“Better I spank you than wring your neck,” he snapped in reply. He adjusted her on his lap, over his hard, muscular thighs. The ginger hurt worse with every passing moment, and she felt so exposed and vulnerable. Then he spanked her and the burn intensified tenfold.
“Oh! Ouch!” She bit her lip as he spanked her again, and again.
“Don’t squirm. You’ve earned this.”
He pulled her closer to him and rearranged her until her bottom was stuck right up in the air, completely at his mercy. She kicked her legs but there was no way to get away. That’s when he began to spank her in earnest.
She’d expected this spanking would feel something like the spanking he’d given her in the meadow, but it was not at all the same. The spanking in the meadow had provided a certain degree of wicked pleasure. This spanking was nothing but pain.
Firm smacks rained down on her bottom, each more heated than the last. A throbbing ache suffused her bottom, but when she reached to rub it away, he took her hand and trapped it at her waist.
“We’re only getting started,” he said. “By the time this spanking is over, you’re going to feel like a very punished girl.”
“I already feel very punished.” She wailed at an especially sharp crack. Each time he spanked her, she wiggled and tensed, and the ginger in her bottom stung worse.
“Oh. Ow, it burns.” She kicked her legs harder but it made no difference to him. He only tightened his grip on her waist and kept spanking. Now and again his hand strayed lower, punishing the tender, sensitive skin at the backs of her thighs. Soon her entire backside felt as if it had caught fire.
How she wished she’d never written that note. She wasn’t going to get out of this marriage, and there was no telling how long he’d stay angry with her, or when he would trust her again. “Oh, please,” she begged. Spank, spank, spank, no break, no respite from his stinging palm. “Please, Sir. I’m sure I’ve had enough. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You’ve had enough when I say you’ve had enough. I don’t think you know the meaning of a lesson yet.” He paused and put his palm on her heated arse, then worked the ginger in and out. “Do you feel that ache, Guinevere?”
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“That ache is for wives who behave badly. Do you feel ashamed? You feel hurt?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Because I felt hurt when I read your letter.” The spanking resumed, mercilessly hard. Her cheeks throbbed and the ginger stung hotter than ever now that he’d repositioned it.
“Please. It smarts so much.”
“I hope it does,” he said without any pity whatsoever. “This isn’t a game, Guinevere. You’re my responsibility, my wife. When you earn a spanking, you’re going to be spanked well enough that you remember it.”
She whimpered and tugged at her hand but he’d caught her wrist tight, and there was no escaping his palm as it cracked against her pained cheeks. The noise of the spanks mixed with her cries and pleas until she thought the servants must come and save her. But of course, they never would.
Nothing would save her but the duke’s estimation that she had had enough, and Gwen began to fear that moment would never come. She struggled over his thighs and cried silent, shuddering tears until he finally stopped.
She lay still, her bottom clenched from the pain. She hated ginger, and spankings. She hated the duke.
It’s too bad, that. Because you’re stuck with him forever. What had he said? Until one of us dies...
Gwen felt like she might die from the torturous fire of his spanking. It felt worse than the birching, or perhaps it had only gone on longer, until her skin felt raw. “Am I...” She swallowed past the miserable tension in her throat. “Am I to stand in the corner again?”
“Yes. But first...” He righted her, and set her before him with her skirts up about her waist, and the ginger still stinging in her bottom. “First, I have a few things to say.”
She sniffled and wiped away tears with the back of her hand.
“You have said you are sorry,” he said. “As you should be. I beg you to realize you were not my first choice of bride either. I, however, have not written any letters to anyone about your poor manners, your inconstant temper, or your abandoned behavior in my bed.”
“My abandoned behavior!”
“Yes. If I wished to be cruel, I could write such things, but you notice I haven’t, and I wouldn’t. You’re not married to a villain, as much as you wish to be. The only person behaving poorly in this marriage is the one standing before me with ginger in her sore, reddened bottom.”
Gwen bit her tongue. No matter how much she disagreed, she would not reply to his lecture, or argue, or do anything that might result in him turning her over his lap again.
“I will not change who I am because of your issues and shortcomings, Guinevere,” he continued. “I suggest you set yourself to your duties and stop playing a victim of fate. I have no stomach for drama unless I’m sitting in a box at the theater.”
“You have no stomach for sympathy either, do you?” she said. “You don’t understand my feelings. You don’t even try.”
“I’ll show sympathy when something bad actually happens to you.” He turned her about. “Go stand in the corner just as you are, with your skirts up about your waist. No rubbing your bottom, and we shall leave in the ginger. It’s going to sting a while longer, which is by design.”
I hate your designs. She almost said it aloud, but she knew it would not be wise. Instead she went to the corner and stood as he directed her, with her eyes to the wall and her punished bottom on display. Her buttocks ached horribly, but she dared not rub them under his watchful eye. Instead she tensed from time to time, then cursed herself as the ginger stung her. Her husband was lewd and cruel, whether or not he wished to admit it. After a quarter hour of corner time, he led her into his washroom and relieved her of the ginger, and allowed her to rearrange her appearance.
How she wished to run away and hide then. Instead the duke took her hand and tugged it. “Come with me, I’ve something to show you.”
He marched her out into the hall and down the stairs, past servants who had undoubtedly heard her screeching and crying during her punishment. Her bottom ached with each step. Her petticoats, which were the softest, finest quality, felt like raking fingers against her freshly-spanked flesh. He took her out the side of the house, past his mother’s garden and across a grassy field to the stables and paddocks.
“Look out there,” he said, pointing.
A regal mare galloped about the largest paddock, a stunning specimen of strength and grace. She was pure white with a glorious mane, strong haunches and a straight, proud head. Effie had never been so glorious, even in her prime. As Gwen watched the horse cavorting in the field, she forgot for long moments that she hated the duke, and that she didn’t wish to be holding his hand. Instead, she clung to it, enraptured.
“She’s beautiful,” said Gwen. “Will she come nearer to us?”
“I doubt it. She’s young and wild yet, but when I saw her, I had to own her. If the grooms can gentle her, she’ll be yours.”
Gwen turned to him in shock. “Mine? My horse?”
“You had to leave your mare behind, and I felt bad about it. I planned to get you another.” He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “You see, I am not the unfeeling despot described in your letter.”
He looked away, but she saw the lingering injury in his gaze. “I’m sorry for what I wrote,” she said again. “I truly am sorry.”
“And you have been punished. I’ll destroy the letter and we’ll put this episode behind us, and you can write another letter home. Just know that I shall read it, along with any letters you send, so take care that you keep them positive. Surely there are pleasant things to say about your life here. You’ll have a pretty horse anyway, as soon as they manage to tame her. You must think about what to call her.”
A set of grooms attempted to bridle the spirited mare. She tossed her head and fought the bit
, and made whinnying sounds of protest that broke Gwen’s heart.
I know, she thought. I know what it is like to have to be tamed.
“I wish I could go to her,” said Gwen.
“You can’t, not until I say.” His tone was not to be argued with. “She isn’t safe to ride, and I wouldn’t have you hurt.”