by Jaye Peaches
On board, he’d wanted to pace about, but he’d been required to strap himself in one of the passenger seats. It took several hours for the shuttle to transverse the distance, hovering above the surface.
Only scant details had been given to him by Yuri—she’d hit another wife and caused a commotion in the Green Dome. How could she be so stupid in his absence? There had to be more to the story than Yuri had described.
As he ran down the travelator, Jen managed to keep up with him, breathlessly telling him about Lysa’s misadventure.
“It was my fault really. Lysa stepped between us and accidently struck Millicent,” panted Jen.
The travelator ended. “Why was she stirring things up in the first place?” He stepped onto the stationary floor and continued his merciless dash.
Jen couldn’t keep up any longer. “She didn’t mean to make trouble. She was trying to help Sym.” Her voice faded as Blake sprinted down a corridor.
His feet skidded as he put the brakes on outside the punishment block. Not a sound came from the room. Was it all done? He kicked open the door and burst into the chamber.
He charged up to the constable and grabbed the man’s wrist, pinning it above his head and the switch swung in the air. Blake heard a collective gasp from the watching onlookers.
“Blake,” wailed Lysa from her prone position.
He couldn’t look at her. Had he come too late?
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” yelled the constable.
Blake released his arm and shoved him backwards, forcing him away from where Lysa lay. The switch remained a menacing threat. “I’m exercising my right to punish my wife.”
“You’re what?” sneered the constable, clutching the switch in both hands.
“You heard me. Now untie her.”
“The punishment has started.”
Blake slowly turned, preparing to see her bared bottom covered in livid stripes. However, her cheeks were pale and unblemished. He released a sigh of relief. He’d arrived the nick of time. “The punishment hasn’t started. I’m taking her.”
The door sprung open and his friends came into the room, halting in their tracks as they took in the sight of Lysa bound and spread, and Blake confronting the constable. They backed to one side, Yuri keeping a tight grip on Jen.
The gathered crowd rumbled into life, their voices rising. “Untie her. It’s Blake’s choice.” There were other voices, arguing in the constable’s favour. He heard a strident woman’s screech over many others, demanding the constable continue. Blake glared at Millicent, and she blanched, shutting her mouth.
He turned on the constable. “If you ever lay a finger on my wife, so help me, I’ll …” he growled and shoved the palm of his hand into the man’s chest. The constable tripped over his feet before regaining his balance.
“Is that a threat?” He flustered, waving his arms about, but kept his distance.
“Damn right it is.” Blake started to undo the straps holding his wife down. “Easy,” he whispered into her ear as she snivelled. He helped her to her feet and picked up the white smock. “Put this on. We’re getting out of here.”
The crowd rose to their feet, sensing the spectacle of a beating was not going to happen, they conversed amongst themselves. Blake dismissed the voices and concentrated on his stunned wife.
“You came,” she managed to say in a strained tone. “I gave up hope.”
“A few more minutes… I don’t want to think about it. We have to go.”
She slipped the dress on and he looped his arm through hers, ushering her towards the door. “The constable…” she muttered.
“Can’t touch you and he knows it. He’s fuming mad. That’s why we have to leave quickly. You’re going to walk with your head held high and not look back. Move.”
She shuffled alongside him, gradually finding her strength. “I’m fine. Although my backside, fuck…” She reached behind.
“Don’t touch it.” He barked. He knew what coated her posterior and why she grimaced with pain.
She sniffled. “I’m so sorry, Blake. I never intended things to end up like this—”
“Here, you’ll need this.” The constable approached them before they made it through the door. He held out the switch. “For her punishment. You’re required to administer twenty-five hard strokes, just like I would have done.”
Blake ignored the switch. “I’ve my own cane. I’ll use it. There is nothing to say I have to use that.” He pointed at the blunder of sticks.
“You’ll have to present her to the adjudicator so he can see for himself the punishment has been carried out, or else I’m within my rights to bring her back here.”
“It will be done as I see fit.” He pushed the door open and escorted Lysa down the corridor, not looking back or paying attention to the dispersing crowd who wandered after them. Jen caught up with them.
“Are you all right,” she asked her friend.
Blake didn’t want anyone else interfering between them and Jen hadn’t exactly come across as an innocent party.
“If you don’t mind, Jen, please leave me to deal with Lysa. You can trust me to look after her. And please thank Yuri for his help.” He strode forward, propelling his wife as he went. Jen took the hint and moved away.
The quicker he got Lysa to the pod the better. Then he’d have to do the deed himself and immediately—what was the point of waiting?
“Blake,” she muttered, struggling to keep up with his stride.
“Be quiet,” he snapped. She’d put him in a difficult position. Required to complete the punishment, he’d no option to carry out the sentence, but Jen’s explanation of what had happened left him wondering how much had been Lysa’s fault. What he truly wanted to do was hold her tight and remind her she was his, but until the outstanding caning had been dealt with, he couldn’t dare show his real feelings—he felt nothing but remorse for leaving her and not being there when she needed him. At least he’d not broken his promise, but it had been a near thing.
Entering the pod, he let go of her arm.
“Lysa, lift up your dress and bend over the table.”
Her mouth hung aghast. “Blake—”
“Now, Lysa!”
* * *
She stumbled over to the table, eyes misty with unshed tears. She’d read him all wrong. He didn’t love her. He’d raced back to punish her, remind her how she’d let him down and caused trouble in his absence. She lowered her body over the table, touching her nose to the cold surface. Her bottom blazed with heat, the residue of the terrible lotion the constable had applied remained potent.
Blake disappeared into the bathroom. He’d not kissed her or done anything remotely comforting.
She lifted up her skirt, gathering it about her waist and spread her legs.
He returned holding a cloth. Resting a hand on the small of her back, he wiped it over her exposed hind. “This damn stuff has to come off. Is that better?”
The heat dissipated as the damp cloth removed the remnants of the cream. He sniffed the soiled cloth. “Evil, that’s all this is.”
The burning sensation went. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I can’t feel it anymore.”
He leant over her, placing his hands on either side of her head. “I can’t get you out of this punishment, but at least if I do it you won’t suffer unnecessarily. We’ll get it out of the way. You can kick and scream, I don’t care, but you stay in position until I’m done.”
She twisted around, staring up at him. The skin around his eyes was grey and drawn. He’d probably had no more sleep or food than she had in the last few hours. He curled a lock of her hair behind her ear, sighing heavily before speaking again.
“I don’t think you’ve been a saint while I’ve been away, but this isn’t how I would have dealt with the matter. If you’ve any sense of guilt, then this will end it. Afterwards, we’ll see Harkess and then you can remind me why it is I love you so much. Understood?”
She nodd
ed. His words calmed her. He’d spoken of love. Thank heavens, she hadn’t lost him. How could she have doubted Blake? He’d come back and saved her from the cruel constable. His reassurances triggered a wave of tears. He stroked her back, hushing her, repeating the action until she stopped sobbing.
She wouldn’t scream, she’d take her punishment and not give any excuse for Blake to be lenient. She daren’t risk Harkess dismissing Blake’s efforts and making the constable repeat the punishment.
Blake tapped the cane across her bottom, measuring the distance. She clawed the edge of the table, anxiously waiting for the first proper descent of the cane.
She heard the swish, braced herself, pressing her hips onto the edge of the table. The thwack came as she exhaled. She’d not been aware she’d been holding her breath for so long. The cane seared her bottom, covering both buttocks in one swoop. Involuntarily she jerked her legs.
The second came lower down, close to the crease of her bottom. She butted her forehead on the table, gritting her teeth. Hell, if it hurt when Blake did it, what would the constable have done to her? She sucked in another lungful and held it, while Blake lined up the next stroke.
Three became four, then five and onwards. He kept a steady pace and occasionally he ran his hand over her blazing bottom. By the time he reached the fifteenth, she gave up on being quiet and resilient. She cursed, loudly and used the most colourful words she’d ever used. Her feet stamped on the floor and on the twentieth, Blake pushed her back down when she jumped up, rubbing her bottom.
He said nothing, other than to count. She glanced at him once, as he measured up the distance. His biceps bulged and she fancied he was concentrating hard to ensure he didn’t release the full force of his considerable musculature. For the last five she buried her head in her arms and bawled her eyes out, like a child. The tension, the stress of the last twenty-four hours was too much—locked in a cell, interrogated, smeared with some awful substance then brought to the brink of terror.
The cane clattered on the floor. “Finished.” He gathered her up in his arms. Her legs trembled and tears splashed down her cheeks on to his shirt. He held her tight, almost suffocating her, but she clung onto him, relieved to hear the thumping of his heart.
“You’ve been brave, but you need to stay brave. We’re going now to Harkess and you will present yourself, say nothing and keep your opinions to yourself. Is that clear?”
“I promise.”
He tilted her chin up. “I’m saving my kiss. If I give it to you now, I won’t be able to stop. Be patient.”
She wanted to apologise, say many things to him about what had happened. How Millicent had set up Sym, how she’d tried to bring the wives together and instead had driven them apart. She remained quiet, aware that she could not turn back the clock. She’d screwed things up.
He fingered the collar of the white frock they made her wear. “Take off that stupid shirt. Put on your prettiest dress. No panties.”
Harkess didn’t leave them waiting long in the ante-chamber. Lysa dreaded the constable being in attendance, but the only occupant of the austere office was the smirking Harkess.
“So, you did the deed yourself, Blake.” He leant back in his chair. “Leniency isn’t acceptable.”
Lysa stood next to her husband with her head bowed. The walk over to the security block had been another shameful parade. She heard the voices whisper, saw the fingers gesturing and the eyebrows raised. Blake didn’t march her there, instead, he held her hand and let her walk at her own pace, which had been painfully slow. The stripes on her bottom throbbed—a rainbow not of colours but scorching lines. She’d asked him if her skin had split apart, and Blake assured her it was intact, although very red.
Blake folded his arms across his chest. “I did what was required, nothing more or less. Twenty-five strokes of the cane.”
“Show me,” said Harkess clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “Stand facing the wall, girl, and lift up your dress to your waist.”
Lysa clenched her teeth together, not in pain, but embarrassment. Her stiff legs fought to comply and Blake prodded her, cocking his head at the wall. Swallowing hard, she took up position and with trembling fingers, gathered up her skirt until her naked bottom was visible.
She heard Harkess’s chair scrape across the floor. Don’t touch me, please. It was a forlorn request and she scrunched together the features of her face as his hand brushed against her tender skin. He muttered under his breath and she wonder if he was counting each welt, checking the number given.
“Part your legs and stick your bottom out,” he commanded. “You, stay back.” Directing his request to her husband.
“Is this necessary?” demanded Blake.
“I need to judge the severity of the marks. This is quite necessary. Put your hands on the wall and stand still,” he snapped at Lysa.
Her palms pressed against the cold surface and she bent slightly. The humiliation of the day seemed unending as he dragged out the inspection.
“More, and spread your legs.”
Lysa shuffled her feet a few more inches. She flinched—Harkess’s finger traced a welt. As he traversed her buttock, he pressed harder, scoring her flesh with his rough fingertip. She bit back a cry of pain. He moved lower and his finger dipped in between her cheeks and slid down.
“Enough!” snarled Blake.
Harkess removed his offending digit. “You know how to use the cane, Blake. You’ve missed a career as a constable. She likes it, too.”
“I do not!” squawked Lysa, forgetting her requirement to be silent.
“Lysa, keep quiet,” urged Blake.
Harkess’s hot breath mushroomed by her ear. “You’re wet. Like a slick down there.”
Lysa spun around, letting her skirt fall to her knees and clenched her fists into balls. “How dare you!”
Blake grabbed her arm, pulling her away. “I said be quiet.” He pinched her arm and she shrank as he despatched a stern stare.
“You need to keep her under control,” said Harkess returning to his seat. “Or else I shall have her back in the punishment block or she might benefit from some time in the cells. As for you, Blake. I heard of your threats to the constable. Consequently, I’m docking a week’s pay.”
Lysa heard a sharp intake of breath from her husband, but he kept his lips pressed firmly together.
Harkess grinned. “You may go.”
Blake said nothing to her as they hurried back to their pod, avoiding the curious bystanders. A few miners heckled, asking Blake if he’d given her a good thrashing, while her friends, those wives she conversed with regularly, gave her sympathetic expressions and mouthed incomprehensible words at her. She stumbled as her legs began to give way under her.
Back in the privacy of the pod, he told her lie on the bed. She complied without protest. He brought her food and drink, but she pushed them away, unable to contemplate food in her repulsed stomach.
“No, eat.” He held out a fork and she begrudgingly took it. He sat at the table and ate his own.
Having managed to eat half of what he gave her, her eyelids drooped and she turned onto her belly. A few seconds later, she tensed. He’d raised her dress up. Something icy touched her bare behind and she jerked.
“The balm to soothe your marks,” he said softly.
The coolness drove away her sleepiness and she squirmed as he caressed her bottom. “Uhm, that feels better,” she muttered.
“You were wet,” said Blake. “Earlier.”
She stiffened, and raised herself up on her elbows. Next to her, Blake shrugged his shoulders. “You were.”
“It wasn’t my intention… I didn’t notice it…” she stammered. Why had her body made a mockery of her anguished thoughts? She’d given Harkess the impression she’d been turned on by her degrading inspection.
“When I caned you, you were wet too,” he murmured, stroking the tops of her thighs.
Her skin bristled. “No,” she declared. “I could n
ot have been.”
“It wasn’t a conscious response. Perhaps, my spanking you has trained you to behave in a certain way.”
“What a horrible idea.” She shuddered.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“How can you say that? It is not all right. I… I… don’t enjoy being punished.”
“I never said you did. Nor do I enjoy punishing you, but what you did enjoy is me taking control of the situation. You weren’t afraid of me, you trust me, unlike the constable, and it took away the stress of the caning. When you cried at the end, it wasn’t from pain, it was relief.”
She vacillated between wanting to lash out at him and argue over his presumptions and bursting into tears for unearthing her innermost thoughts, the ones she chose to bury deep inside. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
Blake slid a hand up her dress and circled a finger around a nipple. “Frankly, it doesn’t bother me that you get wet, as long as you curb your attitude and behave. What is important at the moment is that it has been five whole days since I last fucked you and we should address this issue urgently.”
A multitude of goose bumps transformed the surface of her skin and in her belly, a passionate, needy fire for sex was ignited.
He flipped her over, divested her of the dress and before she could catch her breath, lay between her parted legs, keeping his weight off her. He continued to tease her breasts, licking his tongue over her nipples as they transformed into little pebbles then he rolled them between his finger and thumb. His head dipped down and he lowered it, kissing her tummy as he shifted farther south.
She held his head in her hands, running her fingers through his downy fuzz. Below, between her legs, his oral exploration centred on her folds and excited clit. Tiny pants escaped her mouth as he flicked the tip of his tongue, fluttering it like the wings of a hummingbird. She wrapped her legs around him, resting her heels on his sturdy back, lifting her tender bottom up. He cupped her buttocks in his hands, but didn’t squeeze or torment them.
“Oh, Blake,” she moaned, twisting her head from side to side. “I’ve missed you.”
