“Whose fault is that?” He refused to continue arguing with her, not now when they were in sight of all the guests. “Go and sit with Minette and her friends for a while if you wish to be cross. They’re merry enough that they won’t notice. Only stay where I can see you,” he said as he released her. “And Josephine?”
She looked back at him with a frown.
“Next time you head into the woods alone,” he said, “rest assured I shall join you with a freshly cut switch.”
*** *** ***
They didn’t leave at once. In fact, her husband made her stay at Arlington’s affair for two more hours, while she seethed and twitched, and fretted over her coming punishment. At last, an impending rainstorm broke up the gathering and sent everyone home.
Later, as Josephine prepared for bed, a maid tapped at the door and delivered a silver tray Josephine had come to know well. She wondered what Warren would do if she took the ginger from inside and hurled it out the window. He’d undoubtedly be cross, and send to the kitchen for more. He seemed to have access to an endless supply.
If she protested loudly enough, would he cease doing these things to her? Did she want him to? It confused her, how she despised and yet desired his “punishments.” The authority in his voice, the intensity in his gaze, the tension in his body as he arranged her over his lap. She had come to be excited by these things, even the ginger. She wanted these awful, indecent things, while polite aspects of society seemed beyond her grasp.
She could only conclude that she was an awful, indecent person. How else to explain her frustration with social niceties, and her boredom at balls and parties? But if she wanted Lord Warren with his grins and seductive depravity, she had to find a way to do the other things he wanted, like smile and be polite, and behave as a hoity-toity countess should. Otherwise she’d have to stay in the country, away from him, lest she threaten his all-important standing in society. In her absence, he’d be obliged to take a mistress or satisfy himself with other women; a man of his appetites wouldn’t stay quietly at home if there was no one at that home to see to his needs.
By the time he showed up, she was nearly in tears about it. She let him think they were tears of penitence and remorse, as he stood her before him and delivered a lengthy lecture on manners and expectations, and all the woeful things that might happen to her reputation if she didn’t play by the rules.
She only half listened. By now she’d heard a thousand variations of this theme. The weather worsened as he droned on at her. Hard droplets of rain pelted her bedroom windows and rumbling thunder provided an air of menace to the proceedings. She started to cry in earnest, miserable, silent tears that he occasionally wiped away.
“It’s not your frustration I’m punishing you for, you understand? I’m not punishing you for feeling angry or sad.”
“I know. It’s because of what I do.”
“Precisely. It’s your actions, your choices. You didn’t need to hide away at the garden party. If you wanted to escape the ladies’ prattle, you might have gone to cheer at the game, or gone to the refreshment table, or visited with me for a while.”
She nodded. She knew. Of course she knew.
“And when I came to fetch you, you were unnecessarily cross with me. You knew it would mean a spanking and you sniped at me anyway.”
He didn’t yell or scold, only stated the damning facts in a calm voice that made her feel ten times guiltier. “I know. I know,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I knew it was bad behavior, but I was just so tired.”
“You’ll be more tired still when this is over. Something to think about next time.” He gave her a long, hard look and stood from his chair. “You will take off your dressing gown and shift, please, and bend over the side of the bed.”
She undressed as quickly as she could with her hands shaking and her legs trembling, and her vision blurry with tears. As she bent over the bed, she saw him taking off his coat and waistcoat, and turning back his sleeves. He went to the tray for the ginger, the root carved as usual into a rounded bulb with plenty of feathered edges. She buried her face in the covers as he parted her bottom cheeks in a humiliatingly perfunctory way and inserted the rounded ginger. This wasn’t the kind of touch that aroused. Oh, why couldn’t she behave?
It always took a few minutes for the ginger to really start burning, which is why he made her wait there, clutching at the bed linens and dreaming of escape. The storm grew even more violent, with lightning flashes illuminating the dim room. Her bottom clenched around the fullness of the ginger, and all too soon the smarting, tingling sensation grew into a steadier ache.
When she started to moan and wiggle her bottom in anguish, he pulled her up and sat on the edge of the bed, securing her over his lap. Like most of his punitive spankings, there were no soft smacks to start with, to accustom her to the pain. No. The first one hurt, the second one hurt, and every spank afterward hurt. She gasped over his lap, knowing this was only the beginning, with much more to suffer. It already hurt so much!
The ginger’s sting grew more acute, rising a degree in temperature each time he made her tense upon it. Her tears of guilt and sadness became tears of torment, as he punished her without any softness or sympathy. The smacks rained down, his hands hard like stone. Palms and fingers that touched her so gently now punished her with their rigid strength.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, though he didn’t stop spanking her. “You must learn proper behavior at social gatherings. You must learn to hold your tongue rather than say words which are neither pleasant nor respectful. And of course you must”—smack—“stop”—smack—“wandering into woods.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He’d taught her by now that she might say I’m sorry as much as she liked, but not no, or stop that, or even please, please stop. Because he would never stop, not until he decided she’d had as much punishment as she deserved. He made her feel so powerless—stripping her, putting ginger inside her, holding her firmly over his lap. She squirmed, but only so far. She cried, but only so hard.
Because some part of her needed this reassurance that he wouldn’t give up on her.
“I’m so sorry,” she wailed as the spanking picked up pace. When that happened, they were nearer the end than the beginning, not that it was much of a comfort. He moved from the throbbing center of her cheeks to the less punished areas lower on her bottom, alternating so each part stayed equally achy and hot. He was so skilled at punishing her to maximum potential, which was not at all a good thing. Ow, ow, owww.
He didn’t stop until her entire backside felt flaming and used up. He lifted her off his lap and made her stand before him once again, only this time she was shivery and naked, and so sorry she hadn’t just swanned around the party, and smiled, and simpered on about various topics the way she ought to have done. Were they worth it, her petty acts of defiance, when they only ever led to this? The storm seemed to have positioned itself directly over Park Street, for the thunder and lightning continued unabated, rattling vases and windows and lighting up her husband’s face.
“Do you feel punished?” he asked at last.
She sniffled through the lingering waves of pain. “Yes, my lord.”
“And yet I think I must exact some further form of atonement for your disrespectful behavio
r earlier. I am not quite satisfied.”
Oh, no.
“I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “You may endure a second punishment session with fresh ginger, and a hair brush this time.”
She shuddered. The dreaded hair brush! “Or?”
“Or you may have the ginger out, and have my cock inside your bottom for a good buggering. Both options will teach you a lesson, as well as put me in a better mood.”
Those were her choices? They both sounded horrid. She gazed at him, feeling more naked with every second that passed. Her arms crept up to hide her breasts.
“No,” he said. “Don’t cover yourself. You know the rules.”
“But I’m ashamed. And I’m afraid.” She made fists at her sides to keep her hands still. “I don’t want either one of those things, and they won’t make me any better.”
“They might.” He stared at her, uncompromising discipline and stern will. “You’re still resisting it, Josephine. It’s time for you to accept your reality, your future. You’re going to be a proper lady. If you fight me on this, I’ll fight back in the only way I know.”
“By punishing me. By making me bend and obey!”
“Yes.” Thunder punctuated his sharp avowal. “Now, I’ve offered you two choices, of which you may choose one. I will mention that the second may possibly bring you pleasure. The first will not.”
“But the second one will hurt!”
“So will the first one, my dear.”
Josephine thought over her options. A paddling with the hair brush would really hurt, especially when her bottom was already sore. And fresh ginger? But to submit to the other…
“I can’t choose,” she said. “I’m too afraid. I don’t want either one.”
“Then I suppose I must make the decision.”
“Yes, you’re the one with all the power,” she cried. “I suppose you will choose whichever will hurt and humiliate me the worst.”
A corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m less concerned with hurt and humiliation and more concerned with getting you under control. Bend over the bed again.”