"I beg your
pardon?" he said in a soft voice that frightened her.
Isabelle clenched her fists and
paced in an agitated circle. "You don't understand! How she treated me
when I was married to Charlie, how cruel she is. I will not allow it."
Her husband stood up. Isabelle
swallowed. The glint in his eye was disquieting.
"As I said, I am sorry that
this woman's presence will be an inconvenience. However, in view of my close
relationship with her husband, they will be invited. Now we will address your
lack of respect in speaking to me in this extraordinary fashion. Madam, you
will be punished for your insolence."
Snow brushed past her and locked
the door. He placed a heavy chair in front of his desk and turned it around,
leaving a good distance between the back and his desk.
"Bend over the chair and lift
your skirt."
"I will not!"
"So much heat. I have warned
you that bad behavior will be treated accordingly. Over the chair, now."
Isabelle stood without moving for
several seconds, before she sighed and bent herself into position. She pulled
up her skirt.
"Your petticoat as well."
She started to speak, but he cut
her off.
"Don't bother to argue, it
fatigues me."
She sighed and shimmied up her
slip, bunching both skirts around her waist, feeling horribly exposed.
"Place your hands on the
seat." One hard hand stroked over her buttocks, while the other was placed
firmly on her lower back. Smack! The impact shook her frame. Another smack on
the other cheek. She braced her hands. The slaps came quickly after that, until
she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Finally the blows stopped. She
heard Snow move away.
"Maintain your position. I
have a few more letters to write."
"But..."
"Silence is also a
requirement."
She heard the scratching of his
pen. She stood there, bent awkwardly over the chair, with her sore, heated
bottom in the air. At times, Snow paused his writing and she could feel his
eyes on her. A wave of humiliation made her face feel as red as her buttocks
must be. The pen stopped again. She heard a drawer being opened and closed, and
sensed his warmth behind her. His hand closed possessively on her bottom and
squeezed. She flinched. Snow laughed softly. He walked around the chair to
stand in front of her.
"I had this made especially
for you, my love." He brandished a thin oval paddle made of a
light-colored wood. "I'm sure you will find the
sensation...stimulating."
He stood behind her once more,
rubbing her back. Dread of the paddle warred with the soothing sensation of his
hand. The paddle suddenly descended with a sharp sting. Isabelle hissed. That
hurt. The punishment started in earnest then, raining down on her already
smarting backside. Just as she reached the screaming point, he stopped. He
caressed her cheeks again before lowering her skirts and assisting her to stand
up. She felt a little dizzy and very sore.
Snow lifted her chin. "No
tears, my brave one?"
Isabelle gritted her teeth. "I
never cry."
Snow kissed her lightly before
whispering, “But never is such a very long time, isn't it?" He patted her
cheek. "I believe we are expecting callers. I will see you in the parlor
shortly."
Isabelle clenched her fists, torn
between pain and outrage. "You can't possibly expect me to entertain
visitors like this?"
"I certainly do. It is your
duty as my wife." He slapped her smartly on her bottom once more and
unlocked the door.
She swept past him without a glance
and stormed off down the hall, accompanied by his low chuckle.
*
* * * *
The evening was a dazzling success,
judging by the number of people crushed into the Earl of Snow's Audley Street
mansion. Isabelle, a smile pasted on her face, stood stoically by her husband's
side as she greeted the seemingly endless stream of guests who mounted the
stairs. Snow's connections boasted some of the bluest blood in England. They
were all uniformly cordial, if not warm, in welcoming her to the family. Snow's
sister, Lucy, now married to
pardon?" he said in a soft voice that frightened her.
Isabelle clenched her fists and
paced in an agitated circle. "You don't understand! How she treated me
when I was married to Charlie, how cruel she is. I will not allow it."
Her husband stood up. Isabelle
swallowed. The glint in his eye was disquieting.
"As I said, I am sorry that
this woman's presence will be an inconvenience. However, in view of my close
relationship with her husband, they will be invited. Now we will address your
lack of respect in speaking to me in this extraordinary fashion. Madam, you
will be punished for your insolence."
Snow brushed past her and locked
the door. He placed a heavy chair in front of his desk and turned it around,
leaving a good distance between the back and his desk.
"Bend over the chair and lift
your skirt."
"I will not!"
"So much heat. I have warned
you that bad behavior will be treated accordingly. Over the chair, now."
Isabelle stood without moving for
several seconds, before she sighed and bent herself into position. She pulled
up her skirt.
"Your petticoat as well."
She started to speak, but he cut
her off.
"Don't bother to argue, it
fatigues me."
She sighed and shimmied up her
slip, bunching both skirts around her waist, feeling horribly exposed.
"Place your hands on the
seat." One hard hand stroked over her buttocks, while the other was placed
firmly on her lower back. Smack! The impact shook her frame. Another smack on
the other cheek. She braced her hands. The slaps came quickly after that, until
she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Finally the blows stopped. She
heard Snow move away.
"Maintain your position. I
have a few more letters to write."
"But..."
"Silence is also a
requirement."
She heard the scratching of his
pen. She stood there, bent awkwardly over the chair, with her sore, heated
bottom in the air. At times, Snow paused his writing and she could feel his
eyes on her. A wave of humiliation made her face feel as red as her buttocks
must be. The pen stopped again. She heard a drawer being opened and closed, and
sensed his warmth behind her. His hand closed possessively on her bottom and
squeezed. She flinched. Snow laughed softly. He walked around the chair to
stand in front of her.
"I had this made especially
for you, my love." He brandished a thin oval paddle made of a
light-colored wood. "I'm sure you will find the
sensation...stimulating."
He stood behind her once more,
rubbing her back. Dread of the paddle warred with the soothing sensation of his
hand. The paddle suddenly descended with a sharp sting. Isabelle hissed. That
hurt. The punishment started in earnest then, raining down on her already
smarting backside. Just as she reached the screaming point, he stopped. He
caressed her cheeks again before lowering her skirts and assisting her to stand
up. She felt a little dizzy and very sore.
Snow lifted her chin. "No
tears, my brave one?"
Isabelle gritted her teeth. "I
never cry."
Snow kissed her lightly before
whispering, “But never is such a very long time, isn't it?" He patted her
cheek. "I believe we are expecting callers. I will see you in the parlor
shortly."
Isabelle clenched her fists, torn
between pain and outrage. "You can't possibly expect me to entertain
visitors like this?"
"I certainly do. It is your
duty as my wife." He slapped her smartly on her bottom once more and
unlocked the door.
She swept past him without a glance
and stormed off down the hall, accompanied by his low chuckle.
*
* * * *
The evening was a dazzling success,
judging by the number of people crushed into the Earl of Snow's Audley Street
mansion. Isabelle, a smile pasted on her face, stood stoically by her husband's
side as she greeted the seemingly endless stream of guests who mounted the
stairs. Snow's connections boasted some of the bluest blood in England. They
were all uniformly cordial, if not warm, in welcoming her to the family. Snow's
sister, Lucy, now married to
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