The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

Sir Ferrum walked to a tree and cut several switches. She plucked at his woolen cloak with her trembling fingers, waiting in her humbled position as he smoothed the bark off the switches and returned to her side. There was no lecture or preamble. She heard the whistle of the switch as it glided through the air and then felt the cutting sting on her backside. It created a dreadful burn. He brought it down over and over again in rapid succession, and she found herself trying to crawl over the top of the log to escape it.

“Hold still, Danewyn,” he said in the mildest of tones.

But she couldn't hold still. She squeezed her bottom and kicked her legs and clutched at his cloak, not believing how stingy a little branch could feel on her bare skin.

“Please!” she gasped, though she knew it would do her no good. He continued until the branch broke, then picked up another. “Wait, please!” she cried out and was surprised when he did. She reached back with one hand and rubbed at her welted cheeks, the tears starting to flow. Her flesh had already swelled so the weals stood up in crisscrossed lines.

He gave her another moment, then gently took her hand and gave it a squeeze as he lifted it behind her back, out of the way. He kept loose hold of her hand in his large one as he started to switch her again, and she screamed and squeezed his hand, realizing vaguely it must have been why he'd offered it. She was writhing in pain again after just a few strokes, but Sir Ferrum seemed to have no intention of stopping. He switched her over and over again, until she moved to the other side of panic, into a space where she lost track of all else but the sensation he was creating on her backside and the sense of nothingness. She dimly realized he had stopped because he muttered the warning, “I'm not finished yet.”

She simultaneously hated him for not being finished and loved him for giving her the warning so she might try to stay in the zone she was in. “Go on,” she sobbed, not really wanting a break.

“Aye?” he asked, surprised. He picked up one of her legs and pulled it up over the log, spinning her so she was now lying parallel to the log, straddling it, her bottom open and presented to him in the most humiliating way imaginable. The change of position had jerked her rudely back to reality, and she started to panic, searching for the place in her head where she had just been floating.

“Wait!” she croaked, reaching back again as if to shield her bottom from his switch.

“Aye,” he grunted.

Pain was surging through her in waves, making her sweat and shiver at the same time. Her bottom was literally ablaze, and as she ran her hand over her swollen cheeks, it felt like the skin was raised in places. She wept into Ferrum's cloak, biting the scratchy wool in her anguish. Ferrum took hold of her hand again, and she tensed up and tried to pull it away. He grasped the wrist instead and bent the arm behind her back and she immediately wished for his hand. She twisted her wrist and reached with her fingers to touch his hand, and he slid his grasp to her palm, understanding. He gave it a quick squeeze and then struck her again.

She jumped at the change in sensation—he had abandoned the third switch and was using his belt this time. Mayhap he was showing mercy. It was still agonizing on her already smarted flesh, yet somehow the dull slap of leather was a relief after the sharp bite of the switch. She started into her full sobs again, jumping and flinching as he worked his way up and down one side. The vulnerable position he'd placed her in made it easy for him to catch her thighs and she screamed at the pain and humiliation of it. He moved to the other side and gave it the same treatment. Fear started getting the best of her, and because it was hard for her to wriggle or even tighten her bottom in the position she was in, she pulled her hand away and covered both her ears with her hands, rubbing her face on the cloak, desperately seeking the void she'd found before.

The strapping continued steadily and she let out one loud, unending scream, trying to drown out the pain. When her breath ended, the scream tailed off, and she realized the spanking had stopped. Ironically, she had just found the floaty space in her mind. She rested her cheek on Sir Ferrum's cloak and wept, closing her eyes and remaining in the place of no thought.