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The first stripe was always the hardest... for both of them.
* * *
The leather burned. One snap of the fold across the apex of a buttock, and she was quelled. Another snap whipped the other cheek, then back again to the first rump. She snatched her breaths between the smacks, fighting to keep quiet, to hold still as he asked.
“That’s a good girl,” he said.
Although she kept her feet on the floor, she wriggled and cursed him in her head. How foolish of her to think that the belt would merely kiss her arse and not leave such heated marks on her skin. He might not use the full measure of his arm, nor the length of the belt, but he had the thick leather wrapped into the stiff form of a paddle and it worked as an equal to the flat of his palm.
“Oh, oh.” She marred the silence, unable to stay quiet. However, he did not reprimand her, nor did he increase the force or pace of his spanking. The rhythm was set and she had to absorb the smarts to the best of her ability.
What alleviated the pain were the interludes when he returned to inspecting her furrow and the tempestuous arousal of her sex. She might not have the means to achieve a climax, but she was suffering with an unfathomable yearning for completion. He fingered her plump folds and snorted, although not in derisory manner, merely as an acknowledgement of her weakness.
“You take this belt well. Perhaps too well. But I shall not rain it down harder just because I’m finding your womanly parts are disobedient. I’m sure your mind is obedient.”
“It is, Master, it is. I do not know...”
“Hush, I understand you better than yourself, I think. A few more to finish the roasting.” He lifted up the belt and cracked it against her beleaguered arse. He worked it around, making each inch of her pay while ensuring he did not strike the exact same spot twice. He was accurate and methodical, and she admired his cautious precision. He truly meant her no harm, only to make the ache worthy of the misdemeanour of coveting his men.
Heat piled on top of heat until her bottom was a furnace and the stings melded into one burning soreness. She remained determined not to flay about or paddle her feet on the floor. Emboldened by her courage, she held off crying out, too. Pausing more frequently, Matthew stroked with the flat of his hand each globe, circling his hand until the pain diminished. Then, satisfied she was not on the verge of violent distress, he aimed a couple more.
“Here’s a spot,” he said somewhat humorously. “I’ve missed it.” He gave the sliver of flesh a whack with the crook of the belt.
Dara simpered in reply. “I don’t think you have,” she retorted, then bit down on her lip. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“I can see fine from up here, lass. And I tell you this spot here is paler than the rest. You’re the colour of raspberry jam all over.”
Finally, he stopped spanking and tossed the belt on the floor. “Ease up slowly and kneel there.” He pointed to the sheepskin rug. “I’ll fetch you a drink.”
She edged over to the soft wool and sank her knees into it. However, she kept her bottom raised up and off her heels. Matthew brought over a tankard of weak ale and cupping the back of her head in his hand, he tipped her chin up and held the tankard to her lips. He fed her the drink in little sips, making sure her thirst was quenched while refusing to fill her stomach with the warm beer. He then took a few swigs himself.
“There. You took that belt well, lass. Be proud. But now, I must test that stamina again. Rise and come to the table.” He had removed all the usual items from the surface: the vase of wildflowers, the bowl of fruit, and the book she had been reading. The space was more than sufficient. He probably thought she might lash out and throw things at him if she had the mind to rebel.
She had no intention of refusing him or running off. She was determined to show him her mettle. If it hurt, so be it. It would not last forever and it couldn’t be as bad as the soreness she felt on the outside. And, she hoped he was right, that she might come to like the indulgence rather than simply endure it for him. As for her husband, she cared not to think about him. He had missed his chance to claim her virginity—more fool him.
She bent and flinched. The wood was cool and her nipples pointed. He nudged her lower until her breasts were squashed against the grain. Then he used his knee to spread her legs until they were a good yard apart.
“Grip the other side of the table,” he told her.
She held fast with the tips of her fingers.
He lay the butter dish on the table next to her and took a good dollop of it on the end of his fingers. Prising apart those buttocks once again, he massaged her tender entrance, circling it with a surprisingly soothing action. The butter melted fast.
She moaned, enjoying the sensation, forgetting for a moment why it was necessary to oil her so thoroughly. She closed her eyes and for the first time since he had entered the cottage, she relaxed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Nice ‘n’ calm for me.”
He shoved the butter dish to one side, grabbed her hips in his vast hands, and leaned into her. She felt the huge bulb of his pulsating cock at the door. Too big. Far too big. She would burst apart. She batted the tears off her lashes and clawed at the table edge. It would more than hurt. It would render her senseless. Yet, she had to yield, she wanted to give him that pleasure more than anything she could offer him.
She pressed her lips together and held her breath.
* * *
Matthew was ready. His hardened member was as thick as her wrist and glistening with the butter he’d smeared from tip to balls. He grasped her with his legs astride and lowered his hips, then aimed the darkened head of his cock at the tiny puckering.
Tiny. And in comparison, he was a giant. He froze.
He’d done this deed many times before. But he halted those meandering thoughts, fearing to delve into the past and unearth those crippling memories of the woman who had loved submitting to all kinds of depraved acts. There had been ropes, even chains, implements he’d fashioned to accomplish his demands on her. He had gone to great lengths to ensure she had enjoyed things as much as him. But she was gone. There was no point in hankering for what had been when he had sweet Dara to conquer. A virgin who was lying tense beneath him, her red-hot arse on fire, her eyes squeezed shut. Such an innocent...
