But her complaints about the Council's interference in her social life paled with the Elder's next words. "I assume that the forbinner will be completed well in advance so Mistress Janys may fully enjoy all festivities connected with the Feast."
"We have not yet scheduled it," Martel replied cautiously. "I would like to get beyond the first decedonner so that my wife has more experience handling—"
"By all means, let the first decedonner pass four days from now," Tadewidan agreed. "Set the event on the next Karala."
Karala—what day was that? Frantically Janys tried to recall the 100-day cycle created on the pioneer ship to replace outmoded months. Thanks to Elondelle's teachings she knew they'd synchronized their new calendar with the planet's orbit by adding a few minutes to each "day", but she hadn't lived there long enough to remember the individual name of each one in the sequence.
Martel knew immediately. "But that would be only three days after her first decedonner! Surely we can have a little more—"
"May I have your permission to examine the bibalon?" Although the Elder asked politely, Janys doubted her husband could refuse. Before he nodded, she began drawing out the book with a shaking hand.
As Tadewidan studied the first few pages, Janys made the calculation. Four days to the decedonner plus three resulted in seven, which she still thought of as a week. Even though the period stretched slightly longer than its Earth counterpart, she knew she could never face her punishment in such a short time.
Unfortunately Tadewidan believed otherwise. "Assuming the bibalon is correct," he noted as he handed it back to her. "Most of your correction has been handled as instanter. Unless Martel, you intend to be unusually hard with the paddle, your wife should be fully recovered in three days. Doing it on Karala ensures she will have seven days before the next decedonner."
"I still believe we can wait until after her second decedonner," Martel argued. "She needs more preparation."
"The Council disagrees."
"Please!" Janys pleaded. "I'm not ready—"
"Of course not." Tadewidan smiled almost kindly although his gaze remained steady. "No one is ever ready the first time. It is much better to get it behind you, so it is no longer weighs on your mind or those around you."
"I agree, Elder, but I still think a few more days would be worthwhile without causing any harm." Although Janys fell silent remembering her unsuccessful attempt to postpone the wedding, she was glad Martel still continued the argument on her behalf.
To her surprise the other man appeared to consider her husband's last remark. "All right," he finally said. "If you truly need a few more days, I can give you three, until the Council meets again in ten. I ask both of you to appear before us at that time, and we will provide the restraints and implements. Of course this will not be necessary if the punishment has already been carried out by that time."
For a second Janys struggled to understand Tadewidan's proposal, then she broke away from Martel's grip and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Sobbing, she threw herself on the bed and buried her face in a pillow. To be beaten in front of all those people—.
She didn't hear the door open, just the rustle of a body moving towards her. Something heavy eased itself down, then began stroking her back. "Janys, please do not be frightened. I told Tadewidan we will go forward here in private, seven days from now as he suggested. If so, I can report to the Council that it has been done, and there will be no reason for them for them to participate."
Slowly her tears eased up as she listened, but she still trembled until he tucked her under his arm. "If you like, I will ask Shalimerie to help prepare you and treat you afterwards."
She shut her eyes, trying to block out the nightmare visions of being tied down on that horrible bench. "I thought I had more time to—adjust to everything. You said you hoped I'd see things differently by then."
"I think you already do," he murmured. "And the Council is correct—better to get on with it than endure much more anticipation."
Suddenly she realized he might be right. Before she'd been able to put the whole thing out of her thoughts because it existed in the undefined future. Now that a date had been set, she knew she'd feel each minute carrying her closer. How could she possibly get through seven Demetian days knowing what awaited her at the end?
She wrenched herself off the bed. "Then why don't you do it now?" she cried. "Get it over with, and neither of us will have to think about it a moment longer."
"I wish I could," he responded sadly. "But even if my arm were up to the task, you have your first decedonner in just four days. Recovery from forbinner often runs five or six. "
"It's okay," she insisted. "I'll take my chances."
"But I will not." His fingers might be gentle at the moment, but his gaze was firm.
Janys sat back down next to him, crying with fear and frustration. After a moment he reached over and clasped both her hands together, pulling them into his lap. "I know this is difficult to understand, but some waiting must be part of the punishment to allow you to focus on your acts and their consequences. It is hard on others as well. If we socialized now, you would find many keeping their distance. Yet afterwards everyone will relax and welcome you, just as they did me last—"
He broke off, and she knew he'd almost revealed some small aspect of his ordeal. Yet she had trouble feeling sympathy for those who'd rather avoid her than think about her upcoming rendezvous with the whipping bench.
Except for Martel. Although he would not share her physical pain, she could tell he dreaded the role he would play on Karala. Looking at his pinched face and worried eyes, she believed the thought of administering the forbinner distressed him far more than he'd let on. While she knew he would carry out his obligations, she would never again accuse him of enjoying the act.
For the first time, she allowed him to comfort her, holding her close for many minutes before easing her back on the bed and tucking her in with one of the larger quilts. Only after she began drifting off to sleep did she feel him let her go of her hands. Without knowing she did it, she reached out to hold on, but he slipped back to his room without noticing.
.
The next day Martel felt well enough to resume walking, so he showed her on a tour of Wyteen, showing several parts she'd never visited, including his school. Janys marveled at its smallness, believing him when he claimed that until he'd gone to the single college on Borocovia which drew from all the communities, he'd met only a few hundred people in his entire life.
"That's where Kronitin and Shalimerie found each other?" she asked, remembering the bits and pieces of family history she'd picked up.
"Yes." He shook his head. "But that is a story much better told by the participants." Laughing, he gave her rump an affectionate squeeze. "A little winotal and you will hear the entire tale."
When she saw her friend the next day, they spent their time shopping rather than talking about their backgrounds. She'd been surprised when Shalimerie stopped by Elondelle's home near the end of lesson time to ask if she wanted to find a new sleep tunic to mark her first decedonner.
"I don't know," Janys told her as she rubbed her right thigh. No longer distracted by Martel's condition, her teacher had returned to administering correction in far larger doses than Janys found comfortable. "I can't see why I should want to get dressed up just to get undressed and spanked."
"Why Janys!" Shalimerie laughed. "Even on Earth brides shop carefully for things to wear on their honeymoon, even knowing it will soon be shed. The first decedonner is an intimate moment between husband and wife deserving celebration."
"How about I wait and celebrate it's being over?" Janys grumbled. Still the idea of getting away from Elondelle early had its attractions, so she let herself be led to Mistress Landell's small clothing store.
Although neither Janys nor Shalimerie mentioned the express purpose of their trip, the seamstress knew immediately. But then everyone in Wyteen could count ten day
s from the wedding to determine her first time.
Still she found it embarrassing when Mistress Landell extolled the virtues of particular tunics in terms of the way they draped female posteriors. "If you give your man a lovely view," the little woman twinkled. "He may skip the last few smacks in favor of more pleasurable business." Her face blushing almost as pink as her selection, Janys quickly completed her purchase.
While she would have liked to spend more time with Shalimerie, the other insisted she should devote the entire evening to Martel. "He will have a special dinner waiting," her friend predicted. "Then afterwards you both need time to take things slowly. A decedonner session can be the ultimate expression of communication and trust, but only when you give it your full attention."
Maybe between Kronitin and you, Janys wanted to scream. But even if I want to be intimate with Martel, my visions feature flowers and kisses, not laps and paddles.
Shalimerie had been right about the dinner—the smell of hot bread wafted in from the kitchen as Janys went inside. "You must have found something," Martel commented as he looked at the package in her hand. "Do you want to put it on now or later?"
"Later," she replied shortly, although Martel already wore his own sleep tunic. He shrugged and turned back to the oven as she went to her bedroom and unlocked the door. She would gladly abandon the savory smell of dinner and go hungry if she could spend the rest of the night safely in her bed. But remembering her husband's determination that first evening when he'd pinned her over his knee, she had no doubt he'd break down the door to do it again.
When she came back down, flickering light drew her into the dining area… Martel had finally stowed away all the wedding gifts in order to set the table with a cloth and silverware she'd never seen before. "From my mother," he commented, watching her from the kitchen. His eyes gleamed in the light from the candles, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to be elsewhere with him, having a first date at a romantic restaurant.
Knowing what would come afterwards, she'd expected dinner to be awkward, but the unusual darkness drew them more closely together. For once they talked neither of his work nor her lessons but about her childhood on Earth and the difficulty of leaving her friends there to accept the Institute's scholarship. When he took her hand, rubbing her fingers gently, she didn't pull away. "I must be glad you made that choice," he murmured. "Otherwise you would never had come to Boracovia."
And I would have been much off, she finished the sentence silently, although with less asperity than usual. While she wished she could be here freely doing her work, it disturbed her to think she might never have met the man whose warm grasp made her tingle. If only he'd been at the Institute, or on any of the thousands of worlds where their relationship wouldn't be dictated by barbarous customs, she would happily have shared his bed.
They lingered over the last drops of winotal, until Martel squeezed her hand. "A decedonner has a certain ritual about it. When I blow out the flames, you will know it is time to go to your room. You will take the marital paddle with you, and lay it with your bibalon on the bed. Then you will dress and make any other preparations."
He paused. "When I come in, I expect to find you kneeling on the bed, bared and ready to receive the paddle. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she said in a small voice, her warm thoughts about being with him scattering. She could hardly bear to contemplate the painful and humiliating time in front of her. Thankfully he leaned over and blew out the candles before he could see how much she trembled.
Somehow she got the paddle down from the wall. This time despite Mistress Landell's predictions, she knew it would be used full force. Her buttocks clenched as she made her way up the stairs.
She took off her tunic, then fished the bibalon out of the pocket. Quickly she skimmed the pages of entries. Some had numbers included as dictated by Martel or Elondelle, though most of hers bore the notation "Recommended". Assuming he followed his mother's advice, Janys looked to receive at least thirty-three smacks, not counting those entries simply describing her conduct.
The pink-and-white sleep tunic slipped on perfectly. For a moment she left her prander on, relishing the illusion of being safe and covered. But she heard his steps coming towards her, and hurriedly stripped off the undergarment. Clutching a pillow for comfort, she arranged herself at the foot of the bed so her bottom lay totally exposed.
As he came in the door, her knees shook, making the target area bob. Martel didn't seem to notice. "Very good, my dear," his voice boomed behind her. "Now let us see what we have to deal with tonight." She heard the rustle of pages and shut her eyes tight, wishing this would be over.
After a long pause, he spoke again, mentioning a number that made her want to burrow into the bed. "By my calculations, fifty-six will clear the balance, but we will find out for certain as we work our way through. A high number by most standards, but understandable for a first timer under the circumstances. However Janys, I am afraid that means you are going to have a very red and sore fanny by the time we finish, even if you do not provoke any additional swats by your conduct during the decedonner."
Just do it! she prayed as he stepped behind her. But he ran his hand lightly down the curve of her buttocks until it was between her legs, gently forcing her knees farther apart. Don't respond, she ordered herself, but she grew wet as his fingers passed within touching distance of her clitoris. Worse yet a moan escaped as he planted a hand in the small of her back, steadying her. Then she felt the slight give of the mattress as he picked up the paddle while still holding the bibalon.
"First we have three instances of slowness in presenting yourself for correction. Once at my parents, twice here. Janys, do you remember the incidents?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"Do you have anything to say about any of them?" He sounded surprisingly warm, as though actually inviting her comments.
But she couldn't think of anything to excuse her behavior. "No," she whispered, wishing she could keep her voice from shaking.
"Then I have no choice but to administer five swats for each," he said almost sadly.
The noise of the first crack shocked her almost as much as the sting. Her moan turned into a cry as he swatted her other cheek, then hit her full across the crack. Without breaking he repeated the set four more times. "Fifteen away," he informed her. "The next ten is for eavesdropping on my conversation with my brother. Do you have anything to say about that?"
They continued on as her rear end began throbbing. By the time he hit forty, she didn't think she could stand any more. Only the knowledge she'd prolong her punishment by moving kept her on the bed. "Now let us deal with the times you have been rude."
She knew she couldn't effectively defend herself on the ones involving Martel or Elondelle, but she gritted her teeth when she heard she'd been written down to receive four swats for her attitude towards Yagote the afternoon of the Men's Gathering. "Wait! I can explain," she shouted as he drew back his arm.
"All right." Surprisingly he pulled her into a sitting position so she looked up at him from the bed. Underneath her rear end burned as it pressed against the quilt. She smoothed the tunic over her knees, trying to regain some dignity, then began the story.
He sat down next to her around the half-way point, listening intently, then put his arm around her. Again she let him draw her close so she could hear the slow beating of his heart as she finished her tale.
"My mother told me about your fears for me at the Gathering," he said finally. "And she recorded the brushing you got on your palm for bringing it up during your work. But I did not know Yagote had been the catalyst."
"I think she hates me," Janys ventured.
He sighed, stroking her shoulder. "Yagote has had a difficult life. Perhaps there are more reasons than just her own happiness to hope she can find someone to share it. But as my sister, she also worried about the Gathering. I am sorry her fear spilled over onto you."
Holding her tightly, he continued.
"I want the two of you to get along. If not, I still expect you to be polite to her, as you should be with everyone. But this time I understand why you might not have been able to do so." Picking up the bibalon, he took a pen from his tunic and crossed out the entry relating to Yagote.
"Let us go through the rest of this now, then we can finish up." As they went through the last two pages of writings, they talked about each incident, exploring why it had occurred. By the time they got through the list, he'd made two other adjustments—one up and one down—resulting in a final number of eleven remaining swats.
Although she dreaded any more hard contacts with her backside, Janys didn't protest as he helped her back on her knees. Both his understanding about Yagote and his allowing her to discuss her feelings made everything much better. Maybe she still believed there were much less painful means of dealing with her conduct, but she knew he would carry it out in a fair and caring way.
While emotionally she felt better than before, the paddle felt even worse as it lit up her backside. By the time Martel landed the last one, she'd started sobbing again. In her haze of tears she didn't realize for a minute that he'd laid down next to her, taking her into his arms.
"We are done," he whispered as he smoothed her hair.
She clung to him, feeling his solid body envelop her. For the moment she forgot he'd been the one to bring her to this state as she accepted his offer. He rubbed her back as she pressed tighter against him, then tilted her head back until she stared into his eyes. Without quite knowing she did it, she lifted her lips to his.
For a second he hesitated, then he pulled her to him, his mouth and tongue meeting hers with a hunger she'd never before felt in any man, even the Professor. Suddenly his image filled her head. "You're losing yourself, Janys," he shouted. "Look at you now—embracing a man who hurt you. What are you going to do now? Make love to him?"
Yes, her body screamed back. I don't care what he did to me. I want him!
Or maybe you want him because of what he did to you, the Professor whispered back. Maybe you secretly enjoy it. Isn't that why you got so hot right before your paddling?
Captive Discipline (Demetrian Brides Book 1) Page 10
