Matthew James Tremblay was living up to his surname, trembling like a leaf in the corner of his father's bedroom. His hands-on his head and his grey uniform shorts and white undies by his ankles, his bare posterior almost peeking out from under the now oversized pale blue uniform shirt of St. Beshamel's preparatory.
"It's too late for tears and begging dear chap," the honourable Lord James Michael Tremblay informed his shivering progeny as he checked his pocket watch. The 40-year-old Grand Diwan of Britannica isles felt some sympathy for Matty. His only son who he raised as a single parent ever since his mother died at childbirth. Mathew was a mini version of himself, with bronzed skin, blue eyes and curly blonde hair. He spoiled the boy far too much, only managing to outsource some accountability in the past two years.
"She has arrived, I think," the man declared, listening to the faint yet distinctive roar of Barbara's red Crystallia GT engine.
"But I didn't do it, papa! I swear!" Matty was dismayed by the squeaky register of his voice. "I was framed! This isn't fair, laws are meant to protect people like us!" Which was the lad's biggest source of annoyance. It's one thing for the peasantry to fall afoul of the wicked old laws of the isles but the son of a Diwan?
"The laws do protect us honest, lord fearing Letovites," the tall Grand Diwan announced somberly, stroking his freshly shaven chin. "It does not protect liars and criminals, dear boy. Though in your case be grateful our forefathers and their good name granting you some mercy."
Though James sincerely wondered if Matty would feel the same way in the next ten minutes. "And be thankful Barbara is qualified enough to handle this discreetly. Imagine what would happen if some lowly peasant wench was granted your custody?" He shuddered to think of that. His beloved boy taken away and raised amongst those pagan fanatics?
Still, this required a delicate hand. The risks he had to take...
James's pulse quickened as he heard the Crystallia growl before the sports car came to a stop by the side entrance.
"Papa!" Matty clenched and began swaying on the balls of his feet. Miss Barbara was the last person he wanted to see on this awful day! She had entered into their lives nearly two years prior as Mathew approached his sixteenth birthday.
The daughter of Count Tobias Bergstrom. While he was a pagan and worshipped the goddess Diana, the families respected each other's capacity to accumulate wealth enough to be casually amenable with each other. However, most of James's siblings saw the young blonde as nothing more than a prize for the maturing teenager to bed.
Unfortunately for Matty, the then 24-year-old wasn't a demure homemaker or a harlot but a professional scolder, a terrifying one at that. Those women the wealthy elites with far too little time or interest in their progeny hired to... well...
James, who had been quite the absentee father for much of the boy's youth was finally compelled by Matty's maternal aunt, Sister Velua to try her out. The results were instantaneous. Much of the rambunctiousness and wildness the boy seemingly inherited from James caned and strapped out of his smoking rear over the next two years.
James has had her on his retainer ever since, usually requiring an average weekly visit from the voluptuous scolder to the upper class.
"Oh be quiet, child and think of a good excuse to tell Barbie," James snapped, taking a few steps to meet the young vixen before she saw the boy, ensuring she did not freak out. As he did, a faint blush crept up across his face, James had inadvertently used her pet name in front of the lad. Fortunately, Matty was far too preoccupied with the heels approaching his chambers in a steady clip to notice.
Barbara's jasmine and lavender scent hit the Diwan before the woman came to view, the middle-aged man's heart fluttering as he saw the blonde. Perfectly straight golden locks cascading down past her shoulder. She smiled at the sight of the Diwan who reciprocated in his foppish, charming way. His eyes were drawn into her perfect hourglass figure, a crisp white long-sleeved formal shirt and dark blue pants barely containing her. Barbara did not believe in the concept of a bra. That meant her gravity-defying mammaries were tormenting the middle buttons of her shirt with each step. From Jame's previous observations, he knew that the buttons would be thoroughly vanquished by the time she began to vigorously apply her hairbrush against his lad's peachy posterior; doubly quick if she were to use the strap.
"I came as quickly as I could," Barbara's honeyed tones were followed by those thick lips leaning up to give James a warm kiss. Not a long one, not when staff was still lingering around and about. Though he did shudder when he felt her nipples pebble up under her shirt and press into him.
"Hi!" She grinned warmly, still not realising the severity of the situation. "A long discussion, you said?" She chuckled. "What did Matty do? Stab someone? Packed the black strap just in case."
