“Enjoying this, are you?” he said under his breath. His little mouse, wet and aroused from a spanking. He could hardly believe it.
She ducked her head and he started spanking her again, only this time he stopped every few blows to slide his fingers through the evidence of her arousal. She drew herself up each time he did it.
“Please, my lord. Don’t.”
“Why not?” He slipped two fingers inside her. “It pleases me to do this. I believe it pleases you too.”
“It doesn’t. No!”
“What if I touched you here?” He slipped her own moisture down to the thrusting little nubbin of flesh at the apex of her sex.
She groaned in a kind of horror. He spanked her again, whap, whap, whap, and then returned to diddling his hapless wife. Perhaps it was cruel to do this, to confront her with this evidence of her own depraved longings, buried beneath years of lessons on virtue. She had cried before. Now she positively wept, but she kept her feet down and her hands in place as he spanked and molested her in turn.
At last, when her bottom was hot to the touch and pleasingly scarlet, he stopped his onslaught and let her up. He made her stand facing him, with her skirts drawn up over her punished arse cheeks.
“Look at me,” he said. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Her eyes were stormy, tearful gray, her delicate features flushed and damp. “I’m not to lie to you anymore, my lord. I’m to listen to you when you give me orders. I’m to come to dinner when I’m told and...and be good.”
“Have you learned anything about taking a proper punishment?”
“Yes.” She nodded and sniffled. “I’m not to resist you. I’m to submit to...”
“To your husband’s lawful guidance.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been spanked once already for resisting me, haven’t you? And now again. If you persist in this behavior, my love, the punishments will worsen with each subsequent offense. I’ll use a switch, or a strap, or a cane if necessary to stop you doing it. Do you want that?”
She shook her head. “No, my lord.”
“Go stand in the corner by the window for five minutes and think about the things we’ve discussed. Leave your skirt up over your bottom so you’ll feel the air on your punished cheeks as a reminder.”
She turned from him in misery and did as he bade her. It created powerful feelings in him, watching his wife walk to the corner and stand there, compliant, head bowed. He’d spanked countless women but never like this, never with real stakes and a real relationship of authority. His cock throbbed, stiff and thick, squeezed uncomfortably beneath the fitted fabric of his breeches.
He could, he realized in that moment, make her do anything. She’d had a frantic, pained reaction to her punishment, yes, but she’d had a sexual reaction too. Did she feel the same visceral arousal in submission that he felt in commanding her? If she did, she would hide it and deny it as long as he permitted her. It would take skill and patience to bring these submissive yearnings to full flower, especially in a timid creature like her.
But he could do it. Warren had been correct after all.
Aurelia shifted in the corner and made an anxious sound, as if, somehow, she’d been able to follow the direction of his thoughts. He loosened his falls and released his aching cock. He stroked it up and down, staring at his wife’s bottom framed by the fine yellow silk of her dress. He had to have her. He had to be inside her just as she was, with her skirts up and her face in full blush as she faced the wall.
He crossed to stand behind her. When she made as if to turn, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t move. Stay as you are.”
She shuddered as he stroked her bottom, parting the reddened flesh and delving downward to fondle her hot quim. If anything she was wetter than before, even slicker with feminine lust. He ground his swollen organ against her backside.
“You’re learning, aren’t you?” he whispered against her ear. “You wish to be my obedient, virtuous wife.”
“I... I’m...”
He silenced her with a finger over her lips. “Don’t talk. Your five minutes aren’t up yet.”
His other hand probed her pussy, sliding through honeyed folds. He pushed his breeches down to his knees and pressed his cock to her wet opening from behind. She jerked as if startled.
“Hold your dress up,” he ordered. “Don’t let it go.”
He took her hips and pushed inside her. She was so tight, so inexpressibly satisfying to conquer. She gave a light, breathless whine as he stretched her open with his thick length. At the same time, he manipulated her most sensitive flesh, trying to bring her the same pleasure he felt. It wasn’t long before she melted against him. He clasped her tight, encircling her in his arms. He tipped her chin back and kissed her, once, twice.
She didn’t kiss him back. She seemed altogether lost in the moment, which wasn’t a bad thing.
“Does this feel good?” he asked quietly. “Do you like this?”
She shook her head, but it wasn’t much of a shake. It was a very weak denial.
“You mustn’t lie, remember,” he said, sliding a hand down to squeeze her still-heated arse. “If you lie, you’ll have to learn your lesson all over again, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like that. Answer me. Does this feel good?”
He stroked and teased her little button until she was practically dancing on her toes. “It feels g-good. Yes.”
That whispered admission resonated through his straining muscles straight to his balls and cock. He was going to bring her to climax, his glacial little dormouse, whether she wished it or not. He drove up inside her, stroking and urging her, using her breaths and shudders to judge how to touch her to bring her to her peak. Here his experience served him, for she was, like all women, easily manipulated with the right touches and the right words. He was slow and patient, studying her reactions and using everything he learned to drive her pleasure higher.
When she stiffened against his front, gripping his cock and gasping in the throes of satisfaction, he let out a groan and bucked into her, filling her with his seed. She pressed her hands against the wall as her tight sheath milked him of every last drop. He held her close, reveling in her beautiful surrender. Her skirts stayed bunched between them as he thrust into her with one last surge. Ahh…
A successful punishment session, this, for more reasons than one.
He stepped away from his wife and let her skirts fall back to her ankles. She stayed facing the wall as he straightened himself and refastened his breeches. That finished, he turned her about, and used a thumb to force her gaze to his.
She looked confused, flustered, and utterly devastated.
“You would have learned how at some point,” he said, stroking his thumb across her cheek. “I would have taught you, little grasshopper, whether you wanted to learn or not.”
She stared at him a long moment, then turned her face away. “I am not an insect.”
“But you are a woman, aren’t you? A woman with desires and feelings, as much as you endeavor to deny that fact.” He released her and walked toward the door. “I expect you downstairs at the dining table within ten minutes time, Aurelia. I am positively starved.”
Chapter Seven: Dinner
Her husband stood from his seat at the head of the table when she arrived. Aurelia crossed to her place at his right, feeling the weight of his dark gaze as if he touched her with his very hands. She wondered if any of the servants had heard her screaming earlier. She felt that all of them must know of her shame, but one person certainly knew, and that was Lord Townsend.
She nodded at him as she took her seat. He murmured a greeting in return and watched her shift helplessly, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. Her bottom ached. There was nothing for it. At least he’d given her time to compose her appearance—and her scattered thoughts—before the meal commenced.
Aurelia was certain her lady’s maid had heard her screaming, but the old woman pretended she hadn’t, as any experienced servant should. Aurelia was glad. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened, not yet. She was still coming to terms with her husband’s actions afterward, and her own body’s traitorous display. The things he had made her feel, both good and bad, defied understanding.
As the servants began the choreographed niceties of the dinner service, she slid a glance at him. He watched her with a studious expression, his lips drawn down in a frown. She was grateful for the food set before her, because it gave her something to do besides make conversation.
Because what on earth was there to say?
“Have you found Townsend House a comfortable home?” he asked abruptly in the silence. “I mean to ask, are your rooms all they could be? Do the servants meet your needs?”
She paused, fork in hand. “Admirably, my lord.”
He made a soft sound. “Will you call me Hunter, damn you? There’s no one else here.”
“Will you refrain from cursing at me, Hunter?” she replied with as much heat as she dared. If she angered him again, she wasn’t sure her backside could endure the result. She speared a sauced potato and chewed it woodenly.
Her husband wasn’t angry. In fact, he seemed amused. “I like when you’re not such a mouse. Yes, I’ll try to stop cursing at you.”