reproach, one of the wealthiest of the landed gentry. His commanding manner unnerved her. It was as if he could see right through her. She decided then and there to have as little to do with him as possible until after she and Archie were safely wed. Then she would excise him from their lives.

  On second thought, his income could be important to them. She decided she would play him, use the same tricks she had used on Archibald to keep him titillated until they had gotten as much money from him as possible. Then she would get rid of him. Once Archibald was receiving her experienced affections on a regular basis, he would do whatever she said. She would rule their household and their lives and have a great deal of fun spending his income as his inventions began to pay off.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Cavendish had the driver transport him to the Royal Docks in East London. As the horses clip-clopped along, he leaned back and closed his eyes, remembering where his fascination with corporal punishment had begun. His mother had died shortly after giving birth to him and several years later his father had married a woman who had five young daughters. They were high spirited young lasses, full of vim and vigor. He had always been allowed, nay even encouraged, to observe their disciplinary sessions.

  “For when he had lasses of his own,” his father frequently explained. From the start he would lend his father a hand. Having one of his younger step sisters over his lap, attending to her naughtiness or watching his father correct a crying, struggling young lady had always been quite stimulating. He recalled the last punishment he’d had the great good fortune to dispense.

  He had been only months away from inheriting his birthright, although he did not know it at the time, when he’d returned to the family homestead for a visit. His youngest step sister, Beatrice Rose, was of age by then, the four older girls already married and gone. She had done something naughty, he’d never bothered to find out what, and his father asked him to deal with the girl. He should have realized at the time that his father was in failing health, but that had been the furthest thought from his mind.

  The young lady had reported to their father’s study for her punishment session, vivacious, naughty, red-haired Beatrice. She had been a thorn in his side since she’d entered his life, playing practical jokes on him whenever she had an opportunity. When she saw that it was her strong older stepbrother who would be dispensing justice instead of their frail father, the color had drained from her face.


  He had adopted his strictest manner and ordered the young lady to remove her drawers on the spot. She had gotten two bright circles of color on her pale face as she’d turned from him and reached under her skirts. She had reluctantly let her drawers fall and then stepped out of them, as she’d been trained to do.

  “Lift your skirts Beatrice, both front and back. You well know the drill,” he ordered. Beatrice’s face was now bright red, even her chest was mottled with color. She looked very sweet, standing there with her long reddish hair hanging loose to her waist, her big brown eyes judging his mettle. She jutted out her chin and challenged him with her eyes, pretending she was not afraid of him, as she slowly lifted her skirts until her little furred muff was visible. He wondered if she was aware that the ginger curls did not do a very good job of hiding her womanhood.

  “Walk over to the writing desk and arrange yourself face down upon it, young lady,” he had ordered sternly. He was quite enjoying seeing this modest, virginal, albeit high-spirited young lady who was already in long skirts, forced to show her naked lower half to a man who was not even a blood relation, just her stepbrother. He had given her a wide grin and her courage dissolved as she lowered her eyes to the ground, well aware that she would show him all before he finished with her.

  She reluctantly walked to the writing desk and laid across it, hoping that Stefan would not be too very harsh, she being his youngest step sister after all. She turned her head and watched fearfully as he walked to her father’s umbrella stand and selected a cane, a slender whippy one. He turned and met her eyes, then whipped the cane through the air, making a frightening whistling sound.

  “Fifteen, Beatrice. I expect you to hold your position. If not, I shall start over. Keep count now.” he said, arranging himself to her left. He paused for a moment, enjoying the young lady’s gyrations as she had wriggled about nervously, quite unable to control herself. He tapped her cheeks with the cane several times, deciding where to strike. His stepsister’s little bum was quite cute, two highly placed, round little cheeks parted enough that, even with her legs together, he could still see her quim. He lifted his arm and struck, a halfway hard stroke, more of a hard tap really, but Beatrice had not thought so. She squealed and lifted her head.

  “Down girl, unless you want that stroke not to count,” he warned. “I do not do things by half measures, young lady. I intend to dispense a correction you shall not soon forget.”

  “One,” she replied sullenly. She was not amused that her brother was being allowed to correct her. Why couldn’t it have been her father? He had always gone easy on her because she was smaller than the other girls and marked so easily. Apparently Stefan would show her no such deference.

  “One, SIR,” he corrected her. “I think we need to start over.” Before she could respond, he struck again and she squealed again.

  “One, sir,” she replied quickly, before he could decide the second stroke hadn’t counted.

  He continued to strike and after each stroke, Beatrice rose to her tiptoes and squealed. She lost count around the sixth stroke and announced inaccurately that it had been stroke number seven. For that, he had no other choice but to begin again. By the time he finished, she was a very repentant young lady. He had her stand in the corner and lectured her as she stood holding her skirts up, exposing her welted little buttocks to his gaze.

  “If I have anything to say about it, little sister, I shall see to it that you are given to a husband who will continue to discipline you all the days of your life. Your naughtiness knows no bounds and you need a husband who will rule you with an iron hand.” Afterwards he took her over his knee and spanked her tenderized little cheeks until she was sobbing, begging for mercy.

  Within six months his father had passed and he’d inherited, becoming Earl. One of the first things he did was give Beatrice away in marriage to a friend of his, Colin, who was known for his fondness for wielding the cane. He had been head boy at his boarding school and Stefan knew from firsthand experience that Colin was immensely skilled in its application. Socially it was a good marriage for the girl, better than a fifth daughter could expect. She became the Marquesa d’Laportia. On his last visit to her household he had sat in the library smoking a cigar as Beatrice had been woken from a sound sleep to be brought there for a disciplinary session by her husband, Colin the Marquis.

  He had watched with great enjoyment as his chum had wielded the rod, laying down a row of perfectly-placed stripes on Beatrice’s cringing bum. Afterwards she had been required to bend before her stepbrother so that he could inspect her ladder of stripes. He stroked her buttocks, pinching the welts, admiring Colin’s skill. Then she’d been made to curtsy to Stefan and thank him for giving her to such a diligent husband. Her red-rimmed eyes had met his as she had prettily wept her thanks for the fate he’d condemned her to. To this day it gave him great pleasure to know that his little step sister was being so well looked after.

  As the hack turned on to the road leading to the docks, Stefan sat up straight and eagerly strained for a glimpse of his steam-powered yacht, the Felicitous Fortune. He wished to inspect it while he still had the light, knowing that the captain, Oskar Andersson, was onboard. As he rode along, his thoughts once again returned to Archibald’s fiancée, Lady Marjorie. She was clearly not going to cooperate and Stefan did not like to be crossed. The conniving young woman had issued a challenge when she’d declared her intention to one day have his protégé eating out of her hand. With her feminine wiles, he had no doubt she would be able to accomplish just that. Instead he decided to turn the tables and have the beautiful Lady Marjorie Hamilton at his mercy. She would learn not to take on a gentleman of his stature. Besides, if he made her disappear, there would be nothing to distract young Archibald from his life’s work.

  As the hack pulled on to the docks and his yacht came into view, he realized that he had the means at his disposal to make the young lady disappear quickly and completely. It was completely justified, the girl was a beauty and would be wasted upon young Archibald. She was hardly suited to life with a distracted, workaholic husband. At sea there would be no escape, her affections would undoubtedly turn towards him. He could and would do whatever he wished with her. He closed his eyes imagining turning her over his lap, lifting her skirts, applying his hand to her naked backside, listening to her cries and pleas for mercy. She would learn what happened to naughty little girls who did not listen to their masters. And becoming her master would be a delightful experience. He would train her to service him any number of ways.

  The carriage came to a stop. He stepped from it and paid the driver handsomely. The sun was just going down behind a cloud as he hurried towards the yacht. Captain Andersson greeted him with a bow.

  “Would you like to take her out, sir?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, just the tour tonight, Oskar, but soon.” Lord Cavendish replied in flawless Dutch. The ship had recently been redecorated and refit from stem to stern. Each time he visited, he was surprised at how large it was. It felt like a luxurious floating village. As he walked with Oskar, inspecting the rooms, the kitchens, and the engines, he decided to try out his newly-hatched cover story. “I am planning to one day soon take a long ocean voyage with my daughter.”

  “I did not realize that you had a daughter, sir. I thought you to be a single gentleman.”

  “She is not biologically my daughter,” Stefan explained, “just a young girl I have taken guardianship of. Her deceased parents were my close friends, and upon their deaths, I took on her care.” He basked in Andersson’s admiring gaze, knowing that the captain thought he was a good man, an honorable man and, in many ways, that was true. He just did not like to be crossed by a little snippet of a girl who had gotten too big for her britches. The little Lady Marjorie had a great many lessons to learn, lessons he was eminently qualified to teach her.

  “She is a bit of a liar though, adopting airs, you know the sort, always on the lookout for a sympathetic ear,” he continued. “Instruct y
our crew not to believe anything she says.” The crew was primarily Norwegian and most did not understand English. Those who did were a discreet bunch, well aware of what side their bread was buttered on, and had been with him for a very long time. He had no doubt his plan was foolproof.

  “And our destination, sir?” Captain Andersson asked. Stefan thought about it. It would have to be somewhere far away. Her training would take awhile. Besides, Stefan had business to attend to in Scotland.

  “First, we will sail up the coast to the tip of Scotland, then I will know better what our ultimate destination shall be.”

  The captain’s eyes lit up, he had longed to take the Fortuitous Fortune out on the open seas since her refit.

  “Very good, sir. It is a perfect time of year for a voyage.”

  “Speed will not be of the essence, my good man. Let’s take our time and enjoy the trip, shall we?”

  The very next day, Stefan headed back to 51 Windsor Court to pay a call on a long time acquaintance. Katrinka Pretzer was a German woman, formerly his professor when he’d studied mechanical engineering at the Berlin University. She was retired now after suffering a serious injury. While her body had been badly damaged in a lab accident, her mind was sharp and clear.

  He needed the services of a woman to oversee little Miss Marjorie once he had reduced her to childlike status. He well knew Katrinka’s tastes ran to disciplining nubile young women. The artificial arm, leg and face plate that the scientists had created to replace her missing limbs had given her exceptional strength, therefore she would be just the person.

  The explosion that had injured Katrinka had been the fault of one of her students combining two combustible chemicals to create a fuel of sorts. The student had died on the spot. Katrinka, his professor, was badly injured trying to save him. The doctors had been unable to save her right arm and leg, and her right eye had been damaged.