Captive Discipline

by Taryn Williams

  "Not really." As a matter of fact, she'd been more than content to let the topic stay fuzzy and unreal. But with Shalimerie bringing up practical points affecting her immediate future, she supposed she needed to find out more.

  "I know he intends to use the spanking table his parents gave us for a wedding gift," she added. "Also, the day we were married he showed me all the areas of the body where a husband may punish a wife. He said something about my bottom and thighs being adequate for most purposes except this one."

  Shalimerie patted her knee. "I am glad, my love, that you know more than your backside will be affected this time. Martel has told me how he plans to proceed, in case you did wish to find out."

  "Doesn't it make it worse knowing ahead of time?" She gripped her body more tightly.

  "That depends on your imagination. Unfortunately, I always fill the unknown with the worst possible things." The other woman shook her head. "When Kronitin really wants to make an impression on me, do you know what he does?"

  Make marks? Although Janys kept from saying it out loud, she realized how close she came to laughing hysterically.

  "He tells me I need to arrange for Chardontal to be elsewhere at a particular time and day, often at least half a decedonner later. Then he gives me a place, usually somewhere in our house, and orders me to appear 'in my skin'. Until I see what he has in his hand when he comes into the room, I have no idea what to expect." Shalimerie shivered. "The waiting is usually worse than the punishment."

  "How can you stand it?" Actually it had been bad enough kneeling on the bed for the decedonner knowing Martel would soon be applying the paddle to her bare behind.

  "I have to," her friend replied simply. "Besides, he only does it for important things. When he uses that method, I never need it again for the same thing."

  Although Janys still preferred not to think about any aspect of her upcoming ordeal, she saw Shalimerie's point. What if she wound up strapped down to the table, waiting for hours for the forbinner to begin? At some point knowing what would follow would be better than cycling through all the horrible possibilities. "All right, tell me about tomorrow."

  "Martel will be taking the afternoon off, so he will be home shortly after the lunch hour. He wants to go forward as soon as he gets there, so you must be ready," Shalimerie directed. "Now he will wake you earlier than usual to take your bath, because he will want to be able to place you in the contemplation chair before he leaves for work."

  "What's that, a spanking chair?" All the terrible moments she'd endured the other day at the hands of Martel's mother and sister flooded her mind. "We don't even have one!"

  "I said 'contemplation', not 'spanking." The woman shuddered. "I know what you mean—once Kronitin borrowed that awful thing from his parents to teach me a lesson about lying. No, this will be an ordinary chair, probably from your kitchen. He will put it near the spanking table. Then he will ask you to remove your prander. You will stay there for a long while thinking why you require forbinner"

  Right. I'm going to sit in a chair all morning staring at a torture chamber while he goes merrily off to work. Maybe I can't escape the whipping, but I don't have to sit through the previews, Janys vowed.

  Shalimerie continued, "Martel will also put the implement he will use on the spanking table so you can contemplate it as well. In some ways, you are lucky. The Council wanted him to use a cane, preferably hard enough to leave permanent lines on your back. He told Tadewidan he would not mark you, but he would make sure you were properly punished by using romage."

  Romage? She'd felt paddles and switches, and knew about rods and canes, but what dreadful instrument could a romage be?

  Seeing Janys's panic, Shalimerie hurried on. "A romage is not a thing—it is a method of punishment involving the whole body. He will doing it with a thick leather strap on everything he can reach. Afterwards, you will not be able to do anything comfortably, from holding a pen to lying on your side. But in a few days, you will be fine."

  Janys crossed her arms over her breasts. "You mean everything on my back and down."

  "He will start that way by having you lie on your stomach," Shalimerie confirmed. "But eventually you will be turned over and strapped everywhere except your face."

  "No!" she shrieked, startling a few birds from the tree marking her friend's post-spanking tryst.

  "This is why I thought you should know, so you do not panic tomorrow. Janys, look at me." Shalimerie's eyes caught and held hers. "Yes, the strap will hurt when it hits places where you have never felt it before. But you have to trust your husband. He knows the difference between striking your buttocks versus more delicate parts, and he will be careful. As Kronitin did with me the one time I merited romage."

  How had Shalimerie survived such a horrible experience? What she wanted to do was lie down in the water and let it carry her away to some place where no one would dream of striking her soft breasts or any other part previously immune from punishment. But she'd heard her friend's warning. If she didn't cooperate tomorrow, not only would the forbinner be carried out before the Council, but she'd end up with scars.

  "I will provide you with plenty of my creams for afterwards. And if you hurt too much to sleep, use the drops," the woman advised. "As long as it does not involve him, Martel will look the other way."

  If only all of this didn't involve me! Janys knew her friend meant well, but she wished she hadn't gotten so many details. Maybe Demetian folks could mentally prepare themselves for each step of the process, but she'd preferred it to have remained a blur.

  Shalimerie must have sensed her discomfort, because she abruptly switched the subject. "I have talked to Mistress Meisin about your working at the school. She would be delighted if you could handle the reading and literature classes. You should find the hours and pay acceptable, and Meisin runs the school fairly. If you are interested, I will let her know, and you can start whenever you wish."

  Whenever I recover from tomorrow, Janys translated. While she had little experience with children and never fancied herself as a teacher, it seemed closer to her former sociology work than she might otherwise find on a low-tech world. "I'd like to try."

  "Good!" Shalimerie gave her arm a squeeze. "Now let's get something to eat. If we hurry, we can see what Master Grelatik stirred up today in his soup kettle."

  Janys let her friend take her down to the meat shop, where the proprietor used leftovers to make delightful concoctions. Yet she only managed a small portion of her bowl.

  No matter how Shalimerie tried to keep the conversation on other subjects, her mind still brimmed over with visions of the coming day.

  "Perhaps you should take the rest home for tomorrow," Shalimerie suggested. When I don't be able to cook because it will hurt too much, Janys added. She remembered how difficult it had been to do housework after Elondelle switched her palm. And that had been only her left hand. From the description of romage, she had no doubt both would be treated to the strap.

  The other woman quickly made arrangements with Master Grelatik to borrow a small pot. From the way he gazed sideways at her while wishing a speedy return to her appetite, Janys realized he knew what she faced the next day. Would these people stop looking at her with pity after she'd received her punishment?

  Shalimerie must have read her mind as they silently walked home. As soon as she'd gotten the soup safely stowed away in Janys's kitchen, she took her by the shoulders. "Get through tomorrow, and everything will change for the better. Give into it, love. If you fight Martel physically or emotionally, you will have a much harder time than if you trust him to do what must be done."

  "I'll do my best," she promised. Yet she could hear the Professor's voice. Sure, Janys, do just what they tell you. Make it easier for them by not fighting. Agree with them you deserve this barbarous treatment just for doing your job. If you can remember back when you had one.

  She spent the remainder of the afternoon in bed, huddled under the quilt. When Martel got home, he came immed
iately to her bedroom. "Shalimerie told you what to expect tomorrow."

  "Yes," she whispered.

  He sat down next to her on the bed as he had the night after her confrontation with Elondelle. "This is a hard thing for us to go through so early in our marriage, especially under the circumstances. But we will get through it. Do you believe I love you?"

  Of course he'd said the words two nights ago, but she'd brushed them aside as she always did. Prof usually uttered them as well, but she'd figured he also told them to his wife to keep their marriage going on. Other men rolled them out so mechanically or casually that she'd learned not to pay attention.

  But looking into his face etched with worry and sadness over the upcoming event and seeing the tenderness, she did believe. Not merely that he desired her or wished to protect her, but that he cared deeply despite her thoughtlessness. That although he would punish her for her behavior, he accepted her faults and forgave her. Could this be how it felt to be cherished?

  "Tomorrow I will only hurt you as much as necessary, not one bit more," he promised solemnly.

  "I know," she breathed as she again pulled him towards her. But this time they did not make love, only held each other through the night until the inevitable suns poked over the horizon.

  With one final hug and a kiss on the top of her forehead, he pulled away. Somehow she knew it would be the last moment of affection until the forbinner was over, because Martel would have to distance himself from her in order to carry out his mission. While she felt the sharp loss, she sensed that for a while she'd also find it easier as well to think of him as the arm of the Council rather than her loving husband.

  Following Shalimerie's suggestions, she bathed carefully, then put on a clean tunic and prander. By the time she reported downstairs, Martel had finished breakfast. When he offered her some, she shook her head. "Perhaps for the best," he commented. "Come with me."

  He led her back upstairs down the hall to the room he'd slept in during the first days of their marriage. Except for the bed, he'd moved the other furniture into the closet, replacing it with the spanking bench and a hard-wood chair. A thick leather strap lay curled on the bench along with a small canister. As Janys eyed the strap with dread, he picked up the other object.

  "Take off your prander," he ordered. "Then fold it up and put it on the bed." With shaking fingers, she did as he instructed. A slight breeze from the window teased the tunic, lifting it off her naked buttocks.

  "Now come sit in the chair, but hold your feet up for a moment so they do not touch the floor."

  Puzzled and alarmed, she again did his bidding. Opening the canister, he began shaking the contents down around the legs of the chair. "What are you doing?"

  "A less intrusive variation on what the Council required." He widened the area to create a circle several feet in diameter. "They believed if you were not going to be watched during your contemplation time, I should tie you to the chair. But I figured out this less painful alternative. There, you can put your legs down now."

  Gingerly she lowered them to the floor. The powder felt dry and grainy under her bare soles. "Why didn't you just ask Shalimerie to keep an eye on me?"

  "She has other things to do with her time." He replaced the lid on the canister and stowed it away in a drawer. "Besides, I know she couldn't help trying to make things better by distracting you with conversation, when you should be thinking about the actions that brought you here. Or she might even let you wander instead of making you stay in the chair…"

  "I get the idea," she retorted.

  He gazed at her steadily. "I hope you do. Both the Elders and I take this matter very seriously. That night, you attempted to betray our secrecy. The Council acted mercifully in allowing you a second chance. If you do anything like it again, you will be sent to Kollent…"

  "Well, don't worry. I'm not going to." As much as she hated the idea of the strapping, she'd rather get on with it than spend hours being treated like a child who might climb out of her bed at night.

  "Now I cannot control your thoughts during this time, but I can control your movement. If you get up from the chair, I will know," he looked at her sternly. "And I will punish your disobedience by caning you. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," she told him, clasping her hands in her lap. How she hated the cool determination in his eyes, so like his mother's.

  "When I get back, we will continue." Because she faced the spanking bench, she heard rather than saw him leave.

  She spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to escape. If she stood on the chair, she might be able to leap completely beyond the circle, but she didn't know how she could return without disturbing the powder. And if the chair moved—

  Resigned, she stopped scheming. Much as she rebelled at being forced to sit there with nothing to do except think about her upcoming punishment, she knew Martel would use the cane if she ignored his orders.

  Before long she didn't know what felt worse, the boredom or apprehension. The small room contained no clock or other timekeeping apparatus, so aside from the slow crawl of sunlight across the floor, she had no way of telling how long she'd waited. Yet although she wanted it to be over, she knew she wouldn't feel as well when he'd gotten through with her as she did at the moment. By the time the suns set she would wish she'd still be able to sit comfortably in a chair.

  Mercifully the warm room and sunshine made her drowsy, so she dozed off. When the door opened downstairs, she woke up so quickly she almost tipped the chair over. I'm not ready, she cried, her heart in her throat, as she heard her husband's footsteps coming towards her. Her skin prickled as she felt him standing behind her in the doorway.

  "Good. The powder remains undisturbed. Did you complete your contemplation of the forbinner?" His voice stayed perfectly level as though devoid of all emotion.

  "No, I want to stay here another day or so staring at those blasted things!" she snapped at him, then immediately wondered why she wanted to make him angry. Perhaps because it would be easier to accept what he was about to do if he weren't so calm and collected about it. She could accept his throwing her on the bench and walloping the bejeezus out of her if he thought she needed punishment, but not this clinical approach. Right now he reminded her of the doctors on Odonorton V as they administered the excruciating plague inoculations to the public.

  He ignored her outburst as he walked up to the spanking table and picked up the strap. "Janys, the forbinner will now begin. I want you to take off your tunic and put it with your prander. Then you will lie face down on the bench.

  Her fingers shook so much she wasn't sure she could get the tunic off. Despite the times they'd made love, she felt embarrassed standing in front of him totally naked while he remained fully clothed. Slowly she completed the task and began inching towards the bench, wishing she could instead bolt out the door. Again the hysterical laughter choked her as she wondered whether Martel would have problems tracking down a nude woman racing through Wyteen.

  Don't think about what you're doing. Just get on the bench. Without looking at her husband, she willed herself to lie down. The cool leather felt slightly sticky under her stomach and breasts as she pressed them against the slanted surface.

  Immediately he took her hands and stretched out her arms, fastening the straps around them. Spreading her legs, he buckled in her right ankle. When she felt the leather wrapping around her left foot, she realized she'd lost the last bit of control over her situation. Maybe running hadn't been much of an option, but it had been her decision not to try it. Now there was nothing she could say or do to change what would happen as she lay totally exposed on the bench, her bottom tilted up to receive the maximum impact…

  Martel fingers brushed the back of her neck. With horror she realized he'd lifted her hair off her shoulders. Giving it a small twist, he clipped it to her head in an informal bun. He's baring my back she moaned as she reared up ineffectually against the restraints. Although she'd paid lip service to Shalimerie's warnings about
the extent of her punishment, it hadn't seemed real until that moment.

  For a moment she worried he'd start at the top, but he turned his attention to his traditional area of interest. The leather snapped down across both her cheeks, the folded end wrapping around to sting her side. Before she could breathe it landed again in almost the same place. With no pausing, he kept striking, each time enlarging and increasing the band of pain until she had to clamp down on her lips.

  He worked on her backside for a long time, repeating the campaign until every inch burned, then starting moving down her thighs. The strap bit deeply into skin as she struggled. When it came down on the soft skin behind her knees, she yelled. From there on, he dealt with each leg individually, whipping first her right then left calf. "Don't!" she cried seconds before the soles of her feet became the latest victim.

  Again he began moving upwards this time, spending more time on her buttocks until everything below her waist cried in agony. Then she felt the thud across the small of her back as he began the dreadful climb, striping the broad expanse of skin. She shrieked with every increment, screaming as he lashed the strap across her shoulder blades.

  The next few minutes seemed relatively easier as he cradled her head to protect her face while he whipped her arms and the back of her hands. After he finished there, he returned to her bottom, though now so much of her hurt that she scarcely noticed.

  Finally he stopped completely, dropping the strap to the floor as he undid the ankle and wrist restraints. "Time to turn over," he said quietly.

  "No!" she cried, using the last of her strength to try and get off the bench. He laid his arm heavily across her back, pinning her back down. Somehow she choked the words out. "Martel, please. I can't take any more. If you love me, you'll stop."

  "Because I do love you, I must go on," he replied, grabbing her around the waist and flipping her right side up. Despite the coldness in his voice, she saw the agony in his eyes as her welted skin made contact with the leather. As she tried to arch up, he pressed her left leg against the surface and trapped it in the restraint. While he did the same to her right, she folded her arms tightly across her breasts.