Royal Discipline (15 page)

“Pleasant dreams,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. One day closer to being better.

One day closer to going home.

He made her wear the restrictive device every night for a week, and during that week she was absolutely obedient. The only discipline she received during those halcyon days was her nightly spanking, and even then, the duke coddled her because of her excellent behavior. The last night, he even gave her a hug, and told her with great sincerity that he was proud of her.

Then, the very first night he let her sleep without it, she failed to behave.

She had no idea what happened. One minute she was lying there, absolutely certain that she was too reformed to fall to temptation, and the next, her flower was throbbing. She hadn’t even touched it. She touched it then, just to try to smooth away the inappropriate sensations, but it had the opposite effect. Next she knew, she was rubbing her hips against the bed as she writhed in ecstasy.

The episode did not take that long, or last that long. It was entirely not worth the consequences she would receive, but she had done it. She wondered, if she lied to him, whether he could really tell.

But she was not that princess anymore, the one who lied and schemed, and did whatever she wanted without a thought to the consequences. She was a respectful and dignified princess now. And she had done a very wrong thing.

She lay awake the next half hour, peeking out from the sheets for fear he was spying on her. She spent the following half hour wondering if she ought to stroke her flower again, since she was already going to be punished when she confessed about the first time. Then she did do it again, and she knew then that she absolutely must summon up her willpower and stop.

It was a long night after that, and a long morning as she waited for his eventual visit. She could hardly pick at her luncheon. Jeannie fretted over her poor appetite and asked if she was ill.

No
, Violet thought.
I’m only in a terrible amount of trouble, after doing so well.

The duke would be furious, and worse, he would be disappointed. What if—oh God—what if he delayed the time she was to go home? There were mere days left until Saint Valentine’s. She worked herself into such a frenzy of fear and self-remonstrance that the moment he walked through the door, she burst into tears.

He crossed to her in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

“I...Your Grace...” She wrung her hands and bowed her head. “I have... I have played in the garden.”

“Which garden?” he asked in puzzlement.

“
My
garden,” she wailed. “My flower. I practically drowned the poor thing from overwatering. I’m so sorry. I will never, ever go in that garden again.”

“My goodness.” The duke frowned and rubbed his forehead, then crossed to her. “Calm down. You’ve been disobedient, yes, and you’ll be punished, but it’s not the end of the world. There’s no need for hysterics.”

“I’m only so sad. I had made you so proud. You were pleased with me, and I was changing for the better, and now I’ve gone bad again, and I truly, truly didn’t mean to.”

He led her over to the couch and made her sit beside him. “How did it happen if you didn’t mean to?”

“I tried to make it stop feeling good. But it only made it feel better.” She buried her face in her hands. “I could have stopped. I tried, but I didn’t have the willpower. You’ll have to punish me again, and that makes me anxious, and afraid, but mostly it makes me sad. I thought I was changing. I
wanted
to change.”

“Look at me, Violet.” He took her shoulders and gave her a little shake until she met his gaze. “Look at me and listen to what I have to say. There will be lapses in behavior sometimes. You’re too headstrong and impulsive to ever be perfect. That part of you will never change. But do you know what has changed? Your awareness of your actions, and your desire to behave and obey.”

“You’re not...” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, I’m angry. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m displeased. You disobeyed instructions and did something you were not supposed to do. But you also confessed your fault at once, and admitted your need for punishment. So I’m not as displeased as I might have been.”

“I’m so very sorry,” she said. “I tried so hard.”

He studied her a moment, then took her hand. “I think the sooner we punish you for this, the better. I have an appropriate consequence in mind.”

He led her out the door and up the stairs to the discipline parlor, as Violet thought with dread about what the consequence might be. The lingering marks from her last caning had only just faded. But she had earned a punishment, so she would try to accept it with grace.

“I think the most important thing to do today,” he said as they entered, “is to make sure you feel expiated of your crime.”

“I suppose so,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Therefore, I think a ride upon the pony is in order. You will not like it, and it will have the added benefit of punishing you precisely where you need it the most.”

“A ride upon the pony?” Violet echoed. There were no ponies, in fact, no livestock at all in the duke’s discipline room. Then he led her over to the narrow, peaked length of wood fixed into the wall, and she understood.

“We shall have to remove your gown to do it properly,” he said, turning her about to work at the fastenings in the back. While he did this, Violet regarded the vertically positioned beam, and thought how very unpleasant this was going to be. Perhaps she ought to have kept quiet about her mishap the night before.

No, she chided herself. That would not have been good behavior at all.

He drew her gown up and over her head, and laid it aside. She glanced at it longingly as he led her to the beam.

“This is of an approximate height for a woman on her tiptoes. If it’s not quite right, we can adjust it with one of those platforms,” he said, gesturing toward a stack of sanded boards. “Now, then, up and over.”

She took a deep breath and straddled the beam. Her feet did not quite reach the ground, so he brought over one of the boards for her to stand on. She could barely reach the ground then, and was obliged to go up on the balls of her feet to keep the edge of the wood from pressing against her private parts.

“It’s still not quite high enough,” she said.

“On the contrary, it’s the perfect height. It’s not meant to be comfortable. In fact, it’s meant to be very uncomfortable, to teach you the error of your ways. When it begins to hurt too much, you may go up on your tiptoes for a while to find momentary relief.”

He drew her legs wider, adjusting her so the most sensitive part of her flower was forced right against the smooth wood. Then he made her reach up, and shackled her wrists to a sturdy chain hanging above her head.

How exposed she felt, and how pained. This indeed seemed an appropriate punishment for a woman who had played with her flower in such a careless and abandoned way.

A moment later, she heard a quiet knock at the door. The duke crossed to answer it as Violet stared at the wall.
I can bear this
, she thought.
It’s not so bad if I stand exceptionally still.

Then the duke returned and parted her bottom cheeks. She suppressed a groan.

“Of course the ginger is not strictly necessary,” he said. “But it will make you feel more punished. To make insertion easier, I lubricated it with some of the special oil.”

Violet realized he’d done so as soon as he pressed the ginger within her clenching, sensitive ring. “Oh, but—” She squirmed, only to suffer increased torment from the pony. “If I cannot be still, this gets ever so much worse.”

“Then you’d better try your best to be still.”

For goodness sake, there was no possible way to be still with the nagging, itching ache of the ginger fig in her arse.
You must accept it
, she thought.
You must behave.

He watched her squirm for a moment upon the “pony,” and Violet was quite sure he was pleased by the frantic look on her face. She went up on her toes, but that had the effect of clenching her bottom and making the ginger hurt worse.

“This is really very uncomfortable,” she said. “I suppose I deserve it. It makes it easy to regret my behavior, and wish to do better.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, I believe I’ll add a bit of extra torment to your naughty flower,” he said, “considering the reason for this punishment.”

To her dismay, he strode across the room and fetched three of the black metal clips.

“I know you will not like this, my dear,” he said as she shook her head in vigorous protest. “But pain is a necessary part of conditioning.” He parted her womanly folds and stroked her up and down. She gasped.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, holding her gaze.

“Y-yes.” She wished he would continue touching her like that forever. She could feel her flower begin to dampen and swell beneath his caress. Then, just as she nearly forgot herself and inched her hips forward against his hand, he pinched her flower between his fingertips and applied one of the clips to the sensitized flesh. She cried out, staring at him in entreaty.

“You need to breathe,” he said, as she panted through the pain.

“I can’t.” It was the most shocking, awful feeling, to go from feeling so good to feeling so bad. She yanked at the manacles. If her hands were free, she could take the clip off and relieve the biting torture, but she was shackled too tightly.

“Breathe,” he said again. “Your nipples are next, and then you shall have ten minutes or so to ride this pony and think about what you’ve done.”

She threw back her head and closed her eyes. She wanted to beg to be released. She wanted to beg for mercy, but that was not the way to learn. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said instead. “I am ready.”

She felt him tug at each nipple, and then attach the clips. It was impossible to bear the pain, but she had no way to escape it. The more she thrashed about in her agony, the more the ginger stung and the harder her sensitive folds slid across the top of the beam.

She sucked in air and opened her eyes, and went up on her tiptoes for as long as she could. The duke watched from a short distance away, his arms crossed over his chest. She felt ashamed beneath his scrutiny, but he was not looking at her in a reproachful way. In truth, it was hard to figure out his expression. He did not precisely look proud, or pleased, but he seemed to admire her all the same.

If I beg, perhaps he will let me go. If I pretend the pain is too great, or that I am taking ill, he’ll release me.
She could try that. The old Violet would have tried it, but the new Violet gritted her teeth and bobbed on her tiptoes some more. She did not want him to be disappointed in her, or believe she was not sorry for disobeying him.

She squirmed atop the beam and wondered how long it had been. One minute? Two minutes? Five? Probably not five.

She gazed at him, in his dark coat and high, starched cravat. Why did it matter so much, to please him? At some point, it had become vitally important to her. But why? Was it because he was honorable and strict in his ways? Was it because he made her become a better person? He was the first person in her life to insist that a “princess” must be more than a title. It must be an entire state of being. Mildness, kindness, dignity, respect, truth, virtue...he had insisted upon all of those things, and had not accepted her rebellion against it.

And now...

Now she had changed.

She turned away from him. Something in his expression was too intense, too intimate for her. She felt a blush upon her cheeks, and her breasts. The clips ached worse as her nipples hardened, and the one gripping her between the legs...she could hardly bear the way that felt.

The chamber was utterly silent, the only sound her soft, panting breaths. She was supposed to be thinking about what she’d done, but all she could think about was the duke, and the way he’d improved her. She could barely summon the ability to act the way she used to act. It exhausted her now to be spoiled and demanding. She was so much more
humble
.

She looked back at her captor, into his handsome, dark-browed, light-filled eyes.
You’ve changed me
, she wanted to cry.
Look how much you’ve changed me. See how much better I am?
Then she realized that was what she saw in his expression. He already knew.

“You did very well,” he said, returning to her side. He removed the three clips, causing her to pant and flail some more. Her center ached from riding upon the beam, and her flower throbbed as blood returned to its sensitive petals. But she took care not to become aroused. She wanted to be good for him. She leaned toward him in her manacles as he stroked her face.

“Five with the cane, and we shall be through,” he said gently. “I think you’ve truly learned a lesson today.”

She nodded, with neither whining nor complaint. “Yes, Your Grace. I’m different now. I know I can be better.”

“I know it too.”

Even so, he did not shirk when it came to the caning. It was excruciating to take each lick while straddling the beam. He marked her up and down her arse cheeks while she clenched on the ginger and wished to heaven he would take it out. With each hot line of fire, she would bounce on her toes and come down on the beam and think what a strenuous punishment this had been. But she did not cry. She felt...happy. Proud.