A Discussion of Theology (SnowGlassRoses)

[As Day Fades]

(This is a roleplay based in the The Three Musketeers world, and is likely to incorporate a number of extreme fetishes.)


It was late in the day, late enough for the sun to hide behind the clouds on its decent to the earth, late enough to dot France's sky with oranges and yellows, with hues the most gifted of painters dreamed of plucking from the air. It was becoming late, yet at the same time still early, early for Aramis to arrive home by nearly an hour's time. Supper would not yet be ready and he could not scold his daughter for that as she would not know, she would not expect him for awhile still. And it was that surprise which he hoped for, for the light in the eyes of his lovely young fifteen year old to shine brilliantly at simply his sight. Such was an arrogant hope in a way, perhaps, thoughts of a man conceited - or perhaps a man spoiled, spoiled by a doting girl who was often pleased by the simple things.

Aramis' chestnut mare slowed to a trot as he rounded the final trees on that long dirt road that led to one shorter, a minute away at this speed from the front steps of his secluded cottage in the countryside. He had lived in the city long ago in his youth and until he was a man of thirty, but there was only so much action a man could desire to see, only so much hustle. There was something to be said of a calm, peaceful life, a life of prayer and devotion. Perhaps this was where Porthos might chime in with words of his own, a disagreement, perhaps even some clever tavern limerick comparing the women of the city to those of the country. His friend could have them, have the lot, Porthos always one to see quantity before quality. And there was a secret that perhaps his friend spent too much of his time in Paris to ever find out - that though the ladies of the countryside did tend to be more innocent than their city counterparts, that did not mean they wished to stay that way.

As his horse brought him in close, yards away now, Aramis dismounted with a small billow of dust as his boots hit the ground. He patted the mare in a silent thank on her strong neck and took the reins, casting a quick glance to the house as he led her over to the barn. He wondered to himself what Yvette usually did an hour before he would return home. Was she still tending to her chores in the stable? The barn perhaps? Maybe a walk in the field? It was a lovely afternoon, after all. Or would she already be bathed and changing back into her ladylike make-up and clothes while supper simmered on the stove? He would find out soon enough he supposed, bearing a quiet smile as he led his horse into the barn. He took his time in unsaddling the old girl, in setting the blanket aside and in filling a hearty helping inside her bag of oats.

"I am home, my dear," he spoke out in a lofty tone, letting his voice carry when he stepped foot inside the large cottage to see she was not in immediate sight. Heavy leather boots made similarly weighted sounds against the wood floor as he took a few more steps inside, shrugging off the long brown leather coat he wore to and from when he left for the day. It was Autumn now, the days able to turn chill without warning, and as such to leave without your coat even on warm days could easily bring regret later. "Yvette?" he called out again. "Where are you?" he questioned while setting his coat upon an oak stand just inside the door. Taking a moment to sniff the air he noticed... nothing. Which meant supper wasn't started; his little girl was quite a fan of various spices, they usually filling the house when he arrived home. Still bathing then, likely, or dressing. "Yvette? Are you decent?"

No response. Aramis took a few steps to the wide oaken staircase, one, two, stepping upon the third with a hand on the rail as he called again, "Yvette?"

Nothing.

Hm.

He turned to head to the bath, stepping back down the stairs, passing by the door and down the hallw-

And then Aramis stopped. He paused midstep and leaned back, a knee still in the air, something catching his eye. He took a step back, then a second, coming to stand up straight. He looked to the door. More specifically, he looked to the coat rack, to where he'd placed his not a moment before. It was there. Yvette's, however, was not.

He didn't say anything. He just stared at the rack and breathed, breathed in and out through his nose.

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

Though often young maidens claimed, while blushing and biting their lips ever so enticingly, that Spring was their favorite season, Yvette would claim most confidently that Autumn was her most cherished time of year. Chilly days encouraged evenings spent by the fireside, curled up in close proximity whilst reading or simply conversing…Autumn harvests were always quite bountiful, and produced an assortment of ingredients to further tantalize the taste buds during meals..And though the falling leaves presented yet another chore to tend to, their changes in hue to radiant golds and reds, were enough to remind Yvette of the presence of the King…

Not of Louis, but of God.

God, from whom all blessing flow…Whom she had been raised to give thanks to everyday of her life, for every morning sun and evening star, for every breath and for every kiss. Kisses, Yvette was especially fond of…Particularly, kisses from her Papa, as they had been given most frequently, and received most eagerly throughout a grand majority of her life. From a young age, she had been aware that the man she called Papa and the men she referred to as Uncles, were not truly related to her by blood. Through kindness and devotion, she had been taken in, and raised as the picturesque daughter of the former Musketeer, Aramis. A man whom she was insatiably attached too, so innocently besotted by; and though love had never known a bond such as the one formed between Yvette and her Papa, a daughter raised by a strict father will always find some way to rebel..

The blossoming teen did not break rules often…Bending them, she would say, was a far more appropriate term. In fact, the desire to bring a smile to her Papa’s face often clouded out choices that would lead to more serious offenses...But occasionally, such as that particular afternoon, his rules simply did not work well with her plans. She had forgotten that morning to check the spice rack before Mass, to see if she would need anything from the market while they were in town. After arriving home, she had changed from her formal dressings into a pair of Raoul’s old jodpurs, a white loose shirt and a pair of riding boots so she could more comfortably complete her chores around the house. By the time she returned to the kitchen to start preparing supper, it was an hour and one half before Papa would arrive home…Two before her Uncles and cousin would arrive..Far too late to find an escort into town to fetch spices. Papa never permitted her to go into town alone. There were far too many men of questionable intentions there. Men without a strong moral compass, men without God…men who were not her Papa.

Yet, she needed those spices…It would take close to half hour on foot to walk to town. With haste, Yvette cleaned herself up, knowing better than to go into town dressed so poorly. She choose a gown of earthen greens, so that the dust from the roads would not show up too noticeably upon her skirts. The gown was fitted tightly around her lithe frame, her young breasts nearly spilling from the top line of the bodice…Her golden cross, a most cherished gift, lay just above the swell of her breasts, so that wandering eyes would know her purity before attempting to advance. With a black hair ribbon held between her teeth, her deep golden tresses pinned loosely up in curls as she quickly dashed down the stairs from her bedroom, Yvette snatched up the auburn cloak from the rack, slipping it loosely over her shoulders before rushing from the door and down the dirt road towards town..

Time was spent wisely, well, as wisely as expected for a young lady shopping in town. With the spices, she also purchased a harvest bouquet for the table centerpiece. An arrangement of orange mums, stalks of harvest wheat and lovely white lilies, that smelled of fresh country air and would certainly brighten up the dining room. As she walked home, she found herself humming and strolling, distracted by the beauty of the French countryside, when truly she should have been sprinting back to the cottage in order to beat her Papa home. So lofty was the mind of a young maiden at times, so easily pleased by such simple pleasures. As she approached the cottage, her humming had formed into singing in such a fair and whimsical tone that had earned her pet name of Little Robin at home, and sweet seraphim in the church choir,

“The falling leaves drift by my window
The falling leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sunburned hands I used to hold,”
Producing a key from the pouch at her side, Yvette opened the back door of the cottage to enter into the kitchen, having not passed the stable, she did not notice her Papa’s mare comfortably resting in it’s stall, or she would have silenced her song as she laid out the spices upon the counter top.

“Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall,”

With the spices laid out, the potatoes and vegetables piled to clean, and the chicken now resting in a pot of water to moisten, Yvette took up her pretty bouquet and walked into the dining room. She laid out the crimson red table cloth, setting the arrangement in the center between two candelabras. The Sunday china she had already set atop of the wine cabinet near the window, the evening’s wine set in a bucket of ice to chill. Passing through the kitchen once again, the lovely young girl began unlacing her cloak, walking to the main hall of the cottage,

“Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall..
When autumn leaves start to-----”

Her eyes had been half closed as she continued her song, not truly paying mind to her surroundings as she could quite skillfully navigate her way around the cottage in the dark in order to fetch a cup of water in the middle of the night..But as she opened her eyes, in the midst of the final lyric of the song, her hand raised to hang her cloak upon it’s hook…She stopped, her pale petal lips agape, her hazel eyes wide as she stare at the leather coat that….that was not supposed to be there…!

 

[As Day Fades]

Periodic, youthful disobedience aside, Yvette was a good girl. She was perhaps the best daughter a man could ask, devoted to her family and to her savior, embracing life around her, listening fervently to any teachings he had to share. Aramis made sure to tell her this often, that she was the most wonderful gift he had ever received. She was adopted, but adopted in fact alone, feeling to his heart as if she were his in all other aspects that a person might. Another thing Yvette had proven good at was keeping her chores done regularly, a truth which would come to haunt her now as the freshly cleaned windows allowed her father to see her strolling the dirt road toward their home, very obviously coming from somewhere. Further inspection as she came closer to the cottage, robin's voice heralding her arrival, allowed Aramis to see somewhat the items she held as she rounded the side of the house for the kitchen entrance.

The retired musketeer took slow breaths to himself as his fifteen year old daughter disappeared around the bend of the house. She'd be stepping inside in a moment. How should he handle this? Not a minute ago he was brimming with excitement, eager to surprise her. Then worry. Then relief, mixed with disappointment. She was a good girl. Yvette was a wonderful girl, just too headstrong at times. If she was guilty she would acknowledge it to her father like a scolded dog and accept her punishment, usually without too much of an issue. Usually.

He turned to remove himself from the hallway. Not only headstrong, Yvette was clever too, and observant. She would catch sight of his coat. Aramis walked calmly to the adjoining room to take seat in his large, comfortable high backed dark mahogany chair, a gift from his beloved friend Athos when the man turned to a number of crafts following his retirement. Most of the room matched in palette, mahogany walls, mahogany floors, the ceiling a rich blue to match an elaborately decorated rug covering a majority of the floor. Several chairs and a couch rounded the room out as a mixture of a lounge for guests and Aramis' den, his original den given up years ago when Yvette was taken in and in need of a bedroom. Aramis took his preferred seat, the chair designed wide and strong, armless, a delicate design carved along its spindles. He stared forward at the fireplace as he heard Yvette enter through the kitchen door, a fireplace that would not be used for a few hours still when light was rare and loved ones were near. For now he simply stared as the ashes of yesterday's logs as he listened and thought.

Perhaps she had gone somewhere local, one of a number of places she was allowed to on her own. Such was possible. Perhaps she had gone into the city and did indeed secure an escort, a neighbor or a friend on the way, and upon leaving the city and back to the country Yvette and her companion parted ways. This was also possible. She had a recurring habit of wandering places she oughtn't on her own, however, which often led her father to worry the worst. She was an honest girl, though. Sure lip aside. Curious spirit aside. Yvette was always honest with him, and upon seeing his coat she would know to look for him. And upon seeing him sitting in this chair she would know, know well by now that her father would hold her accountable for her actions, and hopefully she would know well enough to lower parts of her dress while raising others. She was a smart girl. Hopefully she would know to lay across her father's lap with her young, pale backside bared, accepting the punishment without needing to be told. Not that it would save her from an extra strike, but there was a degree of respect in it, in acknowledging her father's wishes, even if only as an afterthought.

She would be allowed certain things. She would be allowed to whimper and even cry, as such was expected when having one's bottom thoroughly smacked. She would also be expected to grip her rosary around her fingers during the punishment whilst openly praying for forgiveness. She would not, however, be allowed to argue and take lip with her father, and if she resisted she knew full well Aramis would simply come to her. Catch her hair as she ran away, down the hallway. Pin her to the dirt floor of the barn if she got that far. Raising such a strong girl was hard sometimes, as accepting one's punishment was not always desired. It would be up to her how things played out, as the initial disobedience had been a choice of hers as well. There was always the possibility, of course, that Aramis was mistaken and she was innocent of any wrongdoings, but the priest would have to wait to see how she acted and what she said before he could know. Until then he would sit there, sit in his chair and assume, waiting patiently for the guilty party to come clean.

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

A soft slumping sound of fabric falling to the wooden floor, as amidst the mild panic swelling beneath her bosom upon seeing her father’s coat, Yvette’s slender fingers loosened it’s grip upon her cloak and sent it dropping to the floor at her feet. Her lips quivered slightly, drawing those soft petals inward in contemplation, as her hand still hung in the air, reaching out to that hook with nothing but air trapped between her fingers…He was home...For how long? Yvette’s sweet heart was fluttering rapidly, fueled by guilt that urged her to confess...The crucifixes stared down at her imposingly with such lank accusing eyes. So easily swayed, was a girl so close to her father, when thoughts of disappointing him crossed her mind..

Well, perhaps he had just arrived home…Perhaps he had not noticed that she was gone! Her frantic heart calmed slightly at the thought. If he did not ask, she need not tell. Not telling was not the same as lying after all…Yvette could never tell a lie to her Papa. Despite her intellect that matched his own, and her compelling charisma, she could never permit a lie to pass her lips in the presence of her Papa…

Leaning down, she gathered her cloak up quickly in her arms. Before hanging it in it’s proper place, she swiped at the dirt lacing the skirts of her lovely gown. Yvette turned to face the hall mirror, placing several pins from her hair down upon the table between a vase of lilies and a sculpture of the Virgin Mother. She placed one between her lips as she ran her fingers through her pretty curls, glancing aside for a moment towards the den..The door was slightly ajar, and Yvette well-near swallowed that hair pin...Knowing that he was in there,…waiting for her. He knew… He always knew. Loosely, she pined up a few curls back into place, tightening her ribbon so that her hair was swept up in a lovely up-do. Several ringlets left down framing her face, knowing her Papa enjoyed twirling her hair between his fingertips…Just like silk, he would always smile to her…The hair of an angel..

An angel who pinched at her cheeks in the mirror, to give herself a more radiant blush, succumbing to vanities in an attempt to sway her way back into grace. Oh how the devil tugged at her heartstrings at times, the same as with all young ladies perhaps, eager to please a lover loved one…Though, essentially those words connoted the same intimacies in most regards, when it came to the priest and his little songbird. Whilst a father’s eyes were meant to be hawk like over his daughter, Yvette was no stranger to her own…observations…when it came to her Papa…With a catty jealousy, she held close to his arm whenever walking in public, doting upon him at all times in a manner more proper for a wife. She tended to him with a devotion more pure and adoring than her service to the church...And when eyes of women who recalled his legends came prowling much too close Yvette, with claws bared, would chase them off in some not so subtle manner…Taking pride in seeing their eyes slightly widen, and their steps retreat whenever she would pass them soon after..Her Papa did not need them…He had her, always…

Even now he had her, guilty conscious and all as she opened the door to the den with an elegant smile playing upon her face. She felt her knees buckling beneath her gown…Overwhelmed by his presence and the emotions he could stir about inside of her without saying a single word. As if butterflies were set loose within her stomach and were tickling her from the inside. Yvette stayed near the door for a moment, her fingers tracing upon the golden lion etched into a box atop of one of the end tables where her confessional rosary was kept. She was always punished in this room, save for the few occurrences where she took flight and was punished promptly and more severely wherever Papa managed to catch her. Usually however, it was here…Over top of the chair which her Uncle Athos had built. One that he always pointed out every week with a grin of confidence as his finest piece…Always, her Papa would chuckle and glance her way…Always, she would blush and focus anywhere else but that chair…

“Hello Papa, you’re home early,” She curtsied respectfully, moving her hands behind her back after releasing her skirts, entwining her fingers together as she approached him. Yvette tried with utmost difficulty to focus upon him, so that her pretty hazel eyes would not wander and give her guilt away..It was Sunday…he could not be too upset with her. Especially with their guests to be arriving in a matter of hours! Supper still needed to be prepared, the table to be set, surely he would dismiss such a silly thing as retrieving spices from town without an escort!

Instead of lifting her skirts…instead of laying her lithe young body over the length of her Papa’s sturdy lap..Instead of making the sign of the cross, and pressing the rosary inside of that box between her palms before starting her prayers of forgiveness…Yvette sat down on her Papa’s knee, leaning up to kiss his cheek, nuzzling at the edges of his facial hair affectionately. Her hands unlaced from behind her back,and instead draped around his neck, her fingers stroking in his hair as she smiled as convincingly as she could..But again, those pretty petals trembled..Yvette could not lie to her Papa, nor keep secrets....

 

[As Day Fades]

He smelled her first before he saw her, that lovely scent only women were capable of, somewhere between flowers and Heaven. That brought a smile to the edges of Aramis' lips and calmed him some, some, finding it ever difficult to be firm with her. Still, he knew he must. He listened to the soft sounds of his daughter entering the room and, he suspected from the sound and the manners she'd been taught, curtseying in respect before she sat at his knee.

That said something there, addressing his suspicions, in that Yvette did not own up to any guilt right away. The kiss to his cheek and nuzzle along his jaw encouraged that slight smile to develop more fully, Aramis leaning in to the affectionate rub, his left hand snaking around his daughter's waist to rest around the small of her back, on her opposite hip. "Excuse me," he broke the silent, warm nuzzle with a question, "but is this how you greet your father, Yvette? On the cheek? Since when?" Such would not do. The musketeer's free hand - retiring from such a role made little difference in a man's spirit - reached to gingerly caress the teen's cheek, in an affectionate manner like she nuzzled his own. He guided Yvette's chin to a tilt as he himself leaned in to kiss, firm, sure lips pressing to the sweet young maiden's.

There was no shyness in how he kissed his daughter. Out in the open perhaps, in front of her uncles or about town, or anyone who knew of their relation, if only because they would not understand. Such affection was not wrong, as love could never be - this had been as much Yvette's own feelings as they had his, she needing little convincing toward such affection with her father. It had been she that began them originally, in truth. Aramis kissed her again, slow, savoring those sweet, supple lips her maker had gifted her with, and gifted he with in turn. His fingers caressed her hip through the several layers of fabric as they kissed, parting lips between every third or fourth for the briefest of nuzzles before finding one another again. The silence in the room continued for another minute, reminding someone that they are loved taking constant precedence over all else.

"I missed you too much, my dear," he began, finally breaking what between them was a proper greeting. He breathed soft, warm breath against her face; just because they were talking did not automatically mean they must be a distance away. "You have been especially good lately, working hard around our home, behaving yourself like a lady should. I notice these things." He couldn't help but smile with that. Aramis' fingers trailed the short distance from her soft cheek to a loose, curly hair, stroking it affectionately; a favorite toy. "I wanted to do something special for you as a reward, for all good girls deserve something nice once in awhile, don't you think? I could not wait to be home with you, to spend a little extra time together before your uncles arrive. As I rode home early I fancied a thought of enjoying a cup, perhaps two of the spiced cider left over from the other evening while my songbird sings to me as she cooks."

More idle playing with her curls. Aramis tucked the one back behind her ear and moved on to another, an affectionate task, and as curls were often wont to do, with her slightest movement it bounced amusingly back to its loose place.

"You had me worried when I first arrived home. I called everywhere and you were not here, nor was your coat. Where did you go, sweetheart? I was about to take to horse again to look when I spotted you returning home. ...Were you all by yourself?"

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

Small, light kisses, she placed warmly upon the curve of his cheek as her fingers gently twirled within his long, thick hair. Her Papa’s hair was the finest of any man, rivaled only by her Uncle D’Artagnan, who spent more time on his dark tresses than he would ever admit aloud…Her Uncle Porthos had locks far too long for him to keep nicely, and poor Uncle Athos was thinning recently, due to stress over Raoul serving at the front with his regiment…Papa’s hair however, was always well kept…It smelled lightly of incense from the Cathedral, of the harvest air…And as her small nose nuzzled tenderly against his face, she breathed in the light musk of his sweat from the day’s ride…No finer cologne could ever be conjured. Yvette could never understand the other young maiden’s in town, complaining of their attractions smelling of sweat after a day’s work. The scent of her Papa exuberated strength…It was absolutely intoxicating…

Thick black lashes fluttered lightly, as his words and his touches lulled her out of her slight haze. A soft shade of natural blush, far more radiant than the hue brought on by small pinches, came to her face as he questioned her greeting. “Oh Papa, of course not…” She smiled, brightly, giggling happily to the point she nearly was bouncing upon his knee in anticipation of his kisses. “I was simply…” She pursed her lips playfully, making a dramatic expression of thought with a quirked brow and devious glimmer in her eyes, before resting her forehead against his, “Commencing the start of our new Autumn greeting…” She happily declared, in a tone only laced with the innocence of a daughter, but secured within a purr far more enticing. As she moved her small figure closer to her Papa’s body, she submitted to his palm pressing against her waist, guiding her closer whilst his other hand lingered against her chin.

She gazed, captivated by the light in his eyes, before relinquishing her lips quite willingly to his kisses. In the mornings, whomever woke first would come to the bed of the other, waking them most pleasantly with kisses of a similar manner. To awaken with love inspired the Holy Spirit, and soothed the heart most tenderly. At night, the candles could not be extinguished before several peaceful, loving kisses were exchanged, despite the events of the day. One could never sleep with a heavy heart, and kissing provided a most excellent remedy against any lingering ache...Though, Yvette in all honesty could not recall a day spent with ill feeling towards her Papa. In fact, she could not recall a time she ever considered herself mad. Upset, of course, for she was a blossoming youth with a vigorous curiosity coursing through her veins, and at times she became swept up within a wave of emotion; but even so, feelings of anything but passion and admiration towards her Papa, were only but small thorns which occasionally wedged into her heart; easily removed by the softness of her Papa’s lips, and at times, the sharpness of his open palm…

Their foreheads were pressed lightly against one another’s throughout their greeting. Yvette’s hands wandering down the curve of his neck, to rest upon his shoulders, gripping them fondly, bringing herself closer to a more intimate proximity…As he spoke however, her fingers seemed to loosen their hold. Her eyes, once closed to further enjoy the bliss of their embrace, now opened and cast shyly aside towards the carpet..Such kind, affectionate praise, pierced like needles against her heart. Withdrawing herself somewhat away from his toying with her curls, an act which typically she would desire to go on for hours..All young maiden’s adored having their hair played with after all, and Yvette would often lay her head upon her Papa’s lap while he combed through hers…At that moment however, those needle prickings of his blessings poured out all the guilt trapped within her heart. With a slight pout upon her lips now, the life in her eyes dimming somewhat, she bowed her head against his shoulder, pressing her face shyly to hide against the curve of his neck.

“Yes Papa…” Her confession began so easily...In the face of others, Yvette could stubbornly stand her ground in any conversation or argument and come out the victor. She had asked questions that silenced philosophers, tongue tied the greatest of linguists, and baffled many scholars at court with a wit and intellect not typically attributed to a young lady of such beauty. With great refinement, Yvette was able to use words to her advantage…But before her Papa, she regressed. Her voice softened, her mannerisms became slightly timid. Her words failed her now, and not even her truth of, “But the spice rack was near empty…I could not prepare a proper Sunday supper without my spices,” could hold it’s weight against her Papa’s justice. When rules were bent, it was never done with intention to misbehave. They were often encouraged by curiosity, or in the pursuit of a good deed, such as retrieving spices for a better supper, but regardless...A rule was a rule. One occasion she could recall, she had been foolishly lippy with her Papa in response to one of said rules… he had quickly smited that act of rebellion with use of his belt instead of his hand…

Tears were already threatening to arise, clouding her vision slightly before he had even said a word. Such was his power over his little girl, his influence, his importance…“By the time I thought you would arrive home Papa, the markets would have been closed!” In desperation, Yvette began kissing her Papa’s neck, her arms moving to drape around his shoulders as she cuddled her body against his. Lips seeking out that soft spot which caused his body to tremble whenever her lips caressed it...Perhaps it would help to restrain his mood, or else she would have to find a way to use onions in that night’s dish to mask any lingering tears, should her uncles choose to arrive earlier than expected…

 

[As Day Fades]

And tremble Aramis' body did, his daughter very much aware of the exact spot on his neck that brought him to shivers. She was such a delight, such a treat, such an angel. His eyes lulled closed for a moment as his mind searched for a way, any possible way to alter the coming events of the night, if he could somehow apologize to his friends and cancel their dinner, if he could have Yvette stoke a fire and the two of them cuddle until its final ember. It had been too long since they shared that intimacy, she kissing along his neck, his face, his lips for hours, his hands caressing her young body, though avoiding a few specific places a daughter ought not be touched. The last time was... four months ago now? Five? Perhaps he would offer it to her again tonight. Perhaps. A quiet cuddling by the fire until dawn, sleeping until near noon. A rare treat with them, rare with intent to keep it special. Though the offer would only come if supper was good and if she acted the part of a lady throughout their guests' visit.

He could not cancel on his friends though, Aramis knew. It was too late, and highly improper. They would be here within hours, that much was certain. And because of that Yvette's punishment would have to be upheld. That and the truth that if he allowed her to get away with it now then his rules would mean nothing, and next time she would put on the same pouting face, nibble as the same sensitive spot, and once again hope for his mercy. Mercy came from God, not from her Papa. The priest's soft face grew stern, forced strong, forced out of the lovely haze his daughter's kisses tried so hard to lull him into. His fingers on Yvette's waist gave her hip a firm squeeze to get her attention before speaking, "Up... Up, my dear." The fingers drifted down from her waist to her bottom, slipping between she and his knee to help urge her off, much as he didn't truly desire to.

"I am sorry, my darling, but you know how this must go. I do not enjoy punishing you, and I truly wish you would stop making me." Aramis' eyes were closed as he spoke. Truly the show on his face was that this hurt him too, even the words he had to speak, striking at his heart much as he would his little girl's bottom. "If the spice rack were low then you should have noticed it earlier, as the kitchen is your place. And if you had decided not to go unaccompanied and waited for me, and, like you said, the carts would be closed for the day then, then if the food were to suffer you would be faulted with it as well. In either case you have a responsibility to keep things around our home. I do not skimp when you request money for supplies, and if it's a matter of too much for you to keep track of then we can speak once more of bringing in a maid. But as it is, right now, it is important you acknowledge your failure. ...Please, do not detest me for what I must do."

He urged her off a bit more firmly now. "Ever the light of my life, I came home early wishing only good, please believe me. But, enough. You have yet to begin preparing in the kitchen and I will not shorten your punishment to accommodate. If our guests must be apologized to due to a late meal it will come from your lips, and you will not spare telling them why. Go now. Up." He took in another slow, deep breath, eyes still closed. "Fetch your rosary, Yvette. Expose your lower half and take your position over this chair which you are so used to by now. Do not linger." Else leather would have to take the place of her father's palm.

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

Oh how blissful were the nights spent curled within one another’s embrace…Hours passing in front of the fireplace, as their fingertips explored –nearly- every curve and crevasse of God’s masterful craftsmanship…Their lips caressing…Their noses nuzzling...With only the sound of the fire crackling, soft breaths and gentle laughs of delight to break the ever so comforting silence…To gaze with such affection into one another’s eyes, was a connection that very few would ever have…

While Aramis had waited for years Yvette had been blessed, perhaps spoiled, with love for the majority of her life…Not that love meant any less to the beautiful little angel of course! In fact, love had shaped her into the doting, devout songbird that her Papa cherished so dearly… Love serenaded her soul at all hours, in all circumstances. Much like her Uncle Porthos,in his better moods, she held such a vivacious lust for life…But as the lesson was in Eden, no man nor daughter could amount to complete perfection…Even those so painstakingly close, fell from grace at times..

And when they fell…they fell swiftly...Cascading down into turmoil with such tragic elegance, like the Morning Star from Heaven’s glory…Becoming far more distraught, the further from that warmth of their paradise they fell…Such was apparent, in the glimmering tears in Yvette’s eyes as she felt her Papa’s hand curve beneath her, urging her from the comfort of his lap and the tenderness of his embrace...Her lips quivered slightly as she stubbornly kept her hands upon his chest, her fingers curling slightly as if ready to cling to him with all of her lithe might should he try to separate her from him…

Her head however bowed as began speaking, her hands reluctantly dropping to her lap..Pressing childishly between her knees as she allowed the softest of whimpers to escape her…In the midst of this lecture, she could still feel the warmth of heaven’s sun upon her face…She could hear in the back of her mind, the commandments of Honor thy father, and the sermons addressing obedience..She should be a good girl..Papa was right, it was her responsibility to mind the house and---

What?

Hazel eyes now turned up, as if he had struck her right across the face…Her eyes hardened..Her mouth slightly agape in disbelief at what he had just proposed...A maid? Had her Papa plunged a dagger into the maiden’s heart, her pain would have been much less…Such a wound from such an affront, Yvette felt as if she had been turned out in the midst of a storm and told never to return…Of course, this was the dramatic jump of which young maidens often leapt to in their already emotional mindsets; maidens especially striving to such perfection as Yvette…Of course Papa would never do such a thing! But for sweet Yvette, even his slightest disappointment hurled her into such a state of distress…A mindset of extremities that fed like leaches off of her fear of losing his love…The mention of bringing in a maid had fattened said leaches certainly, and as Yvette rose silently to her feet, walking quietly towards her rosary box...Images of some scantily clad harlot with tits larger than her head, teasing and tempting her Papa to the point of him ignoring her entirely, plagued the young teens heart to the point she felt near faint!

Her hands trembled as she picked up the soft pinkened pearls which made up the beads of her silver chained rosary…Her heart frantically fluttering as she turned to look towards her Papa’s, whose eyes still remained closed…Further separating her from his heart…

“A Maid.…” Her voice ached, a soft climmering of pearls rubbing together as she twisted her rosary around her nimble fingers..Her eyes casting in all different directions as she walked, trying to settle upon anything that would not spear her with such despair as viewing her Papa sitting so sternly and coldly before her.. “Papa there is no need for a maid! I don’t want a maid..I don’t need a maid! I am perfectly capable of..of taking care of the house! Of you!” She paused, close enough to him that the skirts of her gown caressed his knee. Sweet sensitive Yvette, her heart throbbing in her throat as she stood, with her rosary wrapped tourniquetly tight about her wrists, trembling like an exiled angel crawling back towards God’s throne...

“There was much more to do this morning before Mass than I had anticipated…I..I lost track of time and rushed out without checking the kitchen and..and..”Her nails pressed harshly within her own palms, trapping the beads of her rosary, pressing the smooth side of the cross against her wrists as she fidgeted. Apprehension had drastically shifted from a punishment she would have submitted to out of soft guilt, towards some sort of malicious plan of replacement that was clearly the concoction of a spiraling emotional uproar within Yvette’s precious heart. “Papa it was just once…Just once! There’s no reason to allow some…some scarlet stranger into our house! You are not hers to take care of!”

 

[As Day Fades]

There was much more to do before Mass this morning than she had anticipated. And she had lost track of time. And she'd had to rush. And if he let her, if he allowed her sweet voice and quick wit to do so, Yvette would talk him out of things, talk him into things, and have him completely forgetting the point before a moment's time. Aramis' eyes remained closed still, breath entering through his nose, filling his lungs to be let out in a slow, heavy sigh. Did she know what she put him through, every time she fought it? Was she aware of the pains striking your child caused a father, how it hurt to hit one you cared for so? Or was she only thinking of herself at this moment, of evading a punishment that, in time, would make her a better person for it?

Every blow he'd deal her would be like two to himself, both straight to his heart. One day, he hoped, she may come to understand why he must now endure it.

"Enough," the priest stated plainly. Aramis' voice was not raised, but rather it was powerful, powerful as it ever was. A man of learning. A man of God. And, when necessary, a man of the blade, they like a trinity that never demanded, but rather earned respect wherever he may go; his home no less than any. "Your father cares for you deeply, Yvette. I will not ask you to calm, not with what is to come, but I will ask you to listen, for right now you waste both time and patience. ...I take no pleasure in this. In truth I take great pain, my hope for arriving home early this evening to embrace you in warmth, not to have to strike my child because she failed to sneak around behind my back." A pause. "Are you sorry?" Another, brief but meaningful. "Ask yourself why. Is it because you failed in your duty or because you were caught?"

Enough stalling. Taking another deep, slow breath, a breath of courage, Aramis reached for his young daughter's hand to guide her right up against his side. She would know what was coming. She would know it well, this, he thought in disappointing reflection, an act between them too often as of late. And she would know that at this point any further argument would only make it worse. Aramis' second hand slid to his daughter's hip, to her waist, sliding around to the small of her back which he had caressed so tenderly so that morning upon waking her. Now his hand pressed to it for a different reason entirely, bare palm against her finely woven dinner dress, perhaps not as fancy an outfit as a lady of the King's court but far extravagant by a country girl's standards, urging her to lean forward, at which point she should know to take her position stretched upon his waiting lap.

"I have no interest in bringing in additional help, monetarily or out of necessity. You made a very significant stink about the ladies who used to be here several years ago, and you swore to me, swore rather fervently if I remember, that you were a big girl now and could handle it all on your own. How would you ever learn to be a good wife one day, Papa, you asked, if I did not let you try?" He did not shift when she strewn out across him. He simply sat still, back straight and against the chair, though once his daughter was in place his hands shifted, his right now at the top of her back where her shoulder blades came together, open palm resting against the soft cotton of her dress, his other reaching for the hem of her skirts. "And you have done wonderfully so, Yvette. You have proven very capable, and I have enjoyed using the money saved to splurge on you as most fathers only wish they could. Yet I would be letting you down as a father if all I did was spoil you, if I never used a firm hand to remind you of the way of things."

The skirts came up, one at a time, pulled over the curve of her bottom to come to rest in a bunched up pile at the small of Yvette's back. "You have your rosary, my love," he stated, hand taking hold of her soft cotton undergarment when that was all which was left, guiding it down over the curvature of her fifteen year old backside. Firm and lovely. Bare and vulnerable. "Use it to make peace." The first strike came quick, without hesitance, for give himself a moment to reconsider and he very well might. "Peace with me." A second raise of his arm, a second falling blow, open palm stinging across the same left cheek as the first. "Peace with yourself." Followed by the third, swift and unforgiving, Aramis' whole body tense. "Peace with God."

Perhaps she would never know the pain which winced upon his face with every blow. Perhaps such was for the best.

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

“Enough,”

Her Papa’s voice was soft, yet thunderous, like a great storm in Yvette’s aching heart…His words sincerely pained by the events which would soon take place; a grief his young daughter always seemed to forget in the midst of her childish panic. As he spoke, she bowed her head. She did not answer his questions, as they were not meant for a vocal response…They were for her to reflect inwardly upon…Rhetorical questions which would provide the choir of her punishment. Yvette’s eyes focused upon the beautiful rosary trapped between her palms…The outline of the cross now pressing against her soft skin…A symbol of forgiveness...

Papa always forgave her...

As he reached for her hand, she did not hesitate to take his...A quiet gesture of submission, of which she gently, needily, squeezed for reassurance. She could not speak...Her words lumped shamefully within her throat as she gazed upon him, looking so drained of that vigorous light that always seemed to surround him...Indeed, this act had taken place quite often as of late…Much more than when she was a young child. It was taking a toll on her Papa...

Arguably, her curiosity had grown..Her intrigue of broadening her knowledge treading far too close to the line of mischief than was proper for a young maiden….No doubt however, the surging hormones swirling about within her heart, beneath those supple, blossoming breasts,…had more than just a little to do with her somewhat more…daring, nature, as of late..Swallowing lightly, a trembling exhale escaped her lips as she felt his hand sliding up from her hip, towards the small of her back. The lightest touch that earlier just that day had been so comforting, now proved far less innocent in its intentions…

Yvette’s gown was by no means elaborate, though quite flattering upon her slender figure. The design itself was rather simple, though nevertheless an envious piece for many of the young maiden’s in the countryside. The closest they would ever get to the gown of a Princess, perhaps…On Sundays, Yvette quite enjoyed fancying up for her Papa and her Uncles…To hear their praise was not feeding so much to vanity, as it was to a much more naïve desire of a young girl wanting to be pretty. On occasions though, Uncle Porthos would be far too explicit in his compliments, and Papa had quite the growl to his voice when chastising him…

The bodice of the gown was lined with a simple trimming of golden threaded lace, hugging tightly to her breasts so that they were pressed together and upwards, resulting in a most alluring cleavage..The brocade was of a silken texture, dyed a deep hunter green which seemed to shift to a deep golden color depending upon the light. The stomacher had a lovely pattern of ivy vines and fleur-de-lis’ cascading across.. The sleeves ended on the curve of her elbow, lined with a gathering of lace which extended only a few inches further down her arm. Had she chosen to wear a farthingale beneath her gown, than her skirts would have no doubt flung up above her head the moment she laid across her Papa’s lap! However, having a severe distaste for such torturous inventions of false fashion, Yvette had worn only her petticoats that day; as well as a modest stays of course.

As she laid herself over Papa’s lap, she pressed one palm against the floor to steady herself, placing her body in the most comfortable way permissible for such a position. Once steady, she felt him shift…The hems of her skirts grasped, Yvette clutched tightly to her rosary. He had no need to remind her of its presence..The moment her skirts began being folded upward, Yvette had begun praying..Softly, almost inaudibly, but her lips still moved as her fingers caressed her prayer beads..

“O Lord, Jesus Christ, Redeemer and Savior, forgive my sins, just as You forgave Peter's denial and those who crucified You…” The skirts had been laid upon her back, Papa’s hand now upon the band of her undergarments.. “C-Count not my transgressions, but, rather, my tears of repentance. Remember not my-” The first strike caused a most innocent shriek to interrupt her prayers..Her lips quivering agape for a moment, as she stammered upon her words.. “Not..Not my iniquities, but, more especially, my sorrow for the offenses I have committed against You.” The second strike she was somewhat more prepared for, though her toes curled within her black laced shoes, her ankles crossing over one another as she slightly wriggled upon his lap. “ I…I long to be true to Your Word, and pray that You will love me and come to make Your dwelling place within me..” The third caused Yvette’s entire body to curl against her Papa’s legs..Her head bowed as she bit down harshly upon her lip, her knees jutting forward, nearly tucking beneath the chair…Her hands, trembling, clutching the rosary upwards above her head. The tears that had threatened to spill, now flowed freely down flushed, pink cheeks..As she spoke the final verse of prayer, her quivering voice was slightly more audible…

“I promise to give You praise and glory in love, and in service, all the days of my life…”

 

[As Day Fades]

The pause Aramis' hand found between strikes had little to do with mercy toward his daughter, for her mercy would come from God, not from him, and everything to do with how much a man could endure. Be firm, he would tell himself after every sharp blow to her pale bottom, after every sharp wince that followed. It is the only way she will learn her errors and grow up into a proper lady. A fourth blow. Her high-pitched feminine shriek which filled their home, echoing off the walls, did little good for a father's heart. "I love you," he whispered, eyes closed, his voice so low that barely he could even hear it. They were for himself rather than Yvette. "I simply wish you would behave." A fifth strike, open palm coming sharp across his blossoming teen's bare backside.

And blossoming she was, he thought, beautiful and growing more so. After the first few initial strikes Aramis paused in the punishment, but not to let her up. His left palm lowered again to that soon to be reddened ass, to those cheeks his hand would strike at the center of, not yet giving specific attention to either. His palm came to brush upon them, his touch gentle this time, a sharp contrast, before gliding to Yvette's left cheek, encompassing the breadth of it in an outstretched hand. He caressed it, moved in a slow circle about her skin, rubbing, almost massaging his little girl's intimate area. It was important to him, even in the depths of punishment, that she know she is loved, a young woman's heart fragile, easily shifting, yet worth the world. Firm, he thought approvingly, his hand giving her bottom a light squeeze. She would make some man very happy one day.

A sixth strike, sharp and sudden. Aramis' hand released its grip on Yvette's left cheek to quickly raise up, and to twice as quick descend, sucking in a breath as he struck her. The first prayer had been a wonderful choice. She would need several more to get through this, though. A seventh blow, his hand very much concentrating on the left side of her curved skin now. An eighth, in quick succession. He took note of his daughter's squirming about, as she would, as she ever did, Aramis' right hand doing what it could to reach to her far shoulder, to hold her upper body across his lap as much as one strong hand could. She would know not to get away though. Squirm all you care, but run and Papa's belt would crack you before you even reached the door.

Nine.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

The shrieks and choked tears saved her from her fourteenth, though she would not know it. The aging man's heart couldn't. He just... he couldn't, may God forgive his weak lapse. Aramis has indeed raised his arm in the air again but there it paused, breathing in and out, waiting a few seconds until Yvette's pained howls died down before another swing.

Fourteen.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

He switched to her other cheek, to her right.

Spank. Spank. Spank. Spank.

The minutes passed, as slowly as they ever could. It was amazing how quick they seemed at times, though now, now it amazed him even more at just how much heartache could be fit into a single one. The tears that dotted Aramis' cheeks were silent ones, his face otherwise firm, his eyes closed, never breaking composure for fear a single crack may lose it entirely. They would be wiped away before she could ever see, the sadness trickling on his cheeks. Then, in a sudden spike of frustration, teeth clenched, his right hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, gripping full to Yvette's dark blonde curls. Aramis jerked her head back as his left hand raised up high, forcing her neck taut, forcing her throat to expose. And like that he continued her beating, fast, fast and unrelenting, each new strike coming in swift, hard tandem, allowing no reprieve.

Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!

Another pause. Aramis' breathing came strong and deep. His grip laxed on her curls and took to stroking her instead, running fingers through her soft, very well taken care of hair. The other fell to Yvette's cheeks again, no longer lily white but a considerably brighter color; a degree of blush one rarely possessed on the cheeks on their face. Aramis did what he could, all he could, sadly, to assure her without words that she was loved. Should she come to hate him for this, for even a moment, then the shattering of his heart may prove him not as strong as he may outwardly seem. "I am sorry," he muttered, again to himself, fingers drifting from her hair back down to her dress, again to her back where his touch could caress up and down the length of her dress, from her neck down between her shoulders, down to just above her bottom and back again, tracing tender along the fabric. His other hand did what it could to soothe her backside, ever so soft, light squeezes one might receive from a lover followed by the gentle caresses of his fingers.

But then he felt something, something that made him positively shiver. Yvette's more intimate blonde curls. The proof of her blossoming womanhood. Eyes closed the entire time, Aramis hadn't been thinking how close he was until he felt several loose curls from her tuft of hair against one of his digits. His heart froze. His hand instantly pulled away, a quick pang of shame washing over him. Her innocence. It was unintentional. She... she likely didn't even feel it, it was just a few hairs and not her skin. He told himself that, taking yet another deep, heavy breath, though his hand on her back had ceased its ministrations in accordance with the sudden burst of shame.

A minute passed where nothing was said. Where nothing was done. Then, his mind forced to steel, his back ever straight against the chair, Aramis silently retook to his task. One hand on Yvette's far shoulder to hold her somewhat steady, the other raising and lowering in an unforgiving spank.

It had been seven minutes so far, though he wasn't keeping count. It would be another four more before his little girl's thorough punishment was through. Several paced, spread out strikes would be followed by a brief reprieve followed by several more blows to her opposite cheek. When it was done, when it was finally done Aramis took in a sharper breath, eyes still closed as he spoke.

"Stand up, Yvette. ...when you can." A heavy tone to match a heavy heart, eyes never once opening through the lot of it. "Your punishment is over... Please, I want you to stand up in front of my chair with your skirts still raised."

 

[SnowGlassRoses]

I love you…

Yvette’s body quivered as she pressed her forehead against the cold wooden floor, her hands still raised, fingers twisted tightly around the pearls of her rosary…The prayer chain shaking slightly within her trembling hands. The words burned her truly worse than his open balm..He spoke with such a tremble to his voice. Her heart was aching, panging with such guilt and remorse now…What a wretched child she was, to bring her Papa such pain…Her lips quivering still, Yvette closed her eyes tightly as tears continued to trickle down her pretty face. Her nose was reddened from her sobs, which she had kept quite quietly for a girl of such..emotion. One would imagine she would be wailing from the way her body was squirming, but it was far easier to bite down upon one’s lip than to keep their body still…

After such a soothing, comforting caress to her pinkened backside, the sixth strike nearly did cause a shriek to escape her lips. Harshly, she bit down further upon her lip, her body once again curling against her Papa’s lap as her toes curled within her shoes, her ankles crossing to try and keep herself in place but alas, for no use..She could not help but to wriggle, to squirm..Once, when she was a foolish child, she had fled from him in the midst of her punishment…Having been young, her dress was not as weighted down by layers of silks and tulle. She had managed to reach the door, her fingertips gripping the knob and ready to pull back so she could escape down the halls…but Papa had swiftly caught her, and perhaps the memory of that pain caused her to yelp more so than the present…

She could feel her Papa falter, and as she lay trembling upon his lap, breathily repeating her prayer over again…She raised a wrist to her eyes, dabbing away the tears which lingered upon her face…She had allowed, for a moment, her guard to set down…A mistake which she should not have made, for Papa’s punishments were never so swiftly completed. With heart racing, ringing in her ears, Yvette had not heard that threatening swish which would forewarn the blow that she had not been expecting…Having straightened her knees to brace herself to stand, that swift slap folded her body immediately over her Papa’s lap once more. Nearly dropping the rosary to the floor, the base of the cross did softly scrape against the wood..but Yvette clutched tightly, and as she fought back the urges to simply break down in sobs…

Such a strive proved difficult, as a sudden surge of animosity consumed her Papa….

The Devil in her passing to him, perhaps for the moment being, as he seized her pretty curls in his free hand and forced her up by those lovely tresses. Yvette whimpered, drawing her breath quickly inward, hissing slightly…Her eyes blurred now with those incessant tears, Yvette’s lips a reddened shade from the harsh pressing of her teeth..It was wonder she had not split them entirely from how firmly she bit down..Her pretty nails however had indeed broken the skin ever so slightly in some places upon her hands, gripping herself so tightly that her knuckles had gone shades far paler than her normal complexion. Such a sensitive beauty, delicate as a rose despite her stubborn thorns..

As he released her hair, she bent her head forward once again, forehead touching the floor slightly as she turned her face from him. Her curls cascading down from her shoulders, out of his reach, to veil her face…Should her tears trickle down to the wooden floorboards, they would be miniscule, but enough to twinkle slightly in the firelight…She lay very still across her Papa’s lap, as he relinquished her punishment for the time being…Using his hands instead to soothe her, stroke her softly..It was almost unfathomable, the way the hands of a father could stir up such varied emotions in his little girl…Tears of shame, to a heart pattering and swooning with adoration…She did not hate him, by any means. She could never hate her Papa…Though all little girls, even those most affectionately besotted by their Papa’s as Yvette, became upset with their Papa’s at times…

As his hands explored her body, the folds of her dress and the burning skin of her sore backside, Yvette lay very still. Her thighs quivering at times, her toes curled tightly within her laced shoes…As the moments passed in near silence, the cracklings of the fireplace was accompanied every so often by her soft weeping..Lost in her own despair, she had not noticed his sudden, rather panicked movement..She had not felt the delicate caress against her most intimate curls..She did however, shy away from the hand he placed soon after upon her shoulder. Burying her face closer against the floor, as if she could vanish or hide from him there..Her legs buckled with each strike to follow, her sobs choked back more audibly now as her entire body quivered with each blow…She could no longer contain herself…Her hands, though still with her rosary draped about her fingertips, covered her face as she sobbed against them, fingers twisting within her curls tightly.

But as with all good Papa’s, Aramis knew when to stop…A suitable punishment was not too much, nor too little..but enough to push down all of the walls a little girl could build up. Vulnerable once again, Yvette did not rise when she was permitted…Several sharp inhales were taken as her lithe young figure sought to regain it’s composure. Every muscle and every curve was aching.. burning, though none more so than the young maiden’s heart…Another moment passed before Yvette brought one hand to her Papa’s right knee, keeping her other arm veiled across her face, hiding herself childishly within the crease of her elbow as she steadied herself, standing slowly as if she feared falling apart there before him…Her skirts began to drop as she stood before him, but the hand which had been upon his knee moved to gather them and hold them in place, in a proper manner which would cover her more intimate places but keep her reddened bottom exposed.

She did not look at him, though she longed to…She wanted to crawl back onto his lap, and hide her face against his neck for the remainder of the evening…He would not need to speak; just hold her…Yet she kept a small distance from him, as she fought to still the remainder of the sobs which seized at her throat..Her hair was a slight mess now, untidy from all the twisting and tugging..Perhaps more appropriate for a woman whom has just been bedded than a young lady recently punished…There was a glow to her skin, one encouraged by her distress, but a lovely radiance nevertheless…Yvette felt half her age, with her knees pressed together and her arm vainly attempting to cover her face,..She was completely unaware of how becoming she actually looked after such an ordeal…