AI art by me.

Forgive me for what I am about to do…or don’t. 😉

It is a terrible truth universally acknowledged, though rarely spoken aloud, that any Dominant man in possession of his faculties and an estate must be in want of a good submissive.

My dear mother echoed this phrase as she recounted to me and my four sisters that Netherfield had recently been purchased by a young dominant man from London. Two of my sisters gave way to howls of delight at the news. My older sister and I exchanged curious but subdued looks. Mary did not respond much at all. Poor Mary has no interest in the dynamics or power exchanges of a D/s relationship.

My father, who I dearly loved despite his not bringing my mother sufficiently to heel, spoke up. “Why, my Dear, what does this have to do with any of us?” He may not take my not-very-submissive mother over his knee but he does love to needle her with words. It proves to be some distraction.

“Why, Mr. Bennett! So he may take one of our daughters to become his submissive here, of course. What does it have to do?” She gave him a look but didn’t tread too much further. My father could be provoked too far, though I hadn’t seen that happen in years, which was a very sad truth.

Kitty and Lydia were nearly apoplectic at the possibility.

“Oh, what collar shall I wear to the first ball, Kitty?” Lydia was saying.

Kitty was trying to get me to lend her more money to go get the supplies to make a better corset. “Please, Lizzy.” She begged.

She already owed me a fortune, which I reminded her of, and if she didn’t pay, it would soon be another dose of my hairbrush. Obviously, her previous paddling hadn’t been enough! When she saw I meant my words, she backed away quickly with her hands over her bottom.

As to Lydia, I had broken more than one hairbrush on that girl’s rear end trying to get her to stop being such a horrible flirt so young. She was not ready to be a submissive and she knew it! I knew it. Father knew it. Lydia was encouraged by our mother to keep being as incorrigible as possible!

If she kept at it right now, I was of a mind to visit her later that night for a reminder session. I traded a glance with Jane, my elder sister, and saw she was of the same mind. We shared a nodding agreement.

“I fail to see how this will do anyone any good when I have no plans to make the gentleman’s acquaintance.” My father sighed and went back to his paper he’d been reading.

My mother’s eyes nearly fell from her head. “Not make acquaintance? Not make…surely you jest, Sir.” She was so rattled she finally called him as she should instead of the insipid Mr. Bennett nonsense.

He eyed her because he had heard it. “I promise I do not, Little One.” He hadn’t called her that in years.

My mother flushed in the face and glanced at us girls who were busy inspecting the wallpaper. We all were, except poor Mary, who was just looking at her music she was going to practice.

“Your father means to have all of you never to know the joys of submissiveness, my dear daughters. When he is gone, we will be turned out of this house without a penny. Whatever shall we do?” She wailed.

“I am not quite dead as of yet, Madam.” His temper was rising.

“I shall go and talk to Cook about the dinner.” My mother beat a hasty retreat before things got out of hand.

She was more likely worried my father would finally use his heavy hand. All of his daughters had felt it before, as well as the strap, as we were growing up. It all stopped once we were of an age. He told Jane and me we would dispense justice as we sought fit since my mother would never do the deed. We took this charge very seriously and carefully. I was sure he would revive old habits upon us if he felt we had dealt unfairly with the younger girls.

I will admit, only to myself, I was tempted to test this theory. The only problem was I would drag Jane into it with me. Bless her for her loyalty, but I couldn’t bear to have her bare bottom strapped for my idle and wicked curiosity.

Dinner passed without incident and without more mention of Mr. Bingley, who, mother had been telling us, had let Netherfield. My father’s baleful eye might have had something to do with the subject not being raised.

After we were sent upstairs to our beds, Jane and I took our hairbrushes to visit Kitty and Lydia’s bedroom. Mary saw us enter and excused herself to the privy. She would wisely wait until the howling was over before returning. I gave her a small smile of gratitude which she returned.

Both young girls tried valiantly to promise they would no longer be a problem or try to top from the bottom anymore. We did not choose to believe them.

I took Lydia as Jane took Kitty in hand.

Over our laps and up with their short shifts, we began to lay the back of our hairbrushes with no lack of gusto to their naughty bottoms. At one point, Jane and I shared a knowing look as we could both feel the slow burning heat between our thighs. A submissive in charge of her dominant’s household was expected to keep the female staff in line, which meant maintenance evenings every Sunday night. We both looked forward to when that would happen.

Father would never come to check and Mother was not foolish enough to try to intervene, though they could hear well the caterwauling of the two girls as their sobs became one long one. We each sent our blistered-bottomed charges to different corners where we scolded them for fifteen minutes as they whimpered their promises and assurances to have learned their lessons. It only took a few swats from Jane and me to be content that our job was done.

The girls went to lie on their stomachs for the night and wished us a very sweet “goodnight, Sister.” We smiled, knowing it wasn’t over yet, but we had bought ourselves a little peace. This was our fervent hope.

As we retired to the shared room, we were putting our hairbrushes away when Jane spoke up. “Lots?” she asked me with a wicked grin.

I gaped at her. “Jane, you know I hate it when you lose. I don’t like to hurt you.” I told her for the hundredth time.

She cocked her golden-haired head at me. “Liar.” She accused.

“Fine,” I told her, and we drew lots. The loser would be paddled by the winner before bed and would have to go without any tension relief all night.

Damned if Jane didn’t win.

Kitty and Lydia were not the only ones to sleep on their stomachs that night with wet eyes. Jane might look so very sweet but she swung a nasty hairbrush! I can promise the truth of that!

…to be continued…