“No. Not that I could see.”
“He doesn’t care. Sometimes he insists on seeing the outcome.”
“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Ridley care what happens? Hasn’t this constable taken things too far? I mean what is the point of a punishment which terrorises people.”
“Lysa, he’s burdened with other responsibilities. The quota rises every year and demands on his time grow. If he complained to the Corporation, he’d risk losing his job. I think he does care, but his hands are tied.” The little he’d seen of Ridley led Blake to believe the man was fair but powerless to deal with issues over which Harkess had jurisdiction. “Now you know why I didn’t want you to go in there.”
She took his hand, clasping it to her chest. Beneath, he felt the pounding beats of her heart. “Promise me, Blake, you’ll never let me be punished by that cruel man. You said you could do it, if you had to. You would, wouldn’t you? I’d rather you punished me than him.”
Blake sighed. She didn’t realise he’d be expected to use the same force. “I promise, Lysa. I will never let that man touch you. You’re too special to me. However, don’t ever give me reason to be the constable’s substitute. You must behave out there.” He feared for her. He could see her blurt out something controversial, a loose tongue amongst the womenfolk could cost her dearly.
“I’ll try,” she smiled weakly, the corners of her mouth twitching.
“Not try, do.”
He stood up and paced the room. There was another matter to deal with and it pained him. She’d gone to the punishment block on her own, without him. He’d known what she’d witnessed would shock her.
“I disobeyed you,” she piped up.
“Yes.” He stopped his pacing. “After I’ve eaten, I will spank you.”
She slumped, shoulders dipping. “I thought you might. After what I told you, I’d hoped you would cut me some slack.”
Blake snorted. If he gave into this, she’d expect leeway on other matters. He had to demonstrate consistency. His cock, which had lost its early eagerness, stiffened once again. He was the man to have authority over his wife, nobody else. Even if the constable wasn’t such a brutish man, Blake wouldn’t let anyone discipline Lysa. Her hold over him grew with every passing day and it was becoming harder not to declare his love for her. If he did, would she respond in kind or expect him to stick to their original arrangement? The idea of divorcing Lysa—he stifled the thought—it was abhorrent.
* * *
“Clear the table, then remove your clothes.” Blake pushed back his chair and rose.
Lysa’s hands remained glued to the surface of the table and she sat rigid, mouth ajar and eyes narrowing. She didn’t want to do this, as it went against everything she believed in. After all her tears, which had since dried upon her cheeks, she couldn’t dissuade him from carrying out his punishment. Each time she broached the subject over the meal, he’d dismissed it with a glare.
“It’s for the best, Lysa. Don’t argue with me.” He prodded his food with a fork.
“I’m not arguing,” she’d countered. The tomato in her fingers squished and juice squirted across her plate. “Damn,” she muttered, licking her hand.
“You acknowledged you disobeyed me. The best remedy is to have a clean slate.”
She had said those words, perhaps she’d spoken in haste. With each mouthful, the trauma of the constable’s brutality had diminished and she regretted her acquiescence to Blake and his summary declaration. Lysa, the young woman with her own opinions, regained centre stage. Her hands clenched on the table.
“Lysa. Up.” He hovered close by the table, drumming his fingers on it. “Do I have to take you over my knee again?”
The humiliation! She gritted her teeth and moved at the slowest pace possible. His doggedness remained, as did her resistance. The two personas grated against each other as she methodically tidied up the table and kitchen.
When it came to stripping, she tried to make herself as smal
l as possible. He sat on the sofa tapping a foot, lips pressed together. What was he thinking? Did he enjoy the spectacle of watching her undress? Would he grin at her, like the ghastly constable?
“I want you to bend over.” Blake tapped the table. “You will not move from the position until I’ve finished paddling your bottom.” He turned his head to one side.
He couldn’t see her face, so she stuck her tongue out at him. A childish, useless display of petulance, but the silly gesture made her feel better.
The table, freshly cleaned, was cold. She lowered her belly onto its surface gradually, squashing her breasts under her. She expected him to come over and wallop her bottom with the paddle, but she heard no sound of movement. Her heart thrummed, almost vibrating the table with her rapid pulse. Her legs remained crushed together and she bent her knees slightly. Minutes seemed to tick away, or were they seconds lasting like minutes? The wait made her anxious, then she wondered if he intended to change his mind and rescind the punishment.
She waved her bottom in the air. An absent-minded gesture and immediately she wished she hadn’t draw attention to her naked rear.
“Are you provoking me?” he snapped from the other end of the room.
“No.” She cringed, screwing up her eyes.