Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
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.”
Arousal flared in her middle, as much from his soft, portending tone as his perverse admission. “What if I can’t sit down at all?” she asked. Truly, she was flirting. Asking for more.
“I hope you can’t. I hope you won’t be able to when I’m finished with you,” he went on in his hypnotizing voice. “It will help you remember who your husband is, and what he expects of you. I wonder how many women of the ton have to submit to weekly spankings.”
Her knees felt weak, even as her bottom’s throb became an ache centered between her legs. She turned her face to the wall, flushing so hot she thought she would die from it. Her face must be at least as red as her buttocks. Why did she like this? Why did she enjoy such depraved words spoken in his low, intimidating voice?
Now was not the time to question it. He had told her this was the time she must rather think upon her transgressions, like being “too good of a wife.” A soft giggle escaped her, quickly muffled by her hand.
“Do you find this amusing?” he asked.
“No, sir,” she said quickly.
“You giggled just now, very clearly. Is my discipline not strict enough to show you the error of your ways?”
“It’s perfectly strict, my lord, I promise you.”
“Open your mouth, Rosalind, and get on your knees.” His brows rose in an arch. “I’ll see to it you can’t do any more giggling as you wait to submit to the strap.”
She complied, opening her lips wider when he chided her, so wide he was able to take down his falls, produce his cock, and drive it straight into her mouth. She choked a little, holding his thighs for balance. She could not giggle about fanciful thoughts now. Her whole attention was upon the techniques he’d taught her on their travels through Tuscany and France, techniques for pleasuring him with her mouth and tongue. At first this had frightened her; she had not thought it proper. Now she liked to do it more, even if she struggled. She liked it because it made him gasp and buck in her mouth, and grasp her hair in his fists.
She would not tell him it excited her. She rather thought he enjoyed doling it out as “punishment.”
She licked and sucked his cock until completion, that is, until he emptied himself in her mouth. She swallowed his seed as he’d taught her—spitting was ungenteel.
“We still have a punishment to finish,” he said, helping her stand. “I hope you haven’t forgotten.”
“No, sir.” She hadn’t forgotten for a moment. At least, in the elapsed time, her bottom felt a little less raw and throbby. She knew her respite wouldn’t last long.
“Remove your chemise first,” he said. “Then kneel upon the lower part of the punishment bench and bend over it.”
She eyed the structure as she loosened the ribbon at her neck and drew her chemise over her head. She placed it on the table beside the chest, where he rummaged for an adequate strap. There were five or six she could see, among other whips and paddles. This, on top of all the spanking tools she’d seen on the ship! How many could one man need?