Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson

by Korey Mae Johnson

  “I’m glad you are here,” he told the servants. “I need you to prepare her for punishment.”

  Charlotte’s head snapped up from where it hung, her lips parted. She was so startled by his order to the servants, and so humiliated, that her whole body seemed to jerk in response.

  “But we just done dressin’ her!” Naomi complained.

  “Yes, Naomi, my timing’s altogether poor,” Ashcroft agreed, opening a door to his chambers which adjoined Charlotte’s. He realized, upon opening the door, that he hadn’t gone into his room all evening. “I am terribly sorry about that.”

  Last night, he had been so aroused that he was afraid that if he got too close to his bedroom, he’d walk into the wrong door and crawl into bed with her. The idea had been so damned agreeable that it had frightened him.

  “Ah…A-A-Ashcroft, wait!” Charlotte whined, her voice rattled. She attempted to follow him, but Naomi tugged her back.

  “Come now, let’s get you out of this dress so it don’t wrinkle up,” Ashcroft could hear the servant instruct her in the other room. He found himself very glad that he’d gotten Naomi from the employ of a nearby Lord, one with a very horrible, rotten wife and several horrible, rotten daughters that would occasionally push the Lord far enough in front of company that he would order them ‘brought up and prepared for punishment’ many a time. “Come on, stop fussin’!” he heard Naomi chide.

  Ashcroft pulled an extremely old belt out of a closet that he hadn’t seen for nearly a whole century already. He came back through the door to find Naomi laying out Charlotte’s dress gently over the chair before she followed the other servant out of the door. This left only Charlotte, who now stood only in a white cotton shift that hung only down to mid-thigh and left her arms bare.

  He could see her body’s silhouette through the shift, and Charlotte seemed to suspect as much because she put a hand over her groin and one over her breast.

  Hard again, already. Damn her!

  “Is… Is Moriarty okay?” she asked in a small, little-girl’s voice.

  ‘Don’t soften in your resolve just because she’s so pathetically remorseful. She nearly died. Moriarty nearly died. What she did was inexcusable!’ he thought to himself with tenacity.

  “Moriarty will be fine, fortunately,” he told her, although he was exasperated as he said it. He watched her let out a relieved sigh, and continued, “And you’re lucky to be fine, as well. What was my first rule, Charlotte?”

  She chewed on her lip and said, “Well, if you look at it from my point of view—”

  “Charlotte,” he reproached firmly.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered, and truly seemed to have meant it. But her eyes glazed with fear and embarrassment. “I really am.”

  “So am I. I am very sorry indeed that that happened. What was the first rule?”

  She let out a short sigh and recited, “Not to leave the property alone.”

  “Good,” he rumbled, walking towards her and then guiding her by the arm towards her bed. “You can listen and learn. You’re just disobedient—that I can fix. I cannot fix stupidity.”

  “Duh, I’m not stupid!” she assured, blushing deeply. “But, please—Look… Just try to understand, I—”

  Ashcroft pushed her down so she was seated by the edge of the bed and he knelt down in front of her. He put the belt next to her on the bed, which her eyes fixated on even as he grabbed her foot and placed it on his bent knee, reached into his pocket and pulled out an open braced cuff of dragon crystal. He clasped it around her ankle by a jewel before she could even react to the cuff’s coldness.

  “What is this?” she demanded, sounding alarmed.

  “If I cannot trust you to stay, then I’m afraid I’ll just have to force you to,” he replied, and tugged at the band, watching it as it stretched under his skilled fingers as if it was a band of elastic, trying to situate it so that it wasn’t tight around Charlotte’s skin. He wanted her to be able to get her stockings under it, but not be able to pull it past her heel.

  She yanked her foot away from his grasp and tried to pull it off. She couldn’t—the metal was solid as a diamond under her fingers. She tried to unsnap the jeweled clasp, but it wouldn’t unclasp for her. “What is it?” she repeated.

  “Dragon crystal. It’s impossible for the imprisoned to snap off of themselves by anyone but the master of the crystal’s partner.” He plucked at a chain around his neck until a small chuck of flattened crystal—no bigger than a locket—was visible. And then he dropped it back under his shirt.

  “So you ARE keeping me prisoner!” she charged, her lips pursing together, her blue eyes searing into him.

  He hated that look—that look of betrayal. But it didn’t make him feel as guilty as he knew she hoped it would. It angered him. She was the one that betrayed him. Lots of young Archivists would have killed to be his assistant. And she couldn’t find one ounce of gratitude to him for taking her under his wing and helping her to continue the education of her race. “That is one way to look at it. And I would save the attitude and the look on your face. You’re lucky Moriarty was there to save you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I shouldn’t have been in the Otherworld in the first place,” she argued. “What kind of person stays here when they could just leave?”

  “One who promised me she’d obey my rules,” he replied, looking over her body as if studying it. He felt himself biting back the primal urge to dominate her—to mount her.

  “Promised under duress,” she argued.

  He needed to spank her, not touch her, and get the hell out of the room. He couldn’t think at all rationally around her. He couldn’t even argue—his tongue was tied. But he glared darkly at her so not to show it. He pointed at the bed, “I’m sick of bantering. You nearly got yourself killed. Now bend over the edge.”

  Her face suddenly went blank—void of all emotion—and then she scooted back up the bed. “Look, isn’t this ankle-thingy bad enough?”

  “No.”

  “Ashcroft—this spanking stuff can’t fly. I’m nineteen years old, and—”

  “Do you want it on the bare bottom, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, something in him was screaming for her to say ‘no’ and begging for her to say ‘yes’.

  She quickly shook her head and looked towards the door then back to him. “Ashcroft—it’s eight o’clock in the morning. And I’m sore from last night! Don’t you think—”

  “Now, Charlotte.”

  “But the servants know,” she whined, but she slid off the bed and stood in front of him. “They’ll be able to hear, and they’ll know!”

  He turned her around and pushed her down so that she bent over the bed, her body in a perfect “L”, her bottom sticking out to meet him. He grabbed a hold of his belt. Her toes dug into the rug underneath her, her hands gripping the comforter under her body. “P-p-please, Ashcroft. Give me a break!” she pleaded, trying to crane her neck around to look at him. “I’m really, really sorry, and I promise I’ll make it up to Moriarty!”

  He didn’t answer, and in truth, he was barely listening. Through her shift he could see the rounded curve of her bottom, admiring how her soft legs draped out of the fabric.

  “I’ll do anything if you don’t spank me again. Anything!” she continued, her voice turning squeaky as he tested the belt against his own thigh, checking for pliancy before he placed a strong, pinning hand against the small of her back.

  “Anything except behave. Didn’t I tell you that there would be discipline if you did not follow my rules?” Then, with a firm flick of his wrist, he let the belt slap against her shift. Her skin might as well have been bare from the slapping sound that it made.

  Charlotte’s body froze at the pain, not moving until he delivered two more swats in quick succession. And then she began to heartily struggle, trying to drag her body away from his pinning hand to escape further up the bed.

  Of course, he didn’t let her move; he merely used more of his strength to pin
her. She wasn’t strong—she was very slight, and when she realized there was no escape she let out a desperate, bellowing cry.

  SWAP! SWAP! SWAP!

  She put her hands in back of her, trying to shield herself, and he adjusted to pinned her hands to her back. “Ashcroft! Please! Please!” she begged, running in place against the floor. Once he had her where he wanted her—completely immovable—he continued.

  SWAP! SWAP! SWAP!

  She seemed like she was trying to hold back her cries, releasing only sharp howls. A couple of swipes to the backs of her bare thighs made her scream. “I’ll do anything!” she repeated to him. “Just stop!”

  “This is nothing compared to what could have happened!” he assured. “You would barely serve as an appetizer to all sorts of things beyond your reckoning. Do you need to continue to have close calls or will you just heed me?” he lectured, and meant it. The times were certainly over when she looked upon his advice as ‘optional’.

  SWAP! SWAP! SWAP!

  “I’m so sor-rrry!”

  “You simply don’t know your value. You are not just some hum-dum human with no purpose, and you’d be getting a hiding even if you were because you’re completely disrespectful and downright naughty. Instead, you have a type of power that nobody else possesses in all the worlds, in the whole universe! And you were just going to throw it to the winds by letting something kill you off!” Somehow, reminding himself of that was only getting him angrier.

  SWAP! SWAP! SWAP! “I didn’t mean to!” she promised. “It just happened!”

  “No, it was completely avoidable—” SWAP! SWAP! “—if you’d just do what I tell you to do and stop acting like you know better!” SWAP! SWAP! SWAP!

  Finally, she seemed to reach a breaking point where she began to sob into the bedspread. “Have we learned a lesson?” he asked, knowing how pedantic he sounded, but awaiting an answer anyway. “Will we follow the rules?” SWAP!

  “Yes!” she promised, and continued sobbing.

  “And what will happen if we do not?” SWAP!

  “S-sp-spanking!”

  He watched her sob in silence for a long moment, and finally began to sympathize for her like she was a very-punished child. Although she wasn’t—she was very much a woman—one with red, angry welts on her thighs; he had been thorough. He imagined her bottom must have been a flaming, hot red underneath her shift, and wished that they were familiar in a way that he could lift it up and see.

  But surely that would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it?

  Slowly, as if she was an animal that he was likely to scare away, he put the belt down on the bed and sat next to her. Carefully, he put his callused hand out and began to rub her back through her shift. He closed his eyes—God, he loved the sensation of touching her. The contact was like a drug.

  Still, he didn’t like the fact that she was still crying; steadily but surely, he was feeling more and more like a monster. Maybe he had been too harsh?

  No, no. Her survival was too important to be weakly lenient towards her.

  “Charlotte, I don’t care how often we have to do this—I want to keep you safe. I don’t know how to get across how important you are. If something happened to me… Someone would simply take over my duties eventually. Someone would take my place sooner or later. But with you… There’s no one to replace you. You’re the end of a proud, important line. And you’re not immortal yet. You’re so vulnerable. So fragile… You need your wits to surv—”

  He was interrupted by a knock on the door and his eyes jerked up as he bade whoever it was to enter.

  Naomi walked opened the door with a folded note in her hand. “Sorry to interrupt you, Master. Jus’ received a message for you, we did. Said t’was urgent.”

  Ashcroft sighed wearily and put out his hand for her to put the letter into it. But as soon as it touched his skin, the course pulp of the paper alerted him of the sender. “Ach. Johns.” He opened the message and read it quietly, grunting.

  Charlotte pushed herself up onto her elbows and dried her face on her hands. “Who’s Johns?”

  He looked up, surprised that she looked somewhat interested. “An Alchemist wizard who always needs something,” Ashcroft replied, and smiled gently at her. Then he looked towards Naomi, “I have to depart towards the South Realm immediately, I’m afraid,” he told her. “You’ll have to help with preparation, Naomi, with Moriarty out of commission, so to speak. I shouldn’t be gone more than two days.”

  “Of course, Master. I’ll be gettin’ right to it,” Naomi assured, seeming actually excited in her normal, understated way.

  “And get a maid to help Charlotte redress,” he added. Naomi bowed in response and went to find a maid to help, and by now Charlotte was crawling off of the bed, looking winded.

  “Why are you going to South Realm?”

  “They have a very bad dragon problem,” Ashcroft replied, massaging his forehead. “Not my favorite thing to do, but…”

  “Can I go?” The question seemed actually sincere, as if the thought of him leaving her behind was horrible.

  “No,” Ashcroft said immediately. When he watched her eyes rounded, as if he had hurt her feelings on purpose, he added, “It’s dangerous. I’m not saying never, but not this time. When your training has moved on—” dramatically! “I’ll start taking you on my summons. Others take their apprentices with them, I suppose...”

  “Really?” she asked, a slight trill of excitement exposed.

  He looked at her with amusement. “Absolutely. When you learn how to harness some of your power for something other than hair color and amplifying your music player,” he teased.

  She smirked at him, and he pushed up from the bed, trying not to stare at the breasts which he noticed were practically visible under her shift. “Is it dangerous?”

  “I’ve been warding off dragons since I was a boy,” he assured simply.

  “Is that what gave you…” She gestured towards his facial scars.

  His face darkened, embarrassed for a moment, and she recoiled her hand that was pointing towards him. He reached up and touched his scratches. “I suppose you could say t’was a dragon that made these scars. But there are darker things we fight against.”

  She shrugged. “But why?”

  “Because ‘tis our duty,” he said simply, unable to keep his eyes from settling on her, watching her reaction. She looked awkward. “We have privileges and power, and we have responsibilities and duties for them. One day, you’ll understand what I mean.” He sighed. “But for now, breakfast. And then I’ll give you an assignment or two…”

  She instantly pouted in response, and he thought her so darling for it that couldn’t help but smile.

  * * *

  Charlotte watched Ashcroft leave from her balcony—she was all dressed now and Naomi even made her wash the dried tears off of her face, but she was still exhausted. Still, it was worth watching him leave… His horse was unnaturally fast, and unnaturally large, and it was thrilling to watch them speed out of the barn.

  But from the balcony she was able to hear a racket from the other room down the hall. “Naomi, Jesus Christ! Why won’t you just let me be! I’ve been mutilated, here! Ouch! Stop it! Do you ENJOY TORTURING ME, you old hag?”

  “Stop your fussin’ and stop movin’ already! You’re gonna start that bleedin’ again! If you’re dead when the master comes back, there’ll be hell to pay!”

  Guilt immediately returned to Charlotte. She didn’t like Moriarty; he was a callus, insufferable ass. That being said, she didn’t want him to be in pain because he’d saved her life. In fact, she was still in shock that he must have charged in without even hesitating.

  She didn’t remember much of anything—she was unconscious by the time Moriarty came about, since by then she’d figured that there was no more use in struggling. But the idea that Moriarty charged headfirst into danger wasn’t lost on her. She was impressed, and she didn’t easily get impressed.

  Perhaps it was time she
threw in the towel on their summer long feud. Obviously, she was blowing it up in her head. He couldn’t hate her like she thought he did. Perhaps he was like one of those characters commonly seen in movies? Hard and calloused on the outside, but on the inside he was a caring man who just needed a hug?

  Yeah, right. But still, it was worth thanking him just to see if the praise didn’t make his head so large it would just explode.

  She walked back into her rooms, still not used to the swish of her dress or the way the heavy fabric hit against the back of her thighs. Although Moriarty had brought most of her things back to the tower when she hadn’t returned to her Cambridge apartment for a week, most of her clothing never made it to the Otherworld. Supposedly, when Moriarty saw them, he made sure they were all burnt, deciding what she had wasn’t worth owning.

  He was more par with Otherwordly fashion, true—which seemed to whirl into a hodge-podge of rich and historical clothing—but if she hadn’t felt so guilty about nearly having him killed, she would have gone out to kill him herself when she’d found out.

  Especially since what she had to wear now was so complicated that she had to be dressed and undressed to even be spanked. She wondered if it was possible to conceive of an easier humiliation than to have someone else play even the smallest role in her childish punishment. She had tried to dress herself when Ashcroft had left the room that morning, but Naomi merely came in to see the skirt in utter disarray and Charlotte was promptly chided for wrinkling it. Charlotte had been unable to buckle the tiny buttons lining up the back, let alone the complicated belt laced across her middle like a corset.

  She left her room and quietly but curiously snuck up the wrap-around hallway, towards the sources of the arguing. Naomi finally came out of the room, nearly knocking Charlotte over with her buxom body. “Oh, he’s such a baby,” she tisked to Charlotte, shaking her head and smiling.