Page 18 of His Bride

He is beating me mercilessly. Cruelly. The spanking earlier is nothing compared to this. Again and again, he lays the lash down across my tender skin. One stroke lands below the next,and the next below that, so on and so forth until my ass is a mess of burning lines.

Arthur

I have no choice but to do this. She did not take the spanking seriously. And why should she? A spanking is a punishment for a baby, and she is no baby. She is a woman. My wife. My shapely, elegantly bred, beautiful wife. The more I punish her, the more she seems to flower before me, showing me her true strength, rebellion, and beauty. There is something so very alluring about a woman withstanding pain she has gone out of her way to deserve.

I respect strength. I like knowing the limits of it, too. Every person has theirs, a point at which they cannot maintain rebellion or resistance, so they give in. Most women I know submit to a look or perhaps a curt word. This one is made differently.

A cane is an implement capable of bringing even the strongest among us to his knees. I know how much it hurts, and I know she is suffering greatly now. I gave her ten strokes. Some might call it an excessive number, but I have no intention of teaching the same lesson twice.

She brought it on herself.

She needed to learn what I was capable of. She didn’t respect me until this moment. No matter what warning she was given, she just kept talking. She is not talking now. She has started to cry yet again, more profoundly this time.

I let her cry. It is a natural reaction to being punished, and there is some chance that it demonstrates some kind of contrition.

“Please tell me you’ve learned your lesson,” I say softly, running my fingers through her hair. It is a gentle act after so much roughness. All it achieves is making her sobs louder.

“You need to understand that your new husband is a rough man, forged in war, and in war there are no second chances. I will not give many warnings, Mila. I will tell you what to do, and you will do it. If you behave properly, you will never encounter this kind of treatment again. I do not want to beat you regularly.”

“You’re mean,” she whimpers against the bed.

“Yes,” I say. “I am.”

I have never punished a woman before. I have beaten subordinates who needed it, but the very notion that I would ever have to discipline my own wife never occurred to me before this evening.

She deserved every lash she got, mind, but that does not mean I do not have some lingering concern. If she does not learn her lesson, if she decides to push further, harder, show me more disrespect, I may have to find other ways to handle her. There is only so much punishment a female body can take.

I will have to get creative.

And I will have to do something about the erection that is throbbing in my pants. I liked this. At first, her tenderness and her youth made her seem an unsuitable match for me. I thought her weak. But she has proved herself mentally strong, with a temperament to match. She is fiery, and her generous curves are beautiful when marked with the lines of my cane.

I run my fingers lightly over the red lines, enjoying the way she squirms and gasps. When I slide my fingers down further, between her cheeks, I find a reservoir of wetness between her thighs. I am not the only one who is aroused. She is absolutely soaked, this sweet, insolent virgin of mine.

Her hips start to undulate at my touch, her whimpers replacing her sobs. They’re not quite the same indication of pain they once were. Instead, they are sounds of need. She is a very sensitive little thing, and I know the cane has made her even more sensitive. The region is full of blood and feeling. She might think I am cruel, but she is trying to grind the bud of her clit against my fingers.

Mila

He leans over me, his large, masculine body holding mine in place, his fingers lacing in mine as he stretches me up across the bed, while still leaving me bent over it. I am pinned face down, ass burning and aching, and my pussy absolutely desperate for more of his touch.

The inspection at the Artifice was nothing like this. That was clinical and vibratory. That was a test. This is something different. This is… I hesitate to think of it as true affection given he has just beaten me to tears, but there is an intimacy to it that I have never felt before.

Deprived of his touch between my legs, I squirm against the bed. The silken sheets are too slippery to provide any friction or grip. He is holding me in a kind of erotic limbo, making me feel allthe feelings he has skillfully stirred up in me. My body feels as though it is aflame with need—need only he can satisfy.

I turn my face to the side to try to look up at him, and I see a flinty gaze of dark triumph looking down at me. He is satisfied with himself. He is not sorry for what he did to me. I deserved it, the whipping and then the teasing. I wonder what he will do next. I wonder how he will make my body feel…

He lowers his head and brushes his mouth against my temple before exploring downward.

“You resist me so beautifully and effortlessly,” he purrs, his lips at my throat. “But I wonder if you can resist pleasure as easily as you seem to disregard pain.”

His tongue runs artfully along the lobe of my ear and his lips find my neck. I am assailed by sensations I have never experienced before. It feels like excitement, but more base. It feels as though parts of my body only made for plain, mundane experience prior to this point have suddenly been reassigned as organs of erotic pleasure.

I gasp and I writhe, and I find that the very same movements that made my poor, sore ass flare into agony before now cause heat and a different, darker kind of enjoyment to start to burn. He allows me to half-turn to the side, making my body more accessible to him.

Arthur may be a beast, a brute, and a terrible, awful man, but he is an artful lover. His hands slide away from mine and engage in caressing me and gripping me, holding the back of my neck tightly as his lips press against mine, my mouth opening for his triumphant, dominant kiss.

This is what was referenced so coyly, and no wonder, for there are no combination of words that would properly capture the way this feels. It is sacred and it is profane. It is perverse, and it is entirely natural.

He undresses me in the process of caressing me, and this time the removal of my clothing does not feel like an act designed to shame me. Almost every motion makes the lines on my ass flare into fresh life, but the pain is starting to feel less like pain and more like a dark, hot kind of energy flowing through my body.

---