by Ashe Barker
“Eleven, Victoria, and counting.”
She gave a little sob and pushed past him to lean on the table. She hesitated there for just a few moments, then leaned further to press her upper body against the cleared surface. “Do it then. Just do it.”
“Your skirt, Victoria. I require your bottom to be bared for me, and if you would lift yourself up onto your toes ever so slightly I would appreciate that also.”
He smiled to himself as she reached back to grab two handfuls of fine bronze-coloured satin and dragged them up around her waist. The hem of her skirts and petticoats still obscured his view of her drawers, but he felt she had done as much as she could to cooperate. He slid his fingers under the fabric and pushed it up onto her back. Now only her drawers remained to obstruct him. He loosened the tie at the waist. Victoria stiffened as he did so, but did not protest. He lowered them to her knees to fully expose her to him. And to his ruler.
“On your toes. I want a decent target.” He waited as she scuffled about, raising her delicate pink globes to better present them for spanking. Satisfied, he continued, “You can grip the edge of the table, or if you think you might move I will tie your hands. Which is it to be?”
“I will not move. Just get on with it.”
“My pleasure, Victoria. Might I prevail upon you to part your legs too?”
“But, then you will be able to see…”
“Exactly. If you would be so kind.”
She shuffled her feet, her slippers scuffing the fine carpet as she shifted them a few inches apart. It was a start, enough to afford him a glimpse of her sweet, pink pussy lips peeking from between the curves of her beautiful arse. He would not touch her, not without her permission, but the tell-tale glistening was sufficient. She was aroused. She may not know it, most definitely did not understand it. But the evidence was there.
He placed a palm over her right buttock and stroked a large circle there. She flinched, but offered no protest. He repeated the action on the other side.
“Sweet. So pretty. And so pale. We will soon put an end to that.”
Victoria let out a shriek as he landed a hard swat across her right cheek. She started to rise, but his hand on the small of her back put a stop to that.
“Be still, Victoria. And remember the servants.”
She turned her face toward him, her eyes closed. He thought he detected tears on her lashes, but could not be sure. She would cry soon enough, he had no doubt of that.
“Ten to go. Yes?”
She nodded, and tightened her mouth. She intended to contain her screams if she could, and he admired her courage.
He laid the next stroke on her left side, followed by two more swift spanks to the backs of her thighs. She jerked under each one, but remained silent. Adam watched the stripes bloom across her pale skin, the vivid redness in sharp contrast to her milky bottom. His cock was solid, swollen, threatening to seriously embarrass him.
By the sixth stroke she was whimpering, and at the seventh she could no longer contain her squeal of pain. She was grasping the edge of the table, her knuckles white as she flexed her fingers. She turned her face from him, but not before he saw the tears now streaming from her eyes. He was hurting her, but she would weather it. He knew that, had no doubt of it. He liked to think his own skill was sufficient to temper the blows without making this too easy for her, but her own courage and determination, underpinned by curiosity and an arousal she barely recognised, would do the rest.
He stepped back a fraction, enough to see the evidence. Her inner thighs were moist, coated with her juices as she writhed against the table. Her clit remained concealed, but he knew if he asked her to lift up just a little more he would see it, plump and quivering. Waiting for him.
“Last four. Let’s make these count. Up on your toes, Victoria. Arch your back.”
She groaned, but did as he instructed. He raked an appreciative eye over her swollen clit, now fully exposed. Oh, yes, his little Victoria may be clenching her punished buttocks in anticipation of what was still to come, but somewhere deep down she was loving this too. Maybe she would sleep well tonight after all.
He dropped another heavy stroke across her left cheek, careful not to hit any part of her skin twice in the same spot. She let out a yelp. Three bright red strikes adorned each of her buttocks, and one on each thigh completed the set so far. He wasted no time in adding one more to each thigh, right where she would sit tomorrow in her efficient little office. She would not forget him in a hurry.
He repositioned himself, then landed the final swat across both buttocks. Hard. Victoria screamed, unable to hold it back. She did not move though. She remained in place, shuddering now as though anticipating more.
“We are done.” He laid the ruler on the table beside her, then placed his hand on her bottom. He was gentle, applying no pressure as heat radiated up from her. She quivered, but other than that she remained still. “You may stand now, if you wish. Or you can remain where you are for a few moments.”
She turned toward him and opened her eyes. They were wet, her lashes spiky with her tears. She drew her tongue over her lower lip as she looked up at him.
“That hurt, Mr. Luke.”
He nodded, and caressed her reddened bottom. “Spread your legs, little one.”
She did not ask why. She simply obeyed him.
Maintaining eye contact with her, Adam slipped his palm lower, reaching between her buttocks. She let out a hiss of pain, but no further protest. He stroked her swollen pussy lips, smearing the moisture that had gathered there lower, across her clit.
Now she gasped, and stiffened. She arched her back more, silently begging him for something she would be reluctant to name but they both knew what she wanted. Adam would usually make a submissive wait, but he knew she could not. He rubbed her clit and her body tensed. She was at the point of climax when he slipped two fingers into her drenched channel. He found her inner sweet spot and angled his fingers to stroke there too. She started to spasm immediately, her inner walls clenching around him as he finger-fucked her. She moaned, flexing her hands again as her orgasm grabbed and consumed her. As her moans subsided, he returned his attention to her clit to whip up her frenzy again, and drew another release from her, then a third. Only when she lay limp and spent across her desk did he finally slide his hands from her body.
He lifted her, turning her in his arms as he carried her to the velvet-covered couch under the window. The curtains were closed, the room in near darkness away from the lamp on her desk. He sat, and arranged her in his lap. He was careful not to hurt her, shifting her weight so as not to put pressure on her buttocks or thighs. Victoria gripped his shirtfront in her fist, crumpling the fine linen. She was shaking, and he realised she was sobbing again, soft, cleansing sobs, muffled as she buried her face in his chest.
This was the first sign of real vulnerability she had allowed him to glimpse, and he was honoured by it. He wanted to earn her trust, and perhaps, just maybe, he was getting there.
He held her, tracing gentle circles between her shoulder blades as she wept in his arms. He knew she was not unhappy, nor unduly hurt though she would be sore. This reaction was caused by tension, the combined effects of euphoria generated by the spanking followed by three intense orgasms, and no doubt exacerbated by the worries of recent weeks. He felt a sudden and unfamiliar surge of protectiveness and tightened his arms around her.
He lusted after Victoria Wynne, he knew that. He had known it since almost the first moment he saw her in his dining room reaching for his marmalade. But it was more. Somehow, he found he cared about her too.
Just like her mill, she was his.
Chapter Six
Victoria rolled over onto her back, still floating in that dreamlike place between sleeping and waking. She winced, shifted back onto her side. Fists clenched in her pillow, she allowed herself to drift back into soft, warm sleep. It was early still, surely.
Minutes later she sur
faced again, her mind shimmering with something important, something momentous. Something she needed to do. She shifted, registered that she was sore.
Her bottom. Her spanked, smarting bottom. And her thighs. Sweet heavens, she was hurting.
She groaned as the mists of sleep cleared and the events of the previous evening clamoured back into her consciousness. Adam Luke had spanked her. With her own ruler, bent over her own desk in the library. She had allowed him to lift her skirts, bare her bottom, and…
Oh. God. She groaned and pulled her pillow over her face. What had she done? How had this happened?
More to the point, what might happen next?
She needed to talk to him, explain. She needed to make the arrogant oaf understand that Victoria Wynne was a respectable businesswoman, she did not do these sorts of things. It just—did not happen.
Except for those occasions when it did, clearly.
She groaned again and flung her pillow onto the floor as more of the details crystallised. He had hurt her, punished her, then he had stroked and caressed her and brought her to a swift, glittering climax. Then he had done it again. And again.
It had been awful, and glorious, and all points in between.
How had he known? How had she? When he suggested she spread her thighs, she had done so, fully aware of what he intended and how it would feel. Usually her orgasms were solitary affairs, nice enough but not in that league. Adam Luke knew what he was about, both with a ruler and with his skilled, clever fingers. And afterwards, she had wept. She had no notion why, but her tears had been unstoppable. Adam had not appeared surprised, she now concluded. It was as though he had anticipated her emotional as well as her physical reaction to the intensity of sensation, and knew she would need the security he could offer. He had held her, and made her safe.
Was this how it would be, if she agreed to his incredible suggestion? Would she experience pain and pleasure, and eventually not know for sure where one ended and the other began? Was that even possible?
It would seem so. She lay in her bed, digesting that apparent truth for several minutes, the delicious smarting in her buttocks a reminder that pain was a strange thing indeed. She found herself wriggling, deliberately rubbing against the sheet to feel over and over the rasp of soreness, savouring the marks he had left on her.
On impulse she scrambled from her bed and rushed across to the swivel mirror beside her wardrobe. She angled it, then lifted the back of her shift and chose not to dwell on the absence of her usual night-time attire of a silk nightdress.
Her bottom was striped in soft pink, and several bruises were forming. Perhaps the marks would have been more vivid last night; she rather suspected as much but even so there was still plenty of evidence of his discipline.
She allowed her shift to drop back down over her body and sat on the edge of her bed, forcing herself to bear the sharp pain as her weight pressed her abused bottom against the mattress. She bore bruises, and he had put them on her. He was no gentleman; that was for sure.
So, what was he?
Victoria was not given to self-deception. She should resent his treatment of her, but she did not. She had yet to fathom just what she did think of it, but her feelings were far from hostile. She could best be described as uncertain, she decided. She needed to consider, to analyse, and eventually she would understand.
The delicate china cup on her bedside table caught her eye. It was full of tea, now quite cold. She frowned; how long had that been there? She had no recollection of seeing it when she came to bed.
Not that she had seen much of anything in truth. She vaguely recalled ascending the stairs, her fingers tucked in the crook of Adam Luke’s elbow. He had escorted her to her bedroom door, then when she would have bid him a polite goodnight, he had opened it and steered her through into her private chamber. Still, she had offered no protest. Nor had she made a fuss when he turned her around and unhooked the row of buttons down the back of her dress and peeled the garment from her shoulders. She had lifted her feet obediently when he ordered it, allowing him to remove the rest of her clothing. When she stood before him in just her shift, he had pulled back her bedclothes and ordered her into the comforting warmth. And she had obeyed again. He had leaned over, dropped a swift kiss on her mouth, and left.
She had fallen asleep within moments, and knew nothing else until a few minutes ago. Now, she felt strange, not herself somehow.
She was refreshed, certainly; she had slept better than she recalled for a long time. She felt relaxed, at ease, oddly liberated. She wanted to see Adam Luke, talk to him. She had a niggling suspicion that she might even not object too strenuously should he wish to spank her again. Not today, naturally. But sometime.
She was going to accept his proposition. The realisation hit her with resounding clarity. She would do it, because it was expedient. And because she wanted to. With that acceptance, another possibility started to uncurl in her mind. A secret, deep longing that up to now she had refused to allow either form or substance because it was simply impossible. Her dream was growing, solidifying, demanding recognition. Adam Luke wanted her to be his mistress and to submit to these strange, wonderful, terrifying activities and she found she wanted that too. Well, some of it. Enough, she believed. He had her mill, but he had something else she wanted too. She would have her side of this bargain.
She needed to get up, now, before the rest of the household awoke. Maybe she could find a way to talk to him alone, before he left for the station.
Her stomach growled. She was hungry. Thirsty too. She contemplated ringing for some more tea, but decided to wait until breakfast. She would still require her maid though, to help her to dress. She reached for the bell pull beside her bed, knowing that it would cause a small bell to tinkle in the kitchen. She could expect Daisy who usually worked upstairs, or perhaps Molly the downstairs maid, to be with her shortly. She turned her attention to what she might wear.
She needed something smart, serious, and above all respectable. She would have to look the part if she was to hold her own in a negotiation with Adam Luke. He may not like her demands, would certainly argue against them. She would have her way though, eventually. She simply had to. Her dark grey suit with the fitted jacket and velvet cuffs. Yes, that would do nicely.
She eased herself into a precarious standing position, then inched her still fragile body across the soft pile of her rug. She sank her bare toes into it, wondering if she might branch out into manufacturing carpets. Wynne’s could build an extra workroom, invest in one loom to start with…
She gave herself a mental shake. First things first. She must get matters settled with Mr. Luke.
“Good day, miss. Are you feeling better?” The chirpy voice from behind her heralded the arrival of Daisy. Victoria turned as the maid bustled in, realising belatedly that she really should avoid letting the servants catch sight of her bruised backside. It would take some explaining and she was in no mood for that.
Daisy deposited a fresh cup of tea on the dressing table, then hurried to the window to throw back the curtains. “It’s a fine day, miss, though there might be rain later. After lunch, perhaps. Will you feel up to eating, do you think?”
“Of course. I’m famished. Help me into my grey worsted, if you would, please, then I’ll take a little breakfast before I go to the mill. Is Mr. Luke still in his room?”
“Oh, no, miss. He was up hours ago. He had breakfast with Mrs. Wynne and Miss Georgina, then he went out. To speak with Mr. Timmins, I believe. Mrs. Wynne is at a luncheon in the town and Miss Georgina too. Mr. Luke said you were feeling unwell though, and to leave you abed.”
Victoria gaped at the maid, aghast. “He said what? What time is it?” For the first time she registered the bright sunlight streaming through the window, dappling the lemon and green patterned carpet.
“Why, it’s nearly half past eleven, miss. Breakfast is all finished, but I’m sure Mrs. Bridger would make up a tray for you. A ni
ce bit of porridge perhaps, with some honey?”
“I do not need porridge or honey. I need my clothes. Now, please. I can’t believe you let me sleep until this time. What were you thinking? I always rise at six-thirty, you know that.”
“But, Miss Wynne, Mr. Luke said…”
“I do not care what Mr. Luke said. He does not run this house.” Victoria strode across the room, ignoring the ache in her delicate backside as she flung open her wardrobe doors and commenced rummaging around in the dim interior for the outfit she wanted. Unabashed by her employer’s waspish tone, Daisy gently but firmly shouldered her aside.
“Let me, miss. It’s just that Mrs. Wynne also said you were to be allowed to catch up on your sleep, so we thought… Ah, here it is. Shall I draw you a bath?”
“No, thank you. I don’t have the time. Mr. Luke is at my mill, you say? Talking with my clerk?”
“He is, miss. He was up quite early. He had porridge.”
“Did he? Did he indeed? Pity it didn’t bloody choke him.”
“Ooh, Miss Wynne, that would have been a pity. A right waste, if you don’t mind me saying so. He seems very—nice.”
Victoria’s response was not verbal exactly, though Daisy seemed to catch her meaning. The maid retrieved the grey worsted suit from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. She proceeded to collect undergarments, stockings, and a pair of fine leather boots to complete the outfit.
