Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

I stood in the corner, wearing only my stockings topped by my modified corset. I listened to him moving about the room and wondered what he had in mind for my chastisement. I glanced down at my exposed breasts. My pert nipples strained for more of my lover's attention. How wanton my body had become in a mere twenty-four hours.

In an effort to distract myself from the longing building throughout my being, I stared into the juncture of the walls and tried to focus on what I saw rather than my thoughts or feelings. In all my twenty-one years, I had never spent more than a few moments with my private parts uncovered. Yet my groom expected me to exhibit myself for him.

I was angry, embarrassed, and confused, but, Heaven help me, all I could think about was the joy of his fingers inside my lady parts. I clenched my thighs together while the nerve endings of my cunny—as Jeffrey told me it was called—pulsed.

A sharp crack to my posterior drew my attention back to my misdeeds.

"It would appear"—his hand slid down the curve of my cheeks then infiltrated my sex—"you are enjoying corner time more than you ought." His fingers probed, my breath whooshed between my lips. "Is it possible flaunting yourself for me excites your passions?"

"Absolutely not!" I lied.

"You are soaking with longing, little duchess." He taunted my tingling flesh, and I leaned back into his hand. "Since corner time is not having the intended effect, let us move on to your punishment."

Due to the attention he paid to my feminine places, my thinking was decidedly fuzzy, so when he took my hand and led me to the bed, I could not resist. I secretly hoped he had decided against punishment, in favor of pleasure. But I corrected my thinking when he pressed my shoulders down to position me over a pile of pillows in the center of the bed with my backside tipped high. My face burned with humiliation at being displayed in such a manner. I was certain my whole body, especially the parts now posed for his observation, was crimson with shame.

Jeffrey tugged at my hips and knees until he had arranged me in the position he wanted. Cool air wafted over my two most private openings, while I buried my face deep into the pile of pillows.

I braced for punishment, but instead of the crack of his broad palm upon my exposed derriere, his hands molded the flesh of my behind. Although it felt sinfully divine, I was well aware his actions of working the cheeks of my rear back and forth allowed him to view the puckered hole of my bottom.

I moaned into the pillows.

"Was that a moan of pleasure or embarrassment?"

My response was muffled, but a firm swat to the center of my rump brought my head up.

"I could not understand you, Sarah girl. Please repeat what you said."

"I said ‘I do not know.'" I glared over my shoulder at my husband. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal the muscles of his forearm, which flexed as he continued to caress the flesh of my bum.

He winked at me then slid his fingers into the moist cleft of my womanhood. "I told you there would be no lying, did I not?"

"Oh…ohh." I tried to speak, but his touch left me gasping. "I did not lie," I finally managed between gritted teeth.

"So, you are not finding this enjoyable?" He worked his fingers back and forth in my opening while he used his other hand to squeeze the flesh of my hindquarters. "Because the evidence here"—he thrust his fingers in up to the hilt then removed them to pinch at the nub of my desire until I ground back into him and moaned deep in my throat—"as well as here would indicate you enjoy this very much. You know you are mine, do you not, little duchess?"

"Yes," I murmured.

"Good." When he removed his hand, I restrained myself from begging him to continue. "Let's get on with this punishment."

A burst of quick swats heated the left side of my rump. The same was applied to the right. I tried to scramble away but succeeded only in scattering the pillows about. Jeffrey grabbed my ankle to hold me in place while he replaced the pillows and arranged me over them.

He leaned in close. "Hold still for your punishment," he whispered in my ear. "You know you deserve it."

The rasp of his voice sent a trill deep into my nether region. I nodded to show consent.

"Tell me, little wife, why are you being punished?" He landed a firm spank to my sit spot, connecting the heat of my right cheek with the burn of my left. My entire rear end tingled with the warmth of his domination.

I had trouble recalling anything other than the sensations pulsing through the lower half of my body, but with focus, I remembered the reason. Unfortunately, I forgot my manners. "I am being punished because of that she-devil Mrs. White."

The onslaught to my backend stopped, and I again glanced over my shoulder at my husband who stood up straight at my words.

"Oh, really?" He trailed a finger across my heated flesh. "Are you saying it is unreasonable for me to punish you because you are without fault?"

"If not for her , I would not have acted badly. She made me do it." From my undignified position, I huffed to show my disdain.

Since my punishment resumed with a row of swats, which started at the bottom curve of my left cheek and went all the way to the top of that side before doing the same on the other, I assumed he did not agree with my assessment of the situation.

"Ouch, Jeffrey. It hurts," I said after a particularly hard smack to the top of my thigh.

"That is the point, my dear," he replied. "Besides, you are not repentant."

"Why should I be? Though I am sorry for swearing at you."

"Well, it is a start." He chuckled but continued to sting my tail end from stem to stern.

His flat palm cracked against my bottom. I fisted the bedcovers but held my position, despite the searing pain.

Damn Mrs. White with her selfish ways. The indignity of it all boiled inside me then bubbled out my mouth. "This is not fair. I did not do anything wrong, and I apologized for swearing at you. Now you are just being hateful."

"Is that so?"

His calm demeanor fueled my anger. "Yes, that's so. You can spank me all day and all night, but I won't be sorry for anything I said or did to that woman."

The assault on my backside halted, so I peeped out from the pillows, ready to bask in my triumph.

Imagine my surprise when he laid a package on the bed next to me. "A wedding gift for you. I had planned to wait until later to give it to you, but I think we can put it to good use now."

The burn of my backside was forgotten as I hastily unwrapped the package. I gasped. A beautiful brush lay inside a velvet-lined box. I picked it up and traced my fingers over the ornate design on the back—the Amherst Family Crest.

When I gazed up at him, tears threatened the corners of my eyes. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome. Now, let us try it out. "

I smiled to myself. Not only had my spanking stopped, but I'd received a gift. I had the Duke of Amherst wrapped around my little finger.

I moved to take the pins from my hair.

"Oh no, poppet. Back into position with you." He took possession of the brush and pointed it at the pile of pillows.

"W-what?"

He slapped the back of the brush against his open palm. "We have work to do here. Now, do as you are told."

I gritted my teeth to squelch the scream of frustration building within me, but his expression brooked no opposition, so I dutifully perched myself as ordered.

The brush landed on my backend with a resounding slap. I ground my knees into the bed and clutched the pillow to my chest. This was his idea of a gift? An entirely new form of heated throbbing flamed across my buttocks and thighs. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, but the burn to my bum could not be ignored.

My husband swatted the same spot repeatedly until I nearly bit a hole in the pillow. He paused to run his fingers over the area then grasped my hand and forced me to do the same.

I discerned a raised pattern on my bottom and turned from the pillow to look at my tormenter.

"The Amherst Family Crest," he said. "I told you, you are mine."

I ought to have been incensed. Marking me like a possession. Instead, I sighed. I belonged to him.

"I am sorry, Jeffrey. I behaved badly and I deserve to be punished." Surprisingly, I meant every word.

"Good girl." He kissed the top of my head.

Whack! Another blow landed on my backside. Apparently he was not finished with his discipline.

We continued on in this manner for a few more minutes, Jeffrey whaling on my upturned cheeks while I buried my face in the pillows and cursed Mrs. White along with my traitor of a father. My mother's death devastated my father and me, but rather than grow closer, we had each dealt with our grief by closing out the world. My grief often came out in the form of tart comments.

My backend numbed from its punishment, but one hard whack broke the damn. I slumped into the pile of pillows and wept.

The bed dipped with the weight of my husband's body. Soon he snuggled me in the warmth of his embrace. He whispered words of solace against my hair, and his fingers rubbed softly across my bare shoulders.

The rough fabric of his pants chafed my abraded backside. When I winced, he shifted my body to a more comfortable position, though I suspected sitting would be unpleasant for the rest of the day, if not the week. At the moment, only the security of his arms mattered. I had come to rely upon him considerably in our short acquaintance and even shorter marriage.

His strength reassured me. His murmured words soothed my aching heart. Eventually, my sobs subsided to a few hiccups muffled against the rugged flesh of his neck.

Jeffrey brushed the tangled ends of my hair away from my face. Meeting his gaze made me feel even more vulnerable than having my backend spread before him.

"Sarah," he said, his eyes gentle, and I became lost in their depths. "This punishment hurt, but it did not warrant sobbing in such a desperate manner."

"It was painful." I tried my best to deflect from the topic I suspected he planned to probe.

"Yes, that was my intention." He tapped the tip of my nose. "But, there was more to your tears than a stinging bum."

"What makes you think you know everything about me?" My hackles rose like those of a cat backed into a corner. "You do not know me at all."

"I know you are angry and hurt over something which happened well before you ever arrived on British soil. What it is for sure, I do not know. Deep down, you are a submissive girl, but no one would know because you put on such bravado to keep everyone at bay. Is that not true?"

"No, it is not, Duke-Of-Know-It-All. I keep everyone at bay because they are not worthy of my attention." I sniffed. "Besides, people always disappoint me."

"Have I disappointed you?"

I stared into his eyes and wanted to say yes but could not. "No," I forced myself not to lower my gaze. "You have been a true gentleman to me, except for when you took me over your knee and spanked me at Lady Waterford's ball."

"But, if I had never spanked you, you would not be my little wife right now, would you?" He lowered his mouth to cover mine in a gentle kiss filled with promise and affection.