Captive Discipline (Demetrian Brides Book 1)

by Taryn Williams

  At first she thought Tadewidan would reject the second suggestion as well, but after exchanging glances with the others, he nodded. "We will stay here in session until you report back to us the interview has been concluded. Mistress Janys, in light of your physical circumstances, afterwards you may remain at home unless we require your presence."

  "Good!" the Prof responded brightly. "If you're all going to be here anyway, perhaps you could give my assistant some background information on the events." A young woman with glossy black hair and too-blue eyes stepped forward.

  Pamela Something. Janys remembered her vaguely from her last year at the Institute. The one who sat on the front row in the Prof's seminar on religious protocols. A slight quiver in the girl's throat revealed she was subvocalizing into an implant…

  "That will not be necessary." Tadewidan frowned. "We have described the events fully in our filing with the Court, and we prefer the issues not be confused. Your assistant may remain planetside until you are ready to return to your shuttle, but I do not believe any of our people will betray our trust by speaking with her, or you either, other than as required to satisfy the ICJ directive." Although he addressed the professor, his kept his eyes trained on Janys.

  Look how he's boxed me in. No one else will speak to the Prof or this Pamela person, so if anything leaks out, they'll know it came from me. And I'll get another turn on the spanking bench—or worse. She couldn't keep from shuddering.

  Martel pulled her against him. "Are you sure you are not afraid of this man? If you wish, I will follow along behind where I can see but not hear."

  "No, that won't be necessary.". Again she struggled to keep from laughing. All these people who believed in causing each other intense physical pain thought she'd be scared of someone whose major weapon was silence? How could she tell her husband she was much more afraid of herself? Especially what she might say or do when no one else could hear.

  "Then I will wait here, and come home when he returns." She didn't think she could stand it if he kissed her goodbye, yet felt she'd lost something when Martel merely stepped back, clearing her way to the door.

  The Prof held a whispered conference with Pamela, then turned to Janys. "Let's go."

  Again he bent to her ear. "The sooner I return, the sooner we can get you back to the Institute."

  They stepped out into dry heat as the Prof flipped on his visors. For a second he forgot she was there as he made a full turn, studying each direction. "I'm curious. Where are the other settlements?"

  Assuming he'd had a map on hand, he could have figured it out for himself, so she didn't think she'd be breaking any law to provide geographical guidance. "Lycarta's that way." She pointed across the square down towards the building where she'd been held while waiting for her trial. "About nine meters following the stream. Katerie and Pertrotal are in the opposite direction on the lake, around twenty meters away."

  They started towards the north end of the square as the Prof continued. "Katerie's populated entirely by women, while Petrotal is all men?"

  Janys could tell the Prof already knew the answer. After all, that information had been available to both of them before she ever set foot on Demeter. But it was hard for her to stop giving him answers to simple background questions, even if she suspected he asked them only to lead her back into her old role. "Yes, that's right."

  "And the difference between Wyteen and Lycarta, where both men and women live?"

  "Who enforces the laws." She clamped her mouth shut, knowing she would be perilously close to violating her promises if she provided more detail.

  At that moment they passed by the spot where Janys had heard Mistress Plettigan's cries the day of her trial. Although she'd heard from Shalimerie that others had received public correction since then, thankfully the place had always been vacant when she'd been in the area.

  Even without people to demonstrate, Janys knew Prof guessed the use of the wooden structure occupying the small platform. He halted, then climbed on it. Automatically she followed him up.

  "Fascinating," he murmured as he ran his palm over the sun-blistered surface, dipping into the hollow under one of the straps. "I haven't seen anything like this since Olde England or Colonial America. Do these function as stocks for making people stand out in this heat, or are they just restraints while other forms of corporal punishment are administered?"

  Just restraints, she wanted to say, but stopped herself. "I can't discuss any of that with you."

  Again he made a 360-degree turn around the square, stopping to study the small group of people standing outside the meeting hall before facing her again. "Janys, I can't do my report unless I know exactly what's happened to you. Now, no one can hear us out here. Tell me."

  "But there's nothing I can tell you!" she muttered.

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the wood. "Did they put you in this?"

  Even though she'd never been strapped down out here, she flinched, remembering the bench Martel forced her to lie on for her punishment. "I can't tell you," she whispered, trying to pull away.

  Prof dropped her hand. "My darling, I know they beat you. If that sadistic son-of-a-bitch running things back there hadn't admitted it, I could have told from the way you stand and move as though every step hurts. Now tell me what happened so I can help you."

  So much of her wanted to answer him. To collapse in his arms and describe everything about the paddling and switching and waxing About feeling the strap across her nipples and between her legs. Even though the Prof had the stomach of a galactic sociologist, she knew he'd be horrified.

  If she just let it spill out, he'd comfort here. Maybe not out in the square with the folks around the meeting hall staring at them, but back at the cottage where they could be truly alone for the first time in—how long? Between his projects, her assignments, and their frequent fallings out, it must be almost an Earth year.

  But that was the home she shared with Martel, who'd suffered so much to save her life. Someone who held and loved her while Prof undoubtedly switched to Pamela to fill in the gaps in his marriage.

  "You said you wanted to see where I live with my husband?" She emphasized the last two words. "Then we need to keep going up this path."

  He frowned, then looked back across the square. As he stepped off the platform, he smiled. "I think I see. Yes, let's get there as soon as possible so we can continue this discussion with more privacy."

  No, you don't see at all. But then how could he? Even Janys wasn't sure what would happen when they reached the cottage. She only wished he'd slow down for a moment as he barreled down the walkway, oblivious to the strain his pace put on her aching limbs.

  It wasn't until they reached the split-off point for Kronitin and Elondelle's home that he held back, allowing her to take the lead. Glancing back towards town, he put a finger across his lips, listening intently. "I don't think they followed us."

  "I’m sure they didn't." If she'd felt cross at Martel for hurrying her to the meeting, she felt doubly so with the Professor for marching her this way on the return. But then when had he ever noticed her trying to keep up with him as he loped to classes or his office?

  She took him the rest of the way to the door, pushing it open. "No locks?" he commented.

  "Not necessary." After all, most adults wouldn't risk a trip to the platform in the square to steal the simple food or goods they'd find in most homes.

  Despite his claim he needed to investigate her living situation, Prof spent only a few minutes circling through the lower portion of the residence. He stopped in the living room to stare at the marital paddle. Taking it down from the wall, he turned it different ways as though assessing its dimensions. After replacing it, he pulled out a notebook about the size of her bibalon and jotted something in it.

  He looked up at her, pen still in hand. "Your 'husband' has used this on you, hasn't he?"

  She'd expected to hear sympathy, or sadness, or even anger in his voice. Some sort of emotional re
action that someone he'd once claimed to love had been injured. But the only thing she could identify was excitement. The heart-pounding, throat-drying reaction of a researcher discovering something big.

  "I'm not going to discuss it with you." And not just because I'd be breaking my vow. How had she expected comfort from someone viewing her as "Subject J" for his next paper?

  "Janys, stop being silly—". He scribbled in the notebook. "There are three questions the ICJ wanted me to ask. Look at them, and then tell me if you can answer any of them."

  He handed her the notebook. "ARE YOU AFRAID THEY'RE WATCHING OR LISTENING TO US? IF SO, SAY YOU NEED ME TO EXPLAIN QUESTION ONE."

  Of course she felt tempted. One small lie, and she could have it all back. Her work, her friends. Her relationship with the Prof. Her old life.

  Yes, she could go back to her research, traveling from planet to planet making smug observations without any real understanding. Hang around with Institute folks like Pamela, wondering whether someone saw their friendship as a step up the hierarchy. Spend more nights alone in her room guessing when next she'd come up on the Prof's dance card. Was that what she'd considered a life?

  Instead she shook her head. "No one's listening. I don't think they have the technology to do it, and even so, they wouldn't have time to set it up."

  "Are you sure?" He looked around the room, then cocked his ear. "Ever since we came in I felt like someone else was here."

  Janys paused as well, but could hear nothing but the dry breeze stirring the kitchen curtains. "No, we're completely alone."

  "Then why can't you talk with me?"

  "Because the things you want to hear about are private. Between my husband and me," she added…

  Scowling, he shoved the notebook back into his pocket. The tip of his tongue slid along the edge of his front teeth as he studied her as a puzzle box, looking for the place to spring her open. "I don't know what they've done to you, sweetie, but I don't like it. All right, if you can't speak about it, just show me. Lift up your tunic and I'll see for myself what happened."

  "No." Quickly she slipped beyond grabbing distance.

  "One last time, " he pressed, clearly exasperated. "What can you tell me about your time here?"

  All the way along the path, she'd tried to figure out what she could say without violating confidentiality. As long as she stayed within the things the Prof already knew, she should be safe. "I broke the law, and I accepted their punishment. It's over now, and I don't want to discuss it."

  "And this marriage they forced you into?" The professor's eyes raked her as if she'd given the wrong answer in his seminar. "Is that over as well?"

  "No, of course not," she murmured. "And I don't want it to be." Until she said the words, she didn't realize how much she meant them.

  "I see." He continued to appraise her. "Then why don't you finish taking me on the grand tour of this scene of marital bliss?"

  She led him upstairs, his feet harsh on the steps, standing back so he could inspect the old-fashioned bathroom. Thankfully the guest room door was closed, and Prof didn't bother to open it. Even if she never said a word to him about the spanking bench, she knew it would feature prominently in his report.

  Instead he headed into the room she shared with Martel. She'd pulled the quilt over everything before leaving for the meeting, but it still looked rumpled. Nonetheless he sat down on the edge and patted the spot by his side. "Come here."

  She eased herself down beside him, making sure neither their sides nor legs touched. Now she could breathe in his aftershave, the spicy stuff made from the red pine trees on Nicto Andolanus. Janys bought him his first bottle when he'd taken her there for her first assignment. At the last Christmas gathering at the Institute, his wife bragged about finding an importer to replenish his supply.

  "Janys, sweetie, I can't pretend I understand all of this." His brown eyes gazed warmly into hers as he clasped her right hand between his two palms. "I know something went horribly wrong with your assignment here, and I don't know all the details. Maybe somehow you've embraced all this corporal punishment stuff. But that's not the person I remember."

  Isn't it? She thought how many times she'd broken the rules. Pushed him to anger, but instead of confronting her, he'd withdrawn, making her feel hurt and alone. Their fights stretched over days, and even when he started speaking to her again, she never believed he'd truly forgiven her.

  So different from Martel. Even though he'd been angry when he'd spanked her on their wedding night, and stern afterwards when he made sure she understood what she'd done, he'd returned to his normal self by the time they christened the marital paddle. She still remembered how gently he'd patted her shoulder before going to his separate room.

  But how could she explain this to Prof? That although she dreaded the actual spankings, she liked having someone pay attention to what she did. No matter how busy Martel might be, he always took the time to discipline her. Although he never stinted on the "corrective" aspect, he combined it with fairness and love. Best of all, once he'd addressed a matter with her that way, he never brought it up again.

  "It's hard for me to explain," she allowed. "I guess you're right—I've changed a lot…"

  "Brainwashing," he murmured. "Stockholm Syndrome. You've started identifying with your captors."

  "It's not that way." Or was it? How else could she have forgiven Martel so quickly for the strapping?

  Again he studied her. "Sweetie, I know I can't win this by argument. You're a proud person, and I know how hard it must have been to submit to these punishments. Now you want to defend that submission by telling me you accept it. But what you really need to be telling me are things I can use it to get you out of here."

  She bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Maybe the Prof was right. Could all her feelings be suspect, a way of justifying her failure to resist more strenuously? Shouldn't she have protested every time Martel or his mother raised a hand to her? Instead she'd obediently fetched paddles and bared her skin for torment.

  "Good, I think you're coming back to me." The Professor's left hand cupped her chin. "Now do it all the way." He drew her towards his waiting mouth.

  What about Martel? she screamed as her body betrayed her, her lips and arms seeking out the familiar positions. How long she'd waited to be with the Professor again. To have him rescue her. She closed her eyes as he eased her down, her tongue seeking his.

  Her back touched the bed, jarring her with pain. Suddenly she remembered Martel lying across it, his shoulders livid with bruises and welts from the whipping he'd taken for helping her. Remembered how they'd made love, or simply lain together under the quilt. Was she really going to betray him in their own marriage bed?

  Yes, part of her replied. As always with the Prof, you take what's offered when it comes around. How can you care about a husband you beats you? Whom you didn't want to marry? Isn't this the man you truly love?

  "No," she cried, squirming out from under him. "This is wrong!"

  He rolled off her and sat up. "Because of that wedding bracelet on your wrist? A sham ceremony which the Court can easily put aside."

  "But I told you downstairs—I don't want to end it." Hurriedly she pulled herself back on the edge of the bed. "Maybe at the beginning it was a sham, but now—it's real." And it's Martel I want to be with, she realized with wonder.

  "Real." Her tunic had ridden up, revealing an angry red line left by the strap. Before she could duck out of the way, his finger traced it on her thigh. "That's what looks real to me."

  She jerked the tunic down. "I told you I broke the law, and I got punished. It won't happen again."

  "You hope. You know, these customs you won't talk about aren't as secret as you think." He stared into her eyes. "When I found out we weren't going to be able to get your research, I asked Pamela to track down folks who used to live here. She found one lady who said she's never coming back, so she told us a lot of things."

  He patted her right side. "I know yo
u keep a book in there—something that sounds a little like 'bible' but longer—and you have to write down everything wrong you do. Then every ten days comes the reckoning, probably delivered by that paddle downstairs. Plus sweetie, knowing how stubborn you can be, I expect you're spending extra time over your husband's knee. Now is that your idea of a good marriage?"

  She didn't know how to answer. No, it hadn't been her idea of a good marriage, but who was he to judge? At least Martel's relationship with her didn't include lying or stepping out with

  students. "How's your wife?"

  "Andrea?" He looked as though she'd asked him if he'd gone down lately on the Protector. "Why are you asking?"

  "We were talking about marriage," she responded coolly. "I was just wondering. I hadn't seen her for a long time."

  "Same as always," he replied, folding his hands in his lap. "Still doesn't like to travel. I invited her to come along this time as well, but she wanted to stay at the Institute."

  "And Pamela?"

  He paused as if having difficulty placing the name, then turned his eyes away. "A good researcher. Young, but strong on detail. Takes directions well. She does everything I ask her to."

  I bet she does, Janet added silently.

  "Look, sweetie, I don't know what this is all about." Although he tried to put his arm around her shoulders, she shrugged him away. "We miss you at the Institute. We need you back there where you belong."

  Always "we". Never would William Rickman admit he missed or needed anyone, whether it was poor Andrea, raising the kids in the family residential quarters at the Institute, or his former top research assistant. Even Pamela probably had a replacement coming through the program.

  "Well, I don't think I belong there anymore," she said as she stood up and faced him. "Even if I did, you're not guaranteeing the Court will take over this case, just that someone might listen if I tell you the right horror stories."