by Rosanna Young
Michael, the Duke of Westfield, listened to the ruckus outside his library door and knew that the frustration of the last few days was about to come to an end. His Duchess, the Lady Rose, was coming from the ballroom and he could hear her voice through the two sets of wooden doors between them.
"Why did you put it there!? I told you specifically where each vase was to be placed, and what flowers to put in each one. This is my daughter's coming out ball! It all has to be right!"
The poor woman who followed her, wringing her hands, just said, "I know my lady. It's a big day. Everything will be exactly right."
"What do any of you know?" Rose cried. What is wrong with me, she thought, as she absentmindedly picked up a small figurine from the small table within her reach, and hurled it across the great hallway, smashing it against the stone fireplace.
Silence reigned, until the snick of a door closing behind her caught her ear, and her husband's voice, quiet but menacing said, "So, Rose, I see you will be taking a nap this afternoon. I think a little quiet time is in order, don't you?"
Silly, she thought, quiet is nothing to do with it. Straightening, she nodded her head and started towards the stairs.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes, to tuck you in. Please make sure you're ready."
"Yes, my lord," she replied quietly.
As she walked slowly up the wide staircase, Rose bit her lip, pondering the near future. "What is wrong with me?" she wondered. It was the rule at the top of the list, and the one that got her in the most trouble - no throwing things - a rule that had carried over from her father's house. It wasn't ladylike, and she was supposed to be in control of herself at all times. To give herself some credit, it had been at least a year since she had been in this kind of trouble. But why today? Her daughter's coming out was only hours away, there were a million things to do, plus bathing, and dressing, and her hair, and the 40 people for dinner, and, and, and...
But she knew not to protest. She would be sorry enough before he was through. Not that she didn't deserve it. It was almost as if she had thrown the figurine on purpose, some part of her saying she needed this, wanted it, the comfort and peace it would bring.
Reaching their suite of rooms, Rose went into her bedroom, her maid greeting her.
"Help me undress, Anna. I'm going to try and get some rest before this evening."
"Of course, my lady," Anna said.
The way the Duke would deal with his wife was no secret from the servants. In fact some of them, the ones closest to the lady, had seen this coming. They had seen, over the past few days, her working herself into the snit that had culminated in this undressing.
The suite of rooms was isolated, taking up most of its own wing of the huge house. The servants would stay discreetly distant so at least no one would hear her blubbering like an infant, which she had no doubt would happen. Maybe it was what she needed, to relieve this feeling that she was tied in knots.
Anna had completely undressed her, and slipped a fine lawn nightdress over her head. Just as her nimble fingers were tying a ribbon on the long braid she had made of her lady's hair, the bedroom door opened, and Anna turned to watch the Lord of this household enter his wife's bedchamber.
Michael turned and watched his wife go slowly up the stairs. After telling the gawking maid to clean up the mess he turned and went back into the library.
Pouring himself a glass of his best brandy, Michael sat in the large chair behind his desk to give her, and himself, time. It had been quite a while since this had been required of him, but he had seen it coming. He had known the stress of this damn ball would put her over the edge.
It wouldn't be all bad. He would comfort her. Then tonight after the ball...
Theirs was a typical marriage of convenience. Her father's estate bordered his own country estate. When the time had come to set up his nursery, she was already twenty and still unwed, so he had decided to approach her father.
They had been acquainted all their lives. He knew she was a bit headstrong at times, but he could deal with that. They could make a good match.
When he had arrived at her father's house, the butler had put him in a small sitting room, saying the master was busy, but he would be with him shortly.
As Michael waited in silence, he thought he heard someone cry out somewhere in the back of the house. Having grown up in and around the huge old house, Michael wandered towards the sounds, until he stood outside what he knew to be the study. The sounds of a harsh spanking, hand to flesh, could be heard. His father's friend's voice could be heard lecturing as he spanked but as no sound came from the spankee, Michael wondered who had encountered the man's wrath.
Suddenly Michael heard, "OK, over the desk now girl."
Then, "No, Papa, not the strap, please!"
Rose! What had she done? Then he remembered seeing something smashed being cleaned up near the entry way.
Suddenly a loud splat could be heard from inside the study, followed by a moan.
"Noooo, papa, please!"
"Stop whining girl, you know you've earned this."
"Yes papa," was the quiet reply, until the sharp splats continued.
She was whimpering by six, and starting to cry out by twelve. Still the strap fell. Ashamed of the cockstand in his britches, Michael stood and listened anyway.
Soon Rose was crying huge sobbing tears. The splatting noises stopped, but the crying continued for a few minutes. The door opened and Rose exited, her hands rubbing her backside as tears ran down her face. Startled by his presence, she started to cry even harder as she ran as fast as she could, up the stairs and into the upper reaches of the huge old house.
Sir Charles followed her a short while later, mopping his brow as he came. Also surprised to see their guest, he took Michael back into the study, and poured him a drink.
Running his hand casually across the desk as he crossed the room, Michael could feel the warmth in the wood where her body had lain.
Noticing the gesture, Rose's father spoke. "If you're here for the reason I think, the next time that needs to be done, it will be your responsibility. I swear sometimes she just goes until she pops and then there's no other solution. And you've got to let her have it until she's crying, or you'll just be doing it over again the next day."
Michael shook his head, not sure what to think or say.
Now, as he sipped his brandy and waited, it was twenty years later. They had raised two sons and a daughter. There had been other stresses, and they'd been dealt with. Now he was going to have to do it again.
Getting up, he tipped the last of his drink down his throat, thinking of her waiting for him.
They had gotten on reasonably well together, but theirs was not a love match, at least not on his part. Thinking about it, she had told him she loved him once, on their honeymoon. She was all warm and sated from their lovemaking, running her fingers through his hair as she told him. It had made him anxious and he hadn't replied, only kissing her again. She had never told him so again. It was a relief, really, to not be worried about emotional ties.
Wasn't it?
Looking up from his thoughts, Michael realized that he had reached their rooms. He paused in the sitting room to remove his fitted coat and roll up the sleeves of his white shirt.
He entered his wife's bedroom, the maid turning at the sound. She had just finished braiding Rose's beautiful hair into a thick braid.
"Anna," he said, "You may go now. Go to the kitchens and have something to eat. I will take care of Rose now."
Knowing a dismissal when she heard it, Anna left the room and hurried towards the warmth of the kitchens and a nice hot cup of tea. It was his way of ensuring that she was out of earshot, but she would enjoy her tea, even if it was at the expense of her ladyship's nether regions.
She felt sorry for her lady, and she didn't. She was reasonable enough that she could see why it was necessary. Anna had been her Lady's maid since the beginning of her marriage, and she knew her well. Probably better than anyone, since her husband was so afraid of figuring out that he loved her, that he wouldn't let himself really know her. If he had, he would also have figured out that she had loved him from the very beginning.
Rose stood in her voluminous white nightdress, chewing on her finger, her eyes on the carpet that she would soon be viewing much closer. Her stomach was in a knot, her breath caught in her chest, and her feminine parts clenched and spasmed as if they were waiting for her chastisement too...
As her husband walked past, he took her left hand in his, and gently towed her across the room. He left her standing alone in the middle of the room while he retrieved the wooden library chair he kept in her room for just these occasions.
She watched as he sat in front of her, her eyes widening at the grim, sad expression on his face.
Taking her hands in his, Michael looked at his wife and sighed. "Do we even need to talk about this, Rose?"
"But you don't understand!" were the words that came blurting from her mouth.
"What don't I understand, Rose?"
"Ah, ah, ah," she stuttered. "There's just so much to get done. The flowers, the dinner, and just getting dressed takes forever. There's no time for anything! And my hair is getting gray!" she ended on a wail.
In her agitation, without realizing it, she had tried to pull away from him, so he gently but firmly pulled her closer and across his wide thighs.
She resigned herself to her fate, but still she flinched when she felt his heavy hand rest lightly on her backside, smoothing down her gown. Then, to arrange her more to his liking, he used his whole forearm to lift her bottom higher over his lap.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly. No answer.
SMACK.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes sir," she murmured.
Rose hated his little rituals, but after twenty years she knew he needed them. The waiting, changing, talking, and then the nap when he was done.
Her father had just wailed at her bottom and gotten it done. Michael seemed to need time to calm down and collect himself. She went along with him. Not that she had any choice, she'd rather just get it over with.
Getting a grip across her back with his left arm, Michael resigned himself. Sometimes this woman made him feel way more than his fifty years.
The first volley of spanks took her by surprise, and she started to struggle. She felt Michael adjust his grip to hold her gently but firmly, and she tried to relax. Holding onto the legs of the chair, she waited. Then the lecture began.
"So why are we here this time, wife?"
She knew he didn't expect an answer, so she just let out a little moan, and he kept on spanking her..
"You know that smashing that figurine was just the icing on the cake! The housekeeper is perfectly capable. There is no need to throw things and curse at her. The flowers are beautiful and well taken care of." He spanked on.
There was a pause. Is he done? She hoped. No such luck.
Michael raised the hem of her nightgown, up and over her back, to expose her nakedness to his view. Bunching it up under his left arm to keep it in place, he stroked his hand down her pinked cheeks. She was still a beautiful woman, a little fuller than the girl he'd married, but not much.
Rose shivered as he stroked her bare skin, felt the goose bumps raise up on her warmed skin, and knew he was just getting started.
The hardest part was hiding from him the fact that despite the spanking, or because of it, she was becoming aroused. It always happened to her, or at least since her beloved Michael had taken over her discipline.
Despite the pain, she always felt warm and squidgy inside when he held her this way, and she always wished he would 'nap' with her when it was over. He never did. And she couldn't ask.
She was always enthusiastic when he came to her. In the dark of the night and the privacy of her bed, she poured her love for him into her responses to his loving. She had loved him forever. Though he didn't know it, it was the reason she was still unmarried when he had come to ask her father for her hand. She had been foolish enough to tell him so only once.
Smack!
"OW!!"
One wouldn't think that the absence of a bit of cloth would make the sting so much more.
He continued to spank whilst he spoke. "Your attitude has gone far beyond what is ladylike in the last few days, as you well know. We have a very capable staff. There is no reason for you to think you have to do everything yourself."
Another pause.
Oh god, Rose thought, What's next? There's always something else. But she hadn't seen him with anything else. Then she felt it. That small wooden paddle that looked like a hairbrush without bristles. It must have been in his back pocket. That damn thing really, really hurt. She realized he was speaking to her again.
"And on top of it all, what really hurts..."
What about what's hurting me? she thought.
"...is your complaining about your hair. You have beautiful hair..."
The paddle descended.
"EEEE!" she screamed, but he just kept on whapping her with that brush-less horror, making sure he covered her whole bottom. The slowly widening circles of the paddle made her whole bottom a nice rosy red.
"You are beautiful, don't you understand?"
The paddle pounded down on her bottom.
"Those few grays are a sign of your blooming maturity, not a sign that you are getting old, but that age has given a way to enhance your beauty, highlight you in a way youth cannot."
With that, he seemed to be done talking, for now Rose just felt a searing pain where he spanked her, over and over in the same places, just where her cheeks met her thighs. The tears came.
When her cries turned into gulping sobs, Michael was glad to be finished.
Dropping the small paddle onto the rug, he lifted his wife up and turned her over, cradling her up against his chest so her sore bottom didn't rest on his lap. And so she wouldn't feel the hardness that was trying to burst free. What he wouldn't give to make love to her now. To hold her and pet her, comfort her, but he knew his crying wife wouldn't allow him that, so he harnessed his lust and stroked her beautiful hair, kissed her neck as she clung to him and sobbed.
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