“Come,” he said, snagging her by one ankle. “It’s time.”
“I can’t.”
“Violet.”
“No.”
He shook his head at her. “You were doing so well. Are you showing me right now that you prefer twice as much punishment? Or will you come and arrange yourself over my lap as you know you ought?”
A pleading sound bled from her throat. “I want to be good. But I can’t. I’m still so sore.”
“Goodness.” He lost his patience, and his temper, and used her ankle to drag her back across the bed and into his arms. “Then you are going to be very, very sore after this.”
He deposited her across his knees with no small amount of force, and leaned on her back to hold her fast. When she tried to push away, he bent her arm behind her, effectively trapping her and impeding any movement. Then he commenced to spank her still-tender posterior with no mercy whatsoever.
Violet did not wish to fight—she had been doing so well—but she felt she had no choice. Her bottom was so hot and tender, and his vigorous spanking felt like getting strapped all over again.
“I hate you,” she screamed as she struggled. “I hate you, I hate you. I want to go home. I want my papa. I want you to let me goooo...”
He did not let her go, but rather gave her the longest spanking she had yet endured. It was her fault, because she fought him until the end, until she literally could not flail against him anymore. Her bottom was so sore by his final set of stingers that it was practically numb.
“I don’t know, Violet,” he said when he was finished, when both of them were breathless and wrung out from the fight. “I don’t know how to get through to you.” He released the pressure on her arm, but he didn’t let her go. “I believe it’s time to begin a more rigorous stage of training. I pray that it will work.”
“Nothing will ever work,” she snarled. “You can strap me and spank me, and humiliate me forever, and you will never break me down.”
“You may be right,” he said with a sigh. “But I’m not ready to give up yet. We’ll try something new tomorrow.”
He finally released her, and Violet vaulted off his lap. He pointed to the bed and she crawled within the sheets, cringing inwardly as her punished, overheated backside contacted the cool sheets. She would not let him see how much he hurt her. She would feel better tomorrow, and have more energy to fight again.
He didn’t leave right away, even though she wished him to. He stood over her instead, and took a moment to stroke her hair. She saw a gleam in his eyes she had not seen before—both appraisal and threat—that unsettled her. Something new tomorrow. Violet wondered if, after all, she ought to have kept her mouth shut and docilely offered her bottom to be punished, no matter how sore and used it felt. Now she had pushed him again, and when she pushed him, she often disliked where things ended up.
She turned her head into the pillow, too exhausted to keep her eyes open. She hoped the “something new tomorrow” was not too horrible to bear.
Chapter Six: The Handle
Violet slept late the following day, plagued by vague nightmares of torments and punishments, all to do with the duke and his devilish chamber upstairs. She slept so late, in fact, that she skipped breakfast entirely and accepted a luncheon tray from Jeannie with great appreciation.
The maid bobbed a curtsy before she hurried from the room. In deference to Thornton’s wishes, Violet had done her best to curb her tongue around the servants, even when she was cross and sore from her latest punishment. And the duke was right—the servants were more helpful to her in return.
She didn’t know if that meant she was changing, exactly. She thought it more likely that her kindness came from a place of practicality. If she was to have any chance of escaping this house—and she did still intend escape—then she would need every servant possible on her side. Perhaps they would not help her, for she had offered greater and greater sums of money until it became clear it was a lost cause.
But if they would not go out of their way to hinder her, that would be valuable too. Many a servant had perfected the art of keeping quiet when it benefitted a favored master or mistress. She was counting on this instinct in Jeannie at the very least.
Violet filled her days stitching laughably bad needlework—mainly to irritate the duke—and planning getaway schemes using the limited information she’d managed to gather about the house. She would draw Jeannie, or Meryl, the younger maid, into casual conversation with a deeper, secret purpose. It was funny how freely a young, innocent maid would talk when the questioner was a royal princess. So, perhaps Violet was only being expedient, rather than nice.
She must redouble her efforts now, since the duke had decided his current methods weren’t working. She was rather proud of that. It felt like a victory, although a dubious one, since his future methods would likely be worse. She dreamed of escaping him, and regularly pictured the dejected frown on his face when he realized she had slipped his grasp. The only bad part about escaping was that she would not be here to see that face when he made it.
Ah, well. Her safe escape must be her priority. She ate her luncheon with good appetite and then strode back and forth for a while to stay in good physical condition. In the course of her escape, she might have to run and climb and do other athletic feats, so she practiced various exercises when no one was in the room. She could feel herself getting stronger and healthier. The duke did not seem to notice, or perhaps he ascribed it to all the exercise she got tensing and jerking beneath his spankings.
“Violet, my dear. You’ll wear a hole in my floor with your pacing.”
She spun about at Thornton’s voice, and found him, upright and proper as ever, standing just inside her door. Damn him for refusing to knock. He was constantly appearing like some demon from her nightmares. Well, he was the demon from her nightmares.
“I’m pacing because I must do something,” she snapped at him. “I’m trapped for days on end in this room.”
His lips pursed at her tone. “It’s cold outside. You’re better off in here.”
She knew she’d best tread carefully, and not work him into a temper straightaway. She was still quite sore from the strapping and spanking yesterday.
“How are you today, Your Grace?” she asked, gravitating toward the protection of a chair. She sat her bare, exposed bum on the seat and arranged her pale blue skirts about her. “Have you come to visit me a while?”
“Yes, and to show you something.”
Uh, oh. There was a bit too much enthusiasm in his voice, and that unsettling gleam in his gaze. Worse, he held some unidentifiable objects in his hands.
“You remember yesterday, I advised you that I must escalate your behavioral training?”
“I wouldn’t say you must,” Violet said.
“I believe I must. In fact, I thought long and hard about the most appropriate way to settle you down, and refocus you on the necessary submission to my will.”
Ugh. Whenever he began to speak about things like “submission to his will,” bile churned in her stomach.
“I’m sure you’ve thought of something perfectly devious,” she said.
“I have. My most talented craftsman has been at it all night, but I believe it will be worth it.” He held up the first of the objects, a compact and slightly oblong bulb of metal that ended in a flange. “Isn’t this lovely? It’s hard and heavy, with such a polished shine.”
Violet would agree it was shiny, and it looked heavy, but what was he going to do with it for purposes of discipline? Throw it at her head?
“And here at the end, there is a place for...” The duke brandished the item in his other hand, a narrow but solid cylinder of wood about a half foot in length. Would he hit her with it? It was not long enough to make a useful spanking implement. As she watched, he fitted the wood into the base of the bulb with a twisting motion. “Ah, yes, it fits perfectly, just as my man promised. The wooden rod can be inserted, if needed, or the bulb can be use
d on its own.”
“Used for what? What do you do with such a thing?” she asked warily, still picturing him whacking her about the head.
“It goes in your bottom, of course. Well, only the bulb,” he said, tapping the metal. He ran his finger along the polished wooden piece. “This part is meant to jut outside your body, so you can’t sit down on every couch, chair, or bed in some immature attempt to evade punishment. In fact, you’ll have no choice but to leave your bottom completely exposed, a requirement you shall make peace with one way or another.”
Violet gawked at him. Her mind was still caught back on the words “in your bottom.”
“But... But...”
“You’re owed more punishment today for your antics yesterday evening, and I have no intention of fighting for access to your buttocks,” he said. “My days of wrestling with you are over. You may find this instrument upsetting, but I’m quite serious about training you to accept necessary discipline and authority. You’ll need to graciously accept your husband’s discipline to make a happy marriage, if nothing else.”
“But...” She still could not summon any words.
“You may be worried about the introduction of such a substantial bulb into your delicate bottom hole. It’s not easily accomplished—and should not be, as it is a punishment—but this lubricating oil will ease the way.” He held up the third and final item, a glass jar containing a viscous substance. “So, that is my plan. I’m sure you won’t like how it feels, and that you’ll miss the ability to sit down while you’re wearing this rig, but after yesterday, it seems you need help comprehending that your obedience is not a choice. Your submission to punishment is not a choice. Perhaps, after a few hours of this training, the concept will get through.”
“A few hours?” Violet croaked. “You can’t. You mustn’t. This is not acceptable. I’ve never...”
“Never had anything in your bottom?” he supplied when she couldn’t finish. One of his dark brows arched, as if he were amused. “I did not expect you had, but for a young woman as incorrigible as you, one is forced to explore the more extreme disciplinary measures. Well, then. We might as well begin.”
She shook her head as he approached, and pressed herself as hard as she could into the soft cushions of the sofa. She would not submit to this. She absolutely would not. When he placed the items on the nearby table and reached to draw her over his lap, she fled, tearing to the door and yanking at the brass knob. It was locked, of course. She threw a wild look at the door to his room. He moved to stand between her and that avenue of escape.
“My dear,” he said in his eternally cool and steady voice. “You cannot escape what is going to happen to you. That’s the entire lesson here, and you are going to learn it.”
“But I don’t want to,” she cried. “I don’t want...that…”
“No reasonable person would want it,” he said with a shrug. “But you need it. If you cannot submit to your punishment in a properly surrendered fashion, then I shall summon a few burly footmen to hold you down while I do what must be done.” He paused to let her imagine it. “Although you might find that a bit embarrassing,” he added with another shrug.
She hated him and his shrugs, and the careless, bemused way he destroyed her dignity. Violet stood and glared at him, and considered her options with her hands in fists at her sides. She could not defeat him, except by escape, and the door was locked, so she could not escape him at this moment. She had no choice but to submit—this time. “You’re a brute and a barbarian,” she said with trembling vitriol.
“I am your master. There is a difference. Come then.” He held out a hand, but she didn’t take it. He crossed instead to grasp her arm, and then he dragged her resisting form over to the couch, where his nefarious tools lay.
“Over my lap,” he instructed. “As if you were to be spanked. Palms and toes on the floor. You know the position.”
She knew the position far too well, and assumed it with the greatest reluctance. She closed her eyes at the sound of him uncapping the jar. He spread her bottom cheeks and deposited a cold, wet dollop of the lubricating oil right upon the bud of her arse. A moment later she felt the smooth, rounded tip of the bulb probe her hole.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, and made a strangled noise of humiliation in her throat. She wished she could die.
“You must relax,” he said. “It’s going in, one way or another. Accept your fate.”
He pressed it harder against her resisting hole, and an inch or two of the metal bulb slid in. “It hurts,” she said, clenching her buttocks. “Please, I won’t ever...I won’t ever try to avoid a spanking again. I won’t sit down all day if you don’t want me to. You needn’t do this!”
“I’m afraid I must.” He eased the metal bulb deeper, so the stretching pain intensified. “You won’t learn, otherwise.”
All she was learning was that it hurt to have an intrusion, however smooth, driven into her bottom. She curled up her legs as he worked the thing in and out.
“Just a bit farther,” he said. “Put those toes back on the floor.”
Violet lowered her legs with a moan, and the duke took the opportunity to push the bulb the rest of the way in, so her bottom clenched about the base, just above the flange. He moved it around a bit inside her, and she realized he was using the protruding “handle” to do it.
“Please, I don’t like that. It feels so full. It hurts.”
“It’s a sensitive place,” he said in a tone of agreement. “A vulnerable place, and therefore a perfect place to inflict punishment. I’m sorry if you find it uncomfortable, but that is rather the point.”
“It feels as if it doesn’t belong there. I feel so stretched. Please, take it out again. I’ll be good, I promise.”
Instead, he drizzled a bit more oil around her hole, and proceeded to draw the bulb in and out, in and out, making her feel more uneasy and humiliated each time. “There,” he said. “It seems securely seated. Your inner muscles, along with the flange, will prevent it from being expelled until I allow it.”
“Please, it hurts.” It was not excruciatingly painful, but it felt odd and invasive, and she couldn’t stop clenching upon it. “I can’t believe you’re subjecting me to this.”
He made a quelling noise, the first hint of impatience. “Be grateful this is only a small-sized bulb. If you were my wife, I’d put my cock inside your arse when you were very bad, and humble you that way until I found my pleasure. You would find it much more uncomfortable.”
“Your...cock?”
One of his hands came to rest at the tops of her thighs. “Don’t you know what a cock is?”
“No, I don’t, but if it’s bigger than this, I don’t want it inside me. You’re horrible to torment me this way.”
“On that note...” Thornton sighed and lifted her, and arranged her so she was kneeling on the sofa, bent over the back with her legs slightly spread. “You’re due a good spanking for your behavior yesterday. Keep your bottom in the air, and your legs spread just like that. I’ll go and fetch that oak paddle I keep in my room.”
Violet groaned. She knew that stout oak paddle well, and eyed it with dread as he returned. “But...” Violet peered behind her. “You can’t possibly paddle me with the wooden cylinder in the way.”
“It’s easy enough to paddle you while you’re wearing this device, as long as I restrict myself to the lower, more sensitive regions of your buttocks.”
She wished now, truly wished that she had not fought him so last night. He had indeed moved on to a more rigorous stage of training. When she cowered against the sofa back and clenched her bottom in anticipation, he took hold of the handle protruding from her person and forced her back into the correct position, with her torso arched and her bottom stuck out for his punishment.
Whap! The thick, rectangular paddle sizzled across the underside of her arse cheeks.
“Oh! Oww!” she cried, clenching her bottom, but that only reminded her of the solid shaft seated in h
er tight hole. He spanked her again with the paddle, and then again, right across her sensitive underside. She had no other option but to keep her aching cheeks upturned for more of the same. Because he was restricted to that one region for punishment, the same tender expanse of flesh was paddled over and over until her cheeks were alight with burning pain. After twenty or so strokes, he let go of the handle sticking out from her bottom and tossed the paddle onto the side table.
“You may rest,” he said. “But stay where you are. I require you to spend today kneeling here on the couch, with your bottom exposed, awaiting more punishment. I shall return every hour between now and dinnertime to paddle you again.”
“But that is—” Violet broke off, helpless.
The duke took a watch from his coat pocket. “Approximately six hours. Yes. You will have a well-paddled bottom by evening, on top of the strapping and spanking from yesterday. I do wonder why you continue to fight.”
Violet bit her lip. She would fight forever. Someday he would realize it, the stupid tyrant. But now, in this moment, she needed to rest, and perhaps shed a few tears. Six more hours, and six more paddlings on the burning, throbbing underside of her bottom...
“At least you’re kneeling on a cushioned velvet couch,” he said, “and not a pile of uncooked millet, as you probably deserve.” He went to the door and unlocked it, and beckoned in the maid. Violet glanced at Jeannie and then hid her face again. Her humiliation was complete.
“Your maid shall sit in this chair across from the couch and work on her mending. You are not to speak to her, but rather keep your mind focused on the reasons behind your punishment. If you move from your position for any reason other than to visit the privy, my servant will let me know, and then this same punishment will be repeated for an entire week as a consequence.” He paused in his stern lecture for emphasis. “Do not test me on this.”
Royal Discipline Page 6