So he just glanced at them as he glanced at Laura, knowing he had control over her was enough. Especially as she looked so adorable with the nappy tied in place.
On the carriage he had enjoyed seeing her discomfort, even as he had slept through part of it but he had awoken long before she realised he was alert and watching her. Whenever she looked his way he kept his eyes tightly closed but the swaying of the lantern had worked in his favour, giving him man chances to glance across at her and watch her fight with herself. She was so wilful, unwilling to let go and yet until she did he knew she was still the old Laura, the daughter they struggled with, the brat. Wetting the nappy would be the first step on a journey to becoming a decent human being, to becoming a little.
He watched through half closed eyes as she squirmed and moved on her seat, her hands clamped between her legs, her knees squeezing together. As her feet jiggled he again felt the power he had over her growing, waking him up. It had been so long since he’d done this. The other littles were so good, they had long passed the babygirl stage. None of them were even in nappies anymore but when they had been, they had wet themselves readily and without shame, knowing it was for their own good.
Not her though, not yet at least. She was fighting herself, fighting against letting go of the brat and becoming the little she needed to be in order to grow as a person, to learn the joy of letting someone else take charge.
When she began to lose control at last, he realised he had felt her tension, his muscles straining as he managed to keep still but only just. He wanted to shout out, “Let go,” but he kept silent, knowing she had to take this first step on her own, she had to do it willingly. Everything else would follow from this. She muttered under her breath as a hissing sound filled the air of the carriage and at that moment she visibly relaxed. Even as shame filled her features, he could see her body relaxing and he did too. He had not wanted to admit it but he had feared she might be able to maintain control for the entire journey. It would have made everything else much harder.
Taking her into the house with her nappy wet and her humiliation complete would make her far easier to train, to mould into a little. He had theatrically awoken and stepped down from the carriage, ignoring her shame whilst smiling inwardly. She was ready and so was he. Let her education commence.
Chapter 7
Laura looked up at the building before her, glad she was standing on grass and not gravel. It was an impressive house. Tall windows lined up either side of an imposing dark wood front door. There were three storeys in white stone, with statues either corner of the red tiled roof. Ivy crept tentatively upwards from the ground as if afraid of Westall, knowing he might beat their leaves as he had beaten her. The brute.
The carriage rolled away towards the nearby stable block as Westall took her hand and pulled her up the steps and through the door.
Inside a middle aged buxom woman was dusting a marble statue. She turned to face them as they entered. “Mr Westall, you’re back already.”
“We rode all night Mrs Flanders,” he replied. “She had an accident though. Would you mind changing her whilst I go and see if breakfast is ready?”
“Of course Mr Westall.”
Laura blushed deeply. How did he know she had wet herself. “Wait a moment,” she said but she might as well have been talking to herself.
Edward turned to Laura and leaned closer to her, talking in a whisper. “You will obey her as you would me or you will suffer the consequences. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she gulped, unable to meet his eyes.
Mrs Flanders took her from Westall’s grasp and gripped her hand even more tightly, bustling her along a thickly carpeted hallway and up a flight of stairs. “This way child,” she said, pulling her through a doorway into a small room. “We’ll soon have you cleaned up.”
Laura found herself looking at a rectangular wooden table with straps and bonds at each corner. “Up you get,” Mrs Flanders said.
“Must I?”
Mrs Flanders scowled at her. “It was not a request.”
Reluctantly, Laura climbed onto the table. Almost at once, Mrs Flanders shoved her down onto her back, binding her wrists in the straps by her head. Laura looked up in time to see the woman picking up a square of cloth from a pile on the cabinet next to the table.
“Let me up off here!” Laura snapped, tugging at the bonds holding her wrists in place.
“Can’t have you in that one all day,” Mrs Flanders replied. “You’ll get a rash.” She untied the knots holding the nappy in place. “My, that is heavy. We’ll get a fresh one on you and then you can have some breakfast. You must be pretty hungry by now. Lift your hips up for me, that’s a good little girl.”