Defiance and Domestic Discipline…
“You are headed for another spanking and a very early bedtime,” he said in warning tones.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Do not speak to me like I’m a little girl, Tristan.”
She didn’t quite know where she was getting the courage to speak to him in such a way, but she suspected it was her outrage which was making her bold.
“If you behave like one, you will be treated like one,” he growled back. “Now finish what you will of your meal and go and do the dishes.”
“Do the dishes?”
“Wash them,” he clarified.
“I suppose you expect me to wash them with my hands like some sort of cave woman,” she shot back. “Well, I won’t. This is all very unseemly and unnecessary and…” she stopped talking because Tristan had patted his mouth with his napkin, pushed his chair back and was rising from the table. One long stride bought him to her. His hand wrapped around her upper arm and Lydia found herself hauled up from her chair, marched into the kitchen and held while Tristan fished around in a drawer for one of his primitive implements – a wooden spoon.
“Turn around and touch your toes,” he ordered, releasing her.
“I will do no such… ow!”
She yelped as he pulled up her skirt and landed the flat of the spoon against her outer thigh before repeating the order.
“Do as you’re told.”
She looked into his handsome face and saw pure determination there. Her thigh was stinging and she knew her bottom soon would be as well. Should she capitulate and hope that he showed her mercy? Or should she fight him tooth and nail?
“You have taken me from my home. You have made me your wife. You have taken my modesty. But you will not break me, Tristan Kane.”
Fight it was.
He sighed, took hold of her hand again, spun her around and bent her against the kitchen counter so that her bottom protruded at a rather vulnerable angle. He kept her in place with one hand on the back of her neck while he used the other to throw up the hem of her skirt and reveal her bare bottom. The spanking she had received at the palace had faded, leaving her skin slightly tender but otherwise unharmed. As he rubbed the spoon against her bottom, she did not know if that would be the case for long.
“You are acting like a spoiled little girl,” he lectured sternly. “I told you I expect obedience from you. I certainly do not expect back talk and argumentativeness, and I will absolutely not tolerate defiance. Do you understand?” He punctuated the question with a sharp swat from the wooden spoon which stung the middle of her left cheek much like an angry hornet.
Lydia gasped as heat radiated from the spot in a blaze which was added to with subsequent swats peppered over her exposed rear. The wooden spoon stung in a way his hand did not, the little surface area of the flat wood focusing the power of the swat in one relatively small point. Tristan had to put his palm flat between her shoulder blades to keep her in place as her body reacted with squirming and kicking and a great deal of sounds of complaint ranging from gasps to curses.
The spoon landed ten times on each cheek, never catching the same place twice until her bottom was a patchwork of stinging heat. He released her after the dose was delivered and she leaped up immediately, dancing about the kitchen in an effort to rid herself of the heat.
“I will not tolerate a spoiled brat as my wife,” he said as she bounced on her toes and clutched her bottom.
“That’s unfortunate, because you have one,” she flung back at him.
He was handsome when he smiled, which he did broadly in response to her attitude.
“Lydia,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Your tongue will get you into so much trouble.”
She was still rubbing her bottom which was now thoroughly aching. The wooden spoon had awakened the slumbering beast of the earlier spanking and left her with a very sore bottom indeed. Sitting down would be utterly out of the question now – though Tristan clearly did not intend on allowing her to sit anyway. His strong arm swept around the back of her thighs as he crouched down and picked her up over his shoulder.
Bottom hot and stinging, Lydia was carried through the cottage into a bedroom. His bedroom. Their bedroom. She could smell his musk more strongly here than anywhere else. Tristan tossed her down on a large bed covered in a patchwork quilt. She bounced lightly, landing on pure original down which cushioned her small fall.
Before she could sit up, her smaller frame was covered by his. He slid up the bed over her, large palms planted either side of her waist as he eclipsed the light and pressed a passionate, demanding kiss to her lips.
If it were not for the burning of her buttocks against the bedding she would almost have been able to forget that this was the man who had just punished her like a naughty girl. His hands were on her, sliding up under her light dress, caressing her curves and exploring her body with a tenderness that belied his strength.
“Now,” he said, pressing his lips to the side of her neck, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin. “Do you promise to be a good girl and do as you are told?”