Word count = 501 ; I wrote this for the First/Last
category but, like a lot of my writing, it will fit 
into several categories.  

Copyright 2004 by asparkle2 at yahoo dot com.  All rights 
reserved (except for SSC stuff).

Frankly
=====by sparkle=====

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn whether you 
want to marry him."

"Papa!"

"He's titled.  He's wealthy.  And he's offered for 
you.  Not a combination likely to be repeated this 
century."

As it was 1804, the insult was ninety-six times 
unmistakable.  

"The wedding will be in five days.  He has already 
secured a special license."

"I will not!" Nellie vowed.  "Even you can't force 
me to promise in front of a church "

He was relentless.  "The wedding will be here, with 
the vicar, your mother and I, the marquis and his 
brothers.  As God as my witness, you will not make 
a fuss, or I'll bend you over the *vicar's* knee 
and pull up your dress and switch you until you 
recite your vows."

Nellie choked back a sob.  Of course he would.  He 
owned the entire county, including the vicar, and 
probably hoped secretly she would object, to give 
him reason.  The marquis was no better.  During 
their last waltz, he had actually taunted her.  "I 
do hope," he drawled, "That you will decide to 
fight me.  I have not yet determined whether you 
will require only a bridle and reins or if the 
application of a riding crop will be necessary.  
But it is more fun to break a spirited filly than a 
docile one."

Nellie had been furious enough to trounce on his 
toe but that had only amused the brute.  

"I will punish you for that, Nellie," he 
deliberately used her childhood name.  "You may be 
assured of a switch for your impertinence, and I 
will issue recompense on our honeymoon."

The memory made Nellie shudder.  "Please, Papa," 
she tried begging.

"Don't be foolish, Nellie," he ground out.  "You 
know very well that you need a man like him."

"How can you say that?" she cried out, frustrated.

Her father smiled.  Nellie stopped abruptly and 
straightened.  "No," she whispered, but the denial 
had no heat.  

"You asked," he said baldly.  "And now you remember 
the last time you disobeyed me.  Five days ago.  
When I had you across the desk and I pulled up your 
skirts and switched your thighs.  Afterward, I 
forced you to part your legs, didn't I?"

Nellie wouldn't  couldn't  forget that 
humiliation.  He had seen her wet, forbidden places 
and had taken the switch to them as well.  

Her face was pale and she remained silent.  

"You were wet, a sure sign of a licentious wanton.  
You need a husband to keep you on the straight and 
narrow.  The marquis will be an excellent master 
for your wanton body and he needs children  sons."  
Her father smiled, cruelly, Nellie thought.  
"Wantonness has but one redeeming trait  affection 
for the reproductive act."

Nellie's shoulders drooped. It was true, she 
thought wildly.  She was wanton, for she often 
touched herself there after her father whipped her.  
She must require a husband who enforced his rules 
with a heavy hand.

Helplessly, hopelessly, her eyes dropped to the 
floor.  "Yes, sir," she whispered.

sparkle