“Must you? Please, Sir!”
“Keep your hands out of the way. I expect you to remain still for the entirety of your punishment.”
She barely had time to prepare herself before she heard a swish and a thwack, and the most painful stripe of agony she’d ever felt in her life. She hissed as her backside caught fire, and reached back to rub the throbbing weal.
“That was only the first stroke,” he said. “Move your hands.”
“I can’t!”
“I’ve explained before that you are not permitted to rub away the sting. Remove your hands and lie still the way you’re supposed to.”
Gwen gave a little sob and returned to the commanded position. The second stroke landed just above the first, and then a third stroke beneath it. She reached back and covered her bottom again. “Oh, it hurts.”
“If I don’t make it hurt, you’ll only enjoy it. Remove your hands or we’ll begin again.”
She pressed a fist to her mouth. How was she to bear this? She still had seven strokes to go. “Please,” she said. “I can’t.”
When she saw him raise the cane for the next stroke, she reached back so he was forced to arrest the movement in midair.
“I suppose I ought to have done this at the start,” he said, yanking off his neckcloth. He took her wrists and wrapped them in the fabric, and knotted them tightly before she knew what he was about. Then he stretched her arms over her head and threaded the tail of the linen through the headboard, and tied it off.
“You must not do this,” she said. “It’s reprehensible, to bind my hands in order to punish me.”
“I’m binding your hands so you don’t lose a finger. Shall I begin again, or will you be content with seven more strokes?”
“I don’t want any more strokes.”
“You don’t sound very remorseful for your behavior today. I suppose I had better begin again with ten.”
“No,” she said, trembling at the very idea of it. “I’m remorseful.”
“I don’t believe you are. If you don’t wish to begin at the start, I suggest you remain still.”
She went still, as still as she could be with a cane whistling through the air. The implement connected, the pain making her yank wildly at her bonds. A burning line of heat bloomed upon her flesh.
As she panted through the agony of it, she berated herself for a fool. Why did she cross him? She had been impertinent during the audience to prick him, because she was unhappy, but she only made herself unhappier. He was too great an enemy, and too powerful. She would never defeat him. “I can’t bear any more,” she wailed. “Isn’t there some other way to punish me?”
“What? A spanking?” He put the cane down, leaned over the bed and gave her a couple smart cracks. “I don’t think a spanking will hurt enough. I don’t think you’ll learn your lesson.”
“I’ve already learned my lesson.” She sobbed as he spanked her again. Her already-heated bottom felt ready to burst into flames.
“There is another way you might be punished.” His fingers delved between her clenching cheeks. “Another way I might put you in your place.”
Oh, God, no. Gwen tried to squirm away. “You can’t,” she said. “Not that.”
“Or I can resume your caning. Six more strokes to go.”
Her bottom still throbbed and burned from the four strokes she’d endured. When he stood to retrieve the cane again, she cried, “No! I would rather… I would rather…the other…” She looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re so horrible.”
“And you’re so stubborn. Bad wives get bad things. Didn’t I tell you that?”
He began to take off his clothes, as Gwen pulled at the neckcloth and questioned whether she’d made a wise choice.
“Please don’t do this. Let me go,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Who is the master in this marriage, Guinevere?”
She closed her eyes at his dire tone. “You are.”
“I warned you the day after our marriage not to get into a battle of wills with me. Why do you persist?”
She heard him drop his breeches, and turned at the rattle of a jar. The aromatic oil...
Gwen bit down on her lip as he climbed onto the bed and turned her on her back. His cock jutted between them, rigid and daunting. She’d survived this once before, but she’d been more relaxed then, and he had been patient and gentle.
He seemed a lot less patient and gentle now. He pulled her legs apart and held them open, and probed between her bottom cheeks, depositing the slick stuff around her hole. Was this allowed by law, this sort of punishment? She didn’t think so.
She blinked up at him, her emotions in a turmoil of confusion. “I’m afraid. Please...”
“Hush.” His voice was low and rough. He held her gaze as he pressed his cock against her arsehole. Disciplinary sodomization...an excellent method of teaching submission to rebellious wives.
She could do nothing to impede him, since her hands were still fixed to the headboard. It hurt as he pushed in, and she moaned as if it were unbearable. The truth was, while it was painful, it also excited her in some shamefully base way. The bondage, her vulnerability, and his stern admonishments…
“Please, you mustn’t,” she cried in some vain attempt to push away those feelings.
“On the contrary, I must. You need this, Guinevere.” He started to move, to take her tender bottom with steady thrusts. “You’re my wife, my possession. You will obey and respect me. You will be made to understand.”
She whimpered, gazing up at his hard eyes, his broad chest. “I understand, I just—”
“You just choose not to behave properly.” His pace quickened as his fingers dug into her hips. “If you will not obey and respect me, you will be put in your place by any means necessary. Spankings, canings, sexual ordeals and sodomizations. I’ll take great care to make sure none of it feels good.”
What he was doing to her now didn’t feel very good. She knew he could make it feel good if he wished to...he had made it feel good the first time, in his Greek temple. But he would not let her feel good today, because this was a punishment. The pain of his initial entrance had dulled to an uncomfortable ache as he used her—punished her—in this debasing way.
“How does this feel?” he asked.
“Bad.”
“Do you like feeling bad like this?”
“No, Sir.”
The sheets, soft as they were, hurt her caned arse cheeks. She never would have survived the entire caning, but this… He loomed over her, tightening his grip on her legs whenever she tried to draw away from him. His lips were parted, his expression intently focused. What would your king think of this? she wanted to ask. What if I told him these things about you?
But she would never dare say such things to the king. She couldn’t tell anyone about this, or explain the conflicted way it made her feel.
After long, excruciating minutes of surrender, her husband’s breath came faster and he pressed deep inside her bottom. Gwen closed her eyes and wished she could disappear. He grunted, pumping a few more times, and finished with a drawn-out, satisfied sigh. How unfair, that he should be allowed release when this was a punishment. But nothing between them ever seemed fair.
For a long time afterward she didn’t move, didn’t say a word. His shaft still impaled her, an intrusive reminder of his mastery. His hands still grasped her legs. She wanted to pull away, but she was afraid to do anything that might irritate him further. At last he withdrew, leaving her empty and cold.
“Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.”
She obeyed, even though she would rather not. What if he made her admit that she took some sick pleasure in being used this way? She couldn’t have owned up to it in that moment, not even under torture. Not even if it was true.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I won’t embarrass you again.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he said with sharp impatience. “But you’ve been punish
ed for this episode, so we’ll move past it.”
He reached up to the headboard to release her bonds, and Gwen thought, I don’t know how to move past it. She hated him, with his orders and his threats and his lecherous forms of punishment, but when he released her and took her in his arms, she clung to him as if she loved him. Maybe it was only that she had no one else to comfort her and hold her.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
She began to cry, silent tears that leaked from beneath her eyelids. He wiped them away and murmured that her punishment was over. As if that mattered, as if that could calm the storm in her heart! How pleased he must feel, that she begged his forgiveness. He would believe that she had learned a lesson, but the real lesson was that she was a harlot who could not control her yearnings.
No wonder he demeaned her.
No wonder he punished her.
She didn’t know if she was relieved or devastated when he finally dismissed her to her room.