by Jaye Peaches
Sym screamed.
Another sweep of his arm, another swoosh of the cane and the sound of tormented flesh. The occupants of the room collectively flinched. Lysa could see the women grimace, unable to look at the spectacle, they kept their heads bowed. In amongst the crowd, she spied Jen, tears streaming down her friend’s face. Behind her sat Yuri, his face rigid and impassive.
Lysa stared at Craig. His eyes darted about the room, looking everywhere but at the bench.
How did Harkess condone such a brutal punishment and why wasn’t Ridley present to witness it?
Her anger grew, replacing shock and horror.
Another enormous thwack resounded around the room and Sym howled.
The constable grinned. The clear expression of delight on his face was too much to bear. Lysa rose to her shaking feet, wishing she had the courage to intervene, but instead she ran out of the door.
Tears flowed. She kept running all the way back to the sanctuary of the pod. Once there she threw herself on the bed and sobbed. She hated the colony and everything it stood for—the harsh conditions, the lack of dignity for women and the stupid rules. The only bright light in the midst of her dismay was the knowledge her husband refused to witness such punishments. Now she knew why he warned her not to go to that room.
* * *
Blake bounded down the corridor like a man on a mission. All day, as he punched holes into black rock, he’d been dealing with a different hardness—his cock. The damn thing wouldn’t lie still and it was because she, his wife, constantly occupied his waking dreams.
Ever since he’d banged her hard against the wall, he’d been keen to try out one of his new implements. He’d held off for several days. However, she seemed both repulsed and intrigued by the idea of spanking being more than a disciplinary measure. While she lay in his arms at night, he whispered erotic tales in her ear and played with her swollen clit until she came, bellowing across the room.
His little stories of erotic enticement—how he would bend her over the kitchen table, tie her to it and paddle her bottom into a glow of redness, or another, which send her speeding towards a strong climax—how he would shackle her to the bed, spread-eagled and tap the cane up and down her bottom.
She pleaded for him to be quiet, but her body writhed about, leaking copiously all over the sheets. When she’d calmed, he entered her, taking her in a state of serenity. He could be quite rough, but he never left her injured or distressed. More recently, she coaxed him to use her harder. The words spilled out of her mouth in state of fervent lust, then later she would ‘tsk’ him and deny she’d ever said such things.
Soon he’d begin her anal adventures. Those he would enjoy alongside a decent spanking. He picked up his pace and hurried home, his hard cock rising in his pants.
He found his wife curled up on the bed, sobbing her heart out, clutching a pillow to her chest.
“Lysa?” He enveloped her in his arms, holding her close to his thumping heart. “What is it?”
She snivelled, hiccupped and struggled to speak.
“Are you hurt, has somebody hurt you?” He ran his hand up and down her back.
She shook her head. “You’re going to be cross with me.”
He tensed, but didn’t relinquish his embrace. “How so,” he asked.
“It was terrible. I went to that awful room—”
Blake shot up straight and grasped Lysa by the shoulders. “You went in the punishment room? What did you see?”
“Poor Sym. She’d been accused of stealing eggs. I can’t believe she did. That brute beat her. He’d rubbed that cream into her bottom. I couldn’t bear to watch, to listen. I ran out.”
Blake scowled. “The bastard. He’s forbidden from cutting, so he uses that damn stuff to make it more painful.”
Lysa scrambled on to her kneels, facing him. “Why doesn’t anyone stop him? Harkess can, surely?”
He brushed a few rogue strands of hair out of her eyes. “Those two are in cahoots. Was he there?”
“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.
“Looks that way to me. Do you think that trivialising this will make me change my mind?” His voice came closer, she could almost feel a shadow lying across her back.
“No, no,” she chirped. “I was… cooling my bum.” She stuttered. She pictured him standing over her, waving the paddle in his hand, ready to aim and strike.
“Spread your legs wider, so you are lying flat on the table.”
She complied, shuffling her feet apart.
“Wider.”
“Dammit,” she muttered. Her cleft parted, her sex was exposed.
He brushed his hand down her crevice, then circled his hand around each of her lobes. She wriggled.
“Keep still,” he barked. He repeated his stroking action. “I’ve paddled a few bottoms since I’ve arrived on this hell hole. Yours, by far, is the most attractive one.”
A mortifying bloom of heat rushed across her face. “Do you have to paddle my poor bottom?”
“Yes. Six times. You want proof I’m not the constable? I’m going to show you.”
She readied herself, gripped the edge of the table and held her breath.
The whoosh of air came before the blow. She heard a thwack and her pelvis rammed into the table edge. She waited—a second, a millisecond, she couldn’t tell—then blazing heat spread across both cheeks. The burning sensation grew, and before she could assimilate it, he struck again.
Tears came instantly. They pricked her eyes and she sobbed. Unlike his tantalising playful spanks, he didn’t hold back.
The third strike and she jumped up. He pushed her back down with a hand on the small of her back and left it there, holding her down. The fourth smack of the paddle came lower, on the crease between her thighs and buttocks, right where she sat. She yelped and knocked her forehead against the table. Breathe, breathe.
The fifth, she kicked a leg up as the pain ricocheted around her cheeks. She’d not looked back once to where Blake stood, but now she had to see for herself. Lifting her head, she glanced behind, over her shoulder. Was he grinning? Did he find amusement in spanking her with his mean paddle?
But when she looked closer she saw a determined, concentrated expression—furrows in his forehead, lips straight and unsmiling. He measured the distance to her bottom, angling the paddle as he completed a practice swing. She lowered her head, a small sigh of relief amongst the cry of pain. The final blow landed with an almighty whack.
He removed his hand. “I’m going to carry out an inspection now, Lysa.”
She stiffened. Now, why now?
“When did you last apply the bleaching agent?” he asked, separating her cheeks with his thumbs.
“Yesterday,” she gasped. The horrible stuff stung as usual.
“Looking very pink and lovely back here.” He slid his finger down her folds. “You’re wet.”
How could she be? Her bottom was on fire and the level of humiliation was close to unbearable. Why did this man, her husband, create a confusing mixture of emotions inside her scrambled mind? She lurched forward, trying to escape, as he poked a finger at her puckered anus.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “I think you’re ready.”
“Ready? Mmm definitely,” she muttered, squirming about on the table, unable to deny her arousal any longer.
“For your anal training.”
Lysa jerked, twisting her body around. Blake stood between her legs, his hands working her gently, probing and teasing. She spied the bulge in his pants.
“Please, Blake, I don’t want one of those beastly plugs in there,” she whimpered.
He walked to the bedside and retrieved the box containing the plugs. He also collected two bottles and placed them on the table by her head. One contained lubricating gel, the other a cleanser. She wanted to knock them flying, but she stowed her trembling hands as he opened the box and removed a plug. Even with a tapered end, the shiny metal plug appeared oversized.
She forgot the furnace burning about her buttocks, another matter distracted her from the discomfort. She leapt up and backed away from the table, wagging a finger at him. Blake put the plug down and walked towards her, matching her paces. Lysa halted. It was pointless trying to run away, he’d already demonstrated he could pick her up and put her wherever he wanted.
His face held no malice, no anger. She hugged herself, chewing on her lip. A minute ago, she’d been ready to come, enjoying his wandering finger.
He cleared this throat. “I’m not going to do anything you can’t cope with, Lysa. You’re a strong, resilient woman. All I ask is to let me take pleasure in nurturing you, making the most of your potential.”
Potential! Meaning what, exactly? She knew what she was capable of doing—working as an engineer, not a sexpot. She shivered, not with cold, but the enduring legacy of the paddling. A hot bottom left the rest of her chilly. Or was it nerves? Did she see herself incapable of what he desired? When it came to pushing for what she wanted, she’d never fallen short. Did she want to fail at this?
Blake had crossed the distance between them and she didn’t move. She let him approach and with his tongue licking about his lips, his hands fidgeting at his sides, she had little choice but let him have her.
He smothered her face and neck with kisses, while his hands roamed about her body, concocting all manner of sensations from gentle caresses to delicate pinches. One of his hands found locks of her hair. Her scalp stung as he tilted her head backwards and nipped her neck with the edge of his teeth.
Below Blake targeted her mound, sliding his palm over it and slipping two fingers between her labia. “Don’t fight it, Lysa. You’re making me crazy. Can you not feel it?” He rocked his pelvis against her hips, nudging his pants covered erection into her navel.
She bunched her hands up by her chest, trying to create a protective layer between them. He ignored them and dipped his head down, licking his tongue around a nipple.
Blake didn’t chip away her resistance; he bludgeoned it as he plied a thumb about her clitoris. Her arms flopped to her sides and he held her tighter to his chest, burying his nose in her hair.
He shuffled his feet forward, propelling her backwards towards the bed. Yes, she sighed, he’d changed his mind. He turned and sat on the bed, twisting her body around as he moved. Before she could understand his intentions, he forced her head down and tipped her over his lap.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, her eyes springing open.
He pinched the back of her neck in a pincer grip and pushed her head down. “You’re still resisting. So, this is what is going to happen. I’m going to spank you until you do as you’re told, then I shall gently insert the smallest plug in your lovely arse hole, making sure you’re lush in your tight little pussy, then I sha
ll fuck you. That is what is going on.”
“Spank me! I’ve not done anything wrong.” She tried to shove herself off his lap. “I’m not resisting. I’m… I’m… contemplating my situation and I don’t recall you can just shove something up my bottom without my consent.”
“Wrong. You did consent. The moment you married me.”
She scowled, flapping her legs up and down. “I don’t want to be spanked,” she whined. Her bottom throbbed from her paddling and the pulsating heat performed a duet with a heartbeats. What was happening to her? Unlike her first spanking, when he gave her no chance to resist him, she couldn’t decide whether to scratch him with her nails or lie on his lap and let him get on with it.
“Yes you do. This isn’t a punishment, but, if you don’t stop kicking, I will hold you down.”
Lysa stilled her legs and let out a long groan of defeat.
The flat of his hand landed on a cheek, a fiery patch of skin, and he reheated it instantly. However, it wasn’t a hard smack, if anything it seemed to be a firm kiss of his palm. She gasped and stifled a cry. She leant on her elbows and buried her face in her arms. “Just get on with it,” she mumbled.
Another slap struck the other cheek. “Not the right attitude, Lysa. I’ll keep going until you get the message.”
Message, what bloody message?
Another smack and she jolted forward on his lap. Every few seconds he spanked her again. A methodical, unhurried process, carefully crafted not to deliver too much pain. Blake paused and circled his hand around a buttock, stroking her skin without apply pressure. Her clitoris throbbed between her legs and she pushed back against his hand.
“Say it,” he murmured.
Lysa shook her head, she couldn’t, not yet.
He resumed his slaps, alternating between cheeks and he maintained a clockwork rhythm. She squirmed, grinding her hips into his thigh, sensing his hard cock nearby. She stretched out her arms, resting her head on one while her feet danced on her tiptoes. Precariously balanced, she was grateful when Blake looped an arm around her waist and anchored her to his lap.