Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

With those words, he tugged her over to him and bent her across his knees. She resisted now, shocked by this turn of events. He couldn’t truly intend to spank her. Girls had been disciplined with the occasional cane stroke or two at the music school, girls who tested the rules, but never her. “My lord, please,” she said, struggling to right herself. “You can’t do this.”

“As your husband, I can do it. In fact, it’s my duty.” He held her easily, for he was so much larger and stronger. “You’ll feel much better when you’ve been properly spanked.”

With those words, he lifted the hem of her nightgown, folding it above her waist. Her face flooded with heat. She couldn’t believe he was doing this. She pressed her thighs together, too humiliated now to try to squirm away. The marquess circled her waist with one arm, then brought the flat, polished side of the hairbrush to her bottom with a sharp, crisp thwack.

Ouch. Oh, no. She reared across his lap, because it hurt even more than she’d imagined it would. A hot, throbbing ache suffused her arse cheeks, and then another blow fell, and another, one on top of the other like molten rain.

“Oh, please, my lord, that’s enough.”

“Enough?” He scoffed. “I’ve just begun, and I’m hardly using my strength.” He said this conversationally, even as the spanking continued.

“Please, Wescott, it hurts so much.” She jerked about without even meaning to, until he was forced to tighten his arm around her middle. “Ow, it hurts, it hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt.”

She peered back at him in a panic, beating her arms upon the floor. His expression was stern, his bearing upright. Her new, spacious dressing room had become a very painful and unfriendly place. She’d certainly never be able to sit in this chair after being spanked like this.

“You must stop, my lord, please. I can’t bear anymore.”

“Remember why you’re being punished. It must hurt a little, don’t you think, in light of your shame and regret?”

“It hurts a lot.” She kicked a leg back at an especially hard smack. Oh, she must look a sight with her bare bottom exposed to his gaze, and her carefully arranged hair going tousled as she bucked upon his lap. “Please, I can’t survive anymore. A husband…a husband should not hurt his wife like this.”

The smacks stopped, but he didn’t release her. She was breathing hard, almost crying.

“Lower your feet, if you please.” His stern voice was the antipathy of all her pleading. “You nearly kicked me, Ophelia. Put your toes on the floor.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this? It’s our wedding night.”

She twitched, then trembled, as his warm hand cupped her arse. His palm rubbed back and forth, replacing the stinging pain of the hairbrush. His gentle touch only seemed to intensify the lingering sting. “Indeed, it’s our wedding night, Lady Wescott,” he said in that same stern voice. “And as your husband, it’s my right to discipline you when you require it. I shall take that charge seriously and guide you when I need to. You all but begged for punishment to expiate your guilt.”

It was true she’d felt trapped by guilt, stuck in a never-ending spiral of anxiety about the way they’d met. But how could this help? She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Once you’ve been punished,” he went on, “you’ll find it easier to move past your guilty feelings. Now, you must submit to the rest of your spanking so you can feel better afterward.”

“How…how much longer will it be?”

“I’ll stop when you feel punished enough. You must trust me, now that we’re wed.”

God save her. Of all the men to marry, why did it have to be him? Now she must submit to his discipline, because screaming or crying for help wouldn’t work, not in his house, where the servants were loyal to him. With an aggrieved sigh, she lowered her feet to the floor as he’d instructed her.

“That’s better,” he said. “Hold this position, if you please.”

“I don’t please.” She braced herself for the pain to begin again. “But I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

A moment later, the spanking resumed. Oh, the hairbrush stung so badly. Perhaps it would be possible to wash away her sinful behavior through this agony alone, for it was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Another blow, and another. Sometimes he alternated cheeks, landing a sharp smack right in the middle, and she’d smother a shriek and think how much she despised him. Some servant, somewhere, had to be hearing this spanking, and her crying, which only added to her punishment’s shame.

*

Wescott shifted in the chair so his new wife couldn’t feel his jutting erection. He was spanking her for earnest reasons, to mitigate her guilt, but he was enjoying himself in the process. Her pert, round arse was so perfectly formed, he was half tempted to lift her and impale her immediately upon his cock.