He’d taken most of those implements on his journey to India. They rested now at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea, unfortunately, but they could be replaced. He would discover what confounded Rosalind the most—birch? paddle? strap? cane?—and acquire more of those. He’d buy ebony shafts to lodge in her bottom and creams to tingle and torment her. But for now…
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked. She looked forlorn but interested. Frightened but willing.
“I want to do everything to you,” he replied, telling her the truth. “But tonight, for your transgressions, we will begin with an over-the-knee spanking on your bare bottom and conclude with a proper strapping over the bench.”
“That seems awfully punitive for merely being too perfect a wife.”
“Talking back will get you extra swats.”
She bit her lips and toyed with the sides of her chemise. He couldn’t tell yet if she truly found pleasure in being spanked or only put up with it for his sake, but when he sat in the chair and beckoned her, she approached without complaining and bent over his lap.
That alone had him aroused nearly to bursting. He took some moments to caress her bottom over her thin cotton chemise. She lay very still—obediently still—and he believed she did like this part of things, submitting to him, letting him pet her. When he lifted her garment’s hem to expose her bottom, she did give a little shudder.
“Shall I hold your arms behind your back for you, darling, or will you keep them out of the way upon the floor?”
“I’m going to try to keep them still.”
The sound-dampening rug had a repeating pattern of ornate fleur-de-lys. He showed her the two fleur-de-lys where she must brace her hands, then proceeded with the spanking. By God, it felt heavenly to be walloping her arse again. The sensation, the sound, her pitiful squirms as he slowly increased the heaviness of each spank… He did not flail away at her, but delivered a measured tempo of smacks, making sure each one landed true.
“How well you’re taking it,” he said. “You haven’t moved your hands once, though you’ve moved your bottom a few times.”
“It’s hard not to.” Her voice sounded muffled since she’d buried her face against the side of his leg. “It does hurt. I’m trying very hard to be still.”
“A schedule of regular spankings would benefit you greatly, I think. It would provide a weekly, or even daily, chance for you to improve your control.”
“Oh, goodness,” she replied, sounding unconvinced. “Daily seems too much.”
“Weekly, then. I’m glad you agree.”
*
Rosalind gave an uncertain “hmmft” as Marlow resumed her bare-bottom punishment. Had she just agreed to a weekly spanking regimen?
The truth was, she’d happily agree to weekly spankings if that was what it took to please her beloved. It was only that…ow…those spankings really hurt.
She curled her hands into fists, still leaving them atop their assigned fleur-de-lys. It made it easier, having somewhere to put them rather than running her hands across the floor to process the pain. Her husband held her firmly upon his lap, which also made it easier.
Ow. Ow. Owww…
It wouldn’t be so bad if he remained at the middling level of spanking he started at. But no. As her bottom warmed and began to throb from the progression of blows, he increased the intensity. It was getting very uncomfortable now. She squirmed and squeezed her bottom cheeks together beneath his palm, a desperate attempt to distract him, or at least show he was hurting her.
But he meant to hurt her. As the smacks rang out in the small room, she was finally obliged to reach back to try to shield herself, or at least give herself a break from his onslaught.
As always, her interference did not deter him. He caught her hand with a tsk and trapped it behind her back. While she knew it was better, more obedient, to be still and keep her hands out of the way, she secretly preferred when he held her wrist in that firm grip. It made her feel so controlled, so overwhelmed by his strength and presence. Oh, perhaps she enjoyed it. Perhaps she liked being spanked by her husband.
Perhaps she loved being spanked by him, at the same time she dreaded it. Weekly spankings? Lord help her.
“Ow, please,” she begged aloud. “You’re being very mean to me right now.”
“A proper spanking is a thorough spanking,” he told her. “If I stop too soon, both of us will know it. If you’re to be punished, it must be made to count.”
Only the count was getting up there, at least to a hundred by this point. Her bottom burned from the apex of each arse cheek to the underside, every inch of her flesh attacked by his stinging palm. She kicked her legs as the pain grew to be unbearable. Finally, he stopped.
“You may stand in the corner for five minutes,” he said, helping her to her feet. “No, keep your chemise up at your waist,” he reminded her. “And no rubbing the sting away.”
“But you will give me more sting, if I’m to be strapped afterward.” She pushed down desperation. “I’m already very sore.”
He came to her side and stroked her bottom, making her flinch from the firm contact. “Not sore enough yet,” he said against her ear. “I want you to still be sore at the ball tomorrow. I want it to smart when you sit down in your beautiful dress.”