Royal Discipline (12 page)

With those words, he flicked the tip of the riding crop against the underside of one of her breasts. The pain was sharp and quick, like being kissed with fire. Before she could quite accustom herself to the sensation, it came again, and again, blending in awful harmony with the biting, ongoing torment of her nipples.

She bit her tongue to stay silent, then bit her lip. He did not stop, but cropped her breasts over and over, with no respite in between. Now and again, he flicked her torso or her belly instead, but it felt no better. She jerked, trying to stay still, and made little
mm-mm-mm
sounds, urgent pleas she could not translate into words. Every once in a while, he thwacked the tip of the crop directly against her clipped nipples. Then her
mm
would become a shriek, and he would do it again, four or five times in succession.

He was a tireless disciplinarian, and she was soon exhausted from jerking and jumping, and trying not to scream. “We’re not finished,” he said when he finally desisted. “But these cannot be left on too long.”

He bent down to remove the evil clips from her nipples. She thought she would feel relief but instead she felt a new, worse pain as the now-numbed nipples recovered from their constriction. She whined through her teeth, yanking at her manacles. If only she could rub them and try to soothe them.

“That’s the lovely thing about those clips,” he said in a lazy way. “It hurts nearly as much to have them taken off.”

Thwack!
He began again with the crop, restricting his flicks to the over-sensitized tips of her nipples. Violet threw her head back, moaning, trying not to squirm too much on the board, as it only aggravated her welted backside. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, the duke moved from her breasts down to the mid and lower parts of her body. She flinched as he cropped her belly and her hips, and both the tops of her thighs. This punishment seemed to be less about impact and more about making her go out of her mind at the endless, rapid flicks.

When he finally stopped and crossed to put the crop away, she could not have felt more relieved. Her body went limp, still warm and tingling from the rainstorm of flicking fire. Then she saw him pick up a strap, not the heavy one, but a thinner, narrower one. Her sense of relief fled.

She watched, wide eyed, as he approached. His arm muscles flexed as he flicked the strap back and forth with his wrist. There was that strange warmth again, that clenching, wanting heat in her middle. It was as if looking on his powerfully formed body triggered some urge in her. Her breasts tingled and her nipples drew up tight again.

“I’m going to punish you all over now,” he said. “Everywhere. You agree it is deserved?”

She nodded in resignation. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He began to torment her with the strap much as he’d tormented her with the crop, flicking her breasts, her belly, her thighs. It brought a greater sting than the crop, and a much deeper pain. It felt like punishment at last, rather than teasing torture. She groaned as the force of the blows increased. Her skin reddened with oval strike marks. Then he moved to stand near the base of the platform, between her spread legs, and she realized the import of his warning.
Everywhere.

He brought the strap down at the apex of her legs, over her mons. She closed her eyes, feeling fresh, stinging pain, but something else too. He strapped her there a couple more times, then returned to her thighs. She still felt the tingling, and the most curious instinct to raise her hips and spread her legs wider.

He was strapping her harder now, harder, harder. She keened in her throat, asking for mercy, or maybe something else. When he brought the strap down between her legs, she knew that she wanted it
there
, that no pain could overcome the rightness and necessity of being punished
right there
.

She nearly groaned when he moved again to her belly, and her thrusting, trembling breasts. Even when he hit her other places, she felt it in her bottom and the clenching heat between her thighs. She spread her legs wider. She couldn’t help it. She lifted her hips as if to offer herself,
all
of herself, to the bite of his strap. He returned to the area, lashing her mons, then changing the angle so the leather bit into her most secret and private folds.

Something happened then, something shattering, pleasurable, and terrifying at once. Her body seized in some blissful fit that began in the region between her legs where he strapped her, and rolled out in waves to every part of her body. She trembled all over, her eyes opening wide in shock and latching onto his.

“Oh, please,” she whimpered. “Something is happening that has never...” She clenched her legs helplessly. “Never happened before.” The paroxysms eased after a moment, but her body still stretched and lengthened, seeking more of the feeling that had passed. “I think...” She eyed the strap dangling from his hand, swallowing guiltily. “I think something went wrong.”

He looked stunned, and didn’t answer right away. “Nothing is wrong with you,” he finally said. “But you should not have allowed that. Ladies should not take pleasure in their punishments. It defeats the purpose.”

Her shoulders slumped. She had meant to take this punishment well, and perhaps please him somehow. She turned her face away to hide the heat that stole across her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to. It only started to feel good...down there.”

She couldn’t tell if he was smiling or frowning at her. His expression was strangely inscrutable. “I do not doubt it started to feel good,” he said. “But the purpose of punishment is for it to feel bad. Perhaps we’ll put away the strap and end this session with something a bit more strenuous. Something not likely to trigger such inappropriate feelings.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He knelt to release her ankles from the cuffs. She tried not to notice the way his shoulder and back muscles worked as he leaned down. He really ought to put on a shirt and waistcoat, even if it was the middle of the night. It would make all of these “inappropriate feelings” so much easier to avoid.

She closed her eyes while he stood beside her to release her hands. She had so many questions about what had just happened, but it did not seem the time to ask. He raised her from the platform and led her over to the wall with the row of increasingly thick shafts. He stood her in front of the second one, then seemed to think better of it, and moved her before the third. She trembled, for she understood by now what they were for.

“We must be sure you don’t enjoy it,” he said with a note of apology. “That’s why I’ve chosen the larger one. This is punishment, after all.”

He took a jar of familiar looking oil from a nearby shelf, then chuckled at her woebegone expression. “This is not the sort of lubricant that stings your bottom,” he said. “We’re doing this so you’re better able to sleep, aren’t we? And more sting would work at cross purposes.”

“You’re merciful,” she said, and she meant it. She had been ready to burst again into tears. She might still burst into tears, considering the thickness and length of the shaft. “Must I...” she whispered. “Turn about and…in my bottom...?”

“Yes. A more mature version of corner time, for ladies who need some time to think about their behavior. The mechanics of it also prevent the penitent in question from turning away or trying to hide her face against the wall as she is being lectured.”

Violet would have liked to hide her face. It was burning hotly again. “Are you going to lecture me?”

He shook his head after a moment. “I think you could use some quiet time with your thoughts. This is also, of course, a trial of submission.” From nowhere, he produced the clips, the black, evil clips he’d used on the other side of the room. He apparently kept them everywhere. Violet nearly lost her nerve.

“It must hurt, my dear,” said the duke. “We don’t want the thing that just happened to happen again.”

“Is what happened so very bad? Because it felt wonderful.”

“Oh, it can be a wonderful thing in the proper circumstances. Those circumstances are not a punishment, I’m afraid.”

“But...” She was so curious, so confused. “But what
is
the proper circumstance?” For she wanted to feel that pleasure again, very much.

He gave a small frown. “Ideally, such paroxysms take place in the company of your wedded husband, with his permission. Young ladies especially need to wait and take instruction from their husbands in such matters.” His frown deepened as he pinned her with a look. “That is very important.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him. “Why is it important? What will happen if... If a young lady...”

“If she seeks such pleasure on her own? Some ladies do, using various techniques and tools.”

“Oh.”

“But—” he began.

She wished there was not a but.

“But a proper lady will only seek pleasure in congress with her husband. She will reserve such powerful and climactic sensations for their close times together, rather than spend them carelessly on her own, whenever the feeling strikes her. Again, it is a matter of respect and control.”

“Very many things in marriage seem to involve respect and control.”

“Yes, they do.”

Violet wondered if she would ever marry. Suddenly, the idea did not seem so distasteful, if such pleasure could be had. “So, within the marriage, the husband and the wife...how do they find this pleasure together? With a strap?”

His eyes widened, then he rubbed his forehead. “This is a much longer conversation than I am prepared to have with you now. Remember these questions, my dear, and ask them after you’re wed. It’s best if your husband answers them for you.”

“But—”

“Violet.”

“It’s only—”

“Violet,” he repeated sternly, glancing down at the clips and the vial of oil in his hand. “Are you trying to stall?”

Perhaps she was, a little. The shaft on the wall was not getting any smaller. She was not feeling very much pleasure now. “I do not mean to stall,” she said meekly. “I’m ready to finish my punishment.”

She watched as he applied the oil to the thick shaft, then turned her about and did the same to her little hole. She’d worn the other shaft within her for so long, she thought she might still be a bit stretched, but no, she was as tight as ever.

The shaft was set at almost the proper height to go in her bottom. She only had to spread her legs a little bit, and inch back upon it. Her progress was rather slow.

“It hurts,” she said, biting her lip. “Perhaps I ought to stand upon the second one, or the first.”

“Today, you deserve the third one, if not the fourth,” he said in a firm voice. “It’s supposed to make you feel punished.”

Yes, punished and humbled. She inched back gingerly until she could go no further. She felt very full and very stuck.

“Lift your arms,” he said, when he was satisfied she had adequately impaled herself. He fixed each of her wrists to a bar above her head so her arms were stretched high, which had the effect of thrusting her chest out again.

“Will you put them on now?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“Yes.” He pinched each nipple to make them draw into buds. “You will take care to remember the shaft in your backside,” he added, “before you start thrashing around.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She bit her lip as he held the first clip over her nipple, and cried out at its application. She didn’t mean to, but the ragged wail escaped all the same. When he applied the second one, she emitted more of a half-whine, half-sob. Her whole body tensed at the agonizing torment, which caused her to clench quite painfully around the shaft in her arse.

“You’ll be happy to know,” she said, once she had caught her breath, “that this is every bit as painful as you hoped it would be.”

“You’re certain it’s not bringing you any pleasurable feelings whatsoever?”

Violet took stock of her aching, stretched bottom hole and her screaming nipples, and said with perfect authority, “No. None whatsoever.”

“Because I can add weight to the clips, if they do not hurt quite enough.”

“They hurt enough. They hurt very adequately.” Her face contorted in entreaty. “Please, how long must I stand this way?”

“The standard amount of time is ten minutes.” He placed a light finger over her lips when another whine escaped. “I’ll tell you when your time is up. For now, I suggest you remain quiet and focus on your punishment. Lose yourself in your suffering. That’s the best way to overcome your guilt.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered. It was very hard
not
to lose herself in her suffering, when it felt so blatantly harsh. Her nipples throbbed and her bottom protested every time she involuntarily clenched upon the thick, lengthy shaft. She cast a glance to the side. There were two more of them that were even bigger. Horrifying. He saw her looking at them and caught her eyes.

Goodness, he frightened her, with his ardent interest in discipline. The shaft in her backside was still—still!—not as thick as his cock. Again, she spared a pitying thought for his future wife.
God bless her
, she thought.
God help her, whoever the poor woman turns out to be.