Punishing His Ward (18 page)

Her heart was racing as she gathered
her skirts, pulling them up to her waist and bending over the
chair.  Automatically she spread her legs for balance, feeling
the split in her drawers opening slightly as she did so.  Even
though the current fashion was for closed drawers, all of Irene's
were done in the split style.  The ones that she'd originally
brought with her had all been remade by Flora, for exactly this
reason.

Hugh moved behind her, pulling the
fabric to either side of her body, so that the soft white drawers
framed the creamy cheeks of her bottom.  His wife looked
absolutely delicious like this, trembling slightly, her bottom well
rounded, legs spread so that he could see those adorable copper
curls framing the pink slash of her quim.  The bunched skirts
obscured most of her upper body but he could see that she'd rested
her head on her folded arms and was biting her lower lip as she
waited.  Looking at her, his cock began stirring immediately.
 While he didn't completely understand why punishing his wife
had such an effect on him, he was growing used to
it. 

"I'm going to give you twenty, Irene.
 The next time you act without thinking, it will be forty with
the tawse."

A tremor went through her body and Hugh
reached out to rub her bottom comfortingly.  The rounded
cheeks were satiny and firm beneath his palm, and he felt, more
than heard, the sigh that went through her.  Rubbing that soft
skin, Hugh squeezed a bit, enjoying the feel of her flesh beneath
his fingers.  It pinked the skin of her bottom, but he didn't
necessarily think that was a bad thing; the rubbing would warm her
skin a bit so that the bite of the tawse wasn't quite a total shock
to her system.  

After a few minutes of rubbing and
squeezing those rounded globes, Hugh stepped back.  Irene
tensed again, waiting as he raised the tawse.  He waited until
her muscles trembled and then relaxed, unable to hold their tension
for such a length of time, before bringing the leather down across
her rear.

WHAP!

Irene shrieked, her hands immediately
coming back to cover the thick red line that had appeared across
the creamy surface of her skin.  It did more than sting or
burn, although it did both, but the pain also went deeper into her
flesh, as if the tawse had actually sunk into her body.

"Move your hands, Irene."

"Please Hugh... it's too much," she
begged, looking over her shoulder at him with tears in her eyes.
 But he just looked back at her calmly and shook his
head.

"No it's not, sweetheart.  Now
move your hands back or I will tie them in place for
you."

Whimpering, Irene put her hands back
down on the cushion of the chair, burrowing her head in her arms.
 The throbbing ache in her bottom was already starting to
subside, but she knew that it would return.  And she was
expected to take nineteen more?

WHAP!

Somehow this one wasn't quite as bad,
maybe because now she knew what to expect, but Irene still cried
out as the throbbing pain spread deep into her.  Somehow the
tawse made it feel as though it was striking a much larger area
than it actually was; as if there were waves of torment spreading
across her skin in the aftermath of a strike. 

WHAP!

This one caught her lower on her
bottom, near her thighs, and Irene's body bounced up and down, as
if her flaming cheeks were truly on fire and she was trying to use
the air to cool them.

By the time Hugh had reached ten
strokes across her chastised rear, Irene had lost count and was
sobbing into the cushion, her fingers digging into the leather to
keep herself from reaching back and covering her scalded skin.
 Heat and pain flared and barely subsided as the tawse slapped
against her over and over again.  Whenever she began to dance
too much, her feet jigging her body up and down, Hugh's hand would
come down on the top of her bottom, holding her in place until she
regained control over herself. 

The sorry state of his wife's bottom,
by the time the twentieth stroke had been applied, should have made
Hugh feel sorry for her or perhaps satisfied with a job well done.
 Instead, his overwhelming emotion was pure lust.  The
glowing red cheeks seemed to be emanating heat, they looked swollen
and hot, as if the skin had been tautly drawn across them.
 Reaching out, Hugh rubbed the flaming surface, much the same
as he had before he'd punished her, and felt the blaze searing his
hand.  

Unable to contain himself, he tossed
the tawse onto his desk and reached for the front of his trousers,
unlacing them and pulling his cock free.  Hard as a rock,
throbbing with need, a few drops of fluid were already decorating
the tip.  Fisting it in one hand, he rubbed his fingers
along Irene's slit with his other.

She moaned, her hips moving up and down
again, and he felt the moisture begin to seep from her body.
 It didn't matter that her bottom was a scalding torment, her
pussy eagerly began to cream as he played with the soft folds.
 The soft moans that reached his ears sounded like a cross
between pleasure and pain, making his own need surge higher.
 

Pressing his cock to her opening, he
couldn't help shuddering with anticipation at the sight of his
large rod pressing into her, between her well-roasted cheeks.
 Her bottom was even redder than her hair.  Pushing in,
both of them moaned as her wet sheath parted for him, and he
gripped her hips and shoved hard into her.  The heat from her
bottom pressed against his groin as he filled her completely, her
walls clenching around him as she let out a little cry.

"Oh sweetheart..." Hugh murmured.
 "You took your punishment very well, now let me make you feel
good."

Irene truly wished that it didn't feel
good.  It seemed so wrong that she could find any pleasure at
all when just moments ago she'd been sobbing her heart out from the
scorching agony the tawse had ignited in her bottom.  But just
the touch of Hugh's fingers against her most sensitive folds and
she'd felt her arousal surge with a shocking intensity.  Then
he'd pushed into her, and the sensual thrill had begun to throb
along with the pain in her bottom.  

She moaned as he pulled away and then
thrust deep again, his stroke long and firm but gentle enough that
his body didn't slap too painfully against her bottom.  Of
course, she knew that would change eventually, but for now he began
taking deep, sure strokes that kindled a new kind of flame deep
within her.  With every thrust she could feel the head of his
manhood rubbing against a spot deep inside of her that made her
gasp and spasm; every time he pressed home, the hanging sack would
slap pleasurably against her splayed folds and little pleasure
nub. 

Excitement built within her, even as
his strokes came faster, harder.  Her body thrilled to the
connection of their bodies, even as her bottom began to burn again
whenever his thrusts rocked against it.  

Pushing back against him, Irene could
feel her body tightening around his rampant cock, her breathing
coming fast and hot as the chaotic mix of pain and pleasure began
to build up towards ecstasy.  She moaned, loudly, gasping
Hugh's name as his thrusts became rougher, wilder.  It was
exactly what she needed to take her over the edge.

The rapture bubbled upwards and over,
peaking in a glorious burst of light and tingling satisfaction that
spread throughout her entire body.  It blossomed and
rebounded, like a wave sloshing against sides of a bowl and she was
the bowl.  Nearly mindless with the astonishing climax, Irene
vented her overstimulated nerves with a scream into the cushion in
front of her, spasming as Hugh roughly thrust hard and deep and his
cock surged inside of her.

The hot clasp of Irene's rippling cunt,
the fiery skin of her bottom pressed against his groin, contributed
to what was possibly one of the most intense orgasms of Hugh's
life.  It felt like his cock was bursting, swollen to the
point of being almost painful, until the pleasure splintered and he
flooded his wife's womb with his seed.  Her pussy sucked and
squeezed, he was only dimly aware of her screams of pleasure as he
struggled to remain upright behind her while the pleasure drained
him.  

"Bloody hell..." he grunted, his body
bowing forward.  Planting his hands on the opposite arm rest,
he arched over Irene.  

The red puffy eyes and tear tracks down
her face didn't detract from the glowing, satiated expression and
satisfied smile that curved her lips. 

Reality slowly brought itself back
together as he softened inside of her body, reluctant to leave the
welcoming confines of her quim.  Hugh stayed over her, panting
as he got his breath back and just enjoyed feeling her body against
his.  Especially her hot little bottom.  With a groan, he
forced himself back upright and disengaged.  

Between her pale thighs, her pussy was
swollen pink and very wet, just beginning to seep the white cream
of his seed.  Hugh twitched her drawers shut and pulled her
skirts down before lifting her into his arms.  She seemed to
be almost dreamy as he settled them both down on the chair,
cradling her in his lap with his arms tightly around her and her
head pillowed on his shoulder.

Long moments passed as they just sat
there, contentedly soaking in the other's warmth and company.
 Irene shifted occasionally, easing the pressure on her sore
bottom against Hugh's hard thighs as he stroked her shoulders, back
and neck with light fingers.  

"You know," she murmured eventually, "I
don't enjoy the punishment, but I have no complaints about the
aftermath."

Hugh chuckled, the vibrations traveling
through his chest and rumbling against her cheek.  

"And I don't enjoy the necessity of
punishing you, but I'm rather fond of the aftermath
myself."

"Just don't think to
punish me when I don't deserve it just because you like what comes
next," Irene warned, although she couldn't quite manage to sound
severe.  She poked him in the chest with her finger, but kept
her cheek pressed against his shoulder so that he couldn't glare at
her.  "I don't care what my response is afterwards, I
do
not
 enjoy
being spanked."

"You're not supposed to,
sweet."

There was another long moment of
silence.  Despite the throbbing ache that lingered in her
bottom, Irene felt strangely content.  Almost kittenish; she
rather thought she could purr and rub herself all over her husband
and be very happy.  The soreness between her legs was a good
kind of soreness and it helped to ease the worst of the pain
leftover from the tawse.  

"I'll be civil with Lady Grace, but I
won't tolerate her flirting with you.  I don't care how she
used to treat you, you're married to me now."

Her husband chuckled again, tightening
his arms around her.  Lips pressed against her forehead, which
was all he could reach with the way she was cuddled against him.
 "You have no need to feel jealous, wife.  I have no eyes
for any woman but you."

Tears sparked in her own green eyes as
she snuggled closer to him.  "I do love you, so very much,
Hugh."

"And I you."

Watching over his ward with an eye
towards marrying her himself, rather than marrying her off to
someone else, felt very strange.  And, at the same time,
Wesley was fending off his mother's attempts at "practicing"
finding him a suitable wife.  Although, of course, he didn't
tell her the direction of his thoughts; he had no idea how she
would feel about Cynthia as a daughter-in-law when she'd been
having such trouble with the young woman, but if she did approve
then he'd find himself leg-shackled by his next breath.
 

His physical attraction to Cynthia
aside, he began to mentally list the reasons she might make a
suitable wife.  For one, she could behave when she felt like
it.  Perhaps it was all the time spent with his mother, but
when she was quite adept at being haughtily proper when the
situation called for it.  For another, she was already
learning the responsibilities of the post since she was spending
most of her time at his mother's side.  She was smart, she
didn't hesitate to speak her mind when they were in private, and
she could make him laugh.  

A few days after the Assembly he'd
attended with her and his mother, he'd happened upon her while she
was practicing the pianoforte.  Well, he'd heard the haunting
sounds trickling down the hall and he'd followed them, completely
entranced by the beauty of the sound.  She wasn't just
technically good, she played with emotion, imbuing her playing with
a quality that went far beyond enjoyable.  He didn't know how
long he'd stood in the doorway, not wanting to enter and break the
spell of her music. 

Sitting upright on the bench with her
back to him, she'd gently swayed back and forth as her fingers
danced over the keys.  It had surprised him that she was
playing a rather melancholy piece, when she was so very often the
very picture of amiable cheerfulness.  But it was incredibly
beautiful and he'd become as lost in the music as she obviously
was. 

Eventually he realized that he'd been
standing there for far too long and he'd crept away, back the way
he'd come.  If he did marry the chit, he'd make it his
business to take her to the opera.  And the theater.