Punishing His Ward (Domestic Discipline 3)

two of you, but you’re going to have to learn how to deal civilly with her. She’s one of Eleanor’s best friends as well as being a friend of the family, even if my parents are disappointed in her current behavior. And if Alex reconciles with her, you’re going to be seeing her even more often. The two of you need to at least be able to have a conversation together, and that relies as much on you as it does on her.”

As galling as it was to admit it, Irene knew that was true. She didn’t have to let Lady Grace get under her skin. Before finally falling asleep last night, she’d thought of a hundred different ways she could have handled herself. All of which would have made her look better and Lady Grace look worse.

Instead, she’d just reacted without thinking and had made herself look very bad indeed. She really hadn’t meant to tear Lady Grace’s dress. And she’d also realized that, in some ways, her past behavior had set her up for the way Lady Grace had flirted with Hugh last night. After all, Irene had done the exact same thing to Alex – even if he hadn’t noticed – and then scoffed when Lady Grace had done the right thing and quietly pulled her aside, in private where she wouldn’t be embarrassed, to request that she desist. If Irene had handled her own situation with half the same amount of decorum she wouldn’t be in the spot she was in now.

She could feel her husband’s eyes on her studying her. “Alright Irene. I think you’ll feel better if we get it over with sooner rather than later. Let’s go to my study.”

Following Hugh along the halls of their home, to his private area, Irene was surprised at the cessation of anxiety that she felt. She was still nervous, it was true, but there was something reassuring about her husband’s authoritative demeanor and care of her. This might not be the most convenient time for Hugh to punish her, but he’d seen how much the anticipation was upsetting her and he was going to take care of it. Of course, she’d rather not be punished at all… but was that true either? Did she want to walk around with this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about her behavior and the possible ramifications?

When they reached his study, Hugh stepped around behind his desk to a large cabinet he kept back there, while Irene waited nervously on the other side, wringing her hands in front of her. She eyed the chair that she’d been bent over the last time, knowing that she was going to be in the exact same position in just a moment. But for some reason, now that she was here, all she wanted to do was put off the punishment for as long as possible.

Would her emotions ever cease to contradict each other?

Hugh pulled something from the cabinet and shut it, turning so that she could see what he had in his hands. It was a long, stiffened piece of leather, almost two feet long and Irene paled as she looked at it.

“This is called a tawse, sweetheart. It’s going to sting, but it’s not going to mark you up or seriously harm you. I think what you’ve done merits more than just a regular spanking. And I want you to start thinking before you act. It seems to be an ongoing problem for you.”

“Yes Hugh,” she whispered, staring at the instrument of torture. Remembering that Flora had said a caning was the worst punishment, worse than any of the others. Awful that her maid had known such things, but now Irene was grateful to know that Hugh wasn’t using the worst of such instruments on her. Especially grateful that Flora was no longer in her mother’s house where such punishments were apparently commonplace.

Something in Hugh's face softened as he looked at her trembling form, although he still looked very severe. "It will hurt sweetheart, and you won't like it, but I promise it won't truly harm you."

Irene nodded, unable to voice anything further. It felt like her throat was closing up. And at the same time, she wasn't truly afraid that Hugh would hurt her, it was just the fear of the unknown. What would it feel like? How much would it hurt in comparison to a spanking?

"Bend over the chair and pull up your skirts," Hugh said, nodding at the chair in question. Not that she needed it; Irene remembered her last encounter with the chair quite vividly. At least this time there was no one around to witness her punishment.

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.