Captive Discipline (Demetrian Brides Book 1) Read online

  Thankfully she removed the scarlet tunic and pushed it deep into the closet. Then she lay down on the bed, covering herself with a pink-and-blue quilt. Her head was swimming with her memories of the day, particularly those terrible minutes in the meeting hall when she had been bent over for the ceremonial paddling.

  Gingerly she rubbed her backside. It ached slightly when she pressed in deep with her fingers, but she couldn't feel any evidence of marks. Perhaps Shalimerie had been right, and Martel had gone easy on her. If he would just do the same tonight, she might be able to bear it.

  While she didn't think she'd be able to sleep knowing that soon she would be going over Martel's knee, exhaustion finally took over. When she awoke a few hours later, it was already getting dark outside. Groggily she unpacked her belongings until she'd located her favorite slacks and pullover. She put them on slowly, easing the pants over her still-sensitive rear end.

  Martel was in the cooking area, stirring something that smelled like stew. His eyes narrowed as she came into view. "You are no longer a visitor here, so your Earth clothes must be put away. Shalimerie said you had a tunic for tonight, and I will buy you more tomorrow. Go back and put it on."

  She wanted to protest, but knew it was a losing battle. Of course they weren't going to let her dress like an outsider now that she was supposed to be one of them. Sadly she removed her clothes and put them in the dresser, feeling as though her real self were being packed away as well. Her hands shook as she stepped into the prander and pulled the tunic over her head.

  This time Martel smiled approvingly as he took a sip from a giant spoon. "Much better. Though you should have at least one comb in your hair. I will tell my mother to teach you how to use them properly during your lessons."

  "I don't understand about the lessons," she said bluntly.

  "During the day when I am at the trade office, you will go next door and spend the time with my mother." he told her simply. "She will give you training in everything that has to do with our world, especially our Wyteen society. Our beliefs, our history. The way our relationships work, and what you need to do in order to fit in."

  Janys managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. "That's what I studied at the Institute before I came here," she reminded him. "I don't see what these lessons can give me that I don't already know."

  "Apparently your Institute did not teach you the penalties for spying on our private ceremonies," he pointed out. "It is clear to me there is much you know in theory, but balk at putting into practice. You are no longer here to observe what it is like to be a Demetian wife. You are here to be a Demetian wife. I will decide as we go on what my mother needs to cover, and she will make certain you learn it."

  "What if I don't? Does that mean she gets to—spank me too?" Janys found it difficult to get her mouth around what she was thinking of as the "s" word.

  "Not in the way I do!" he laughed in much the way that Shalimerie had at her display of ignorance. He put down the spoon and reached for her. "Come closer. If you will let me touch you for a moment, I will show you."

  Like you asked permission before you picked up that paddle, Janys complained as she stepped forward. She couldn't imagine what he intended to demonstrate, but figured she had better find out. Plus ever since the kiss at the wedding, she'd been secretly wondering what it would be like if he touched her again.

  Gently he turned her around so that he was behind her, his hands clasping her waist. "These areas here…" he cupped her head, skimming over her hair to the back of her neck, "down to here," he traced down to her buttocks, then down the curve to her thighs, "as well as here," he reached up and lightly grabbed her breasts, then ran his hands over her stomach, "and finally here," his fingers brushed the mound between her legs… "may be touched only by me. That is the right of a husband."

  Something about the way he claimed possession of her body thrilled her, even as she told herself to pull away. She squirmed slightly as he continued. "But I can authorize another to discipline you here…" he traced her shoulders and arms, giving her hands a squeeze, "and all of this…" He put his hand on the front of her thighs, then knelt to run it down her leg to her feet, then moved it up the back of her calves, stopping at her knees. "Of course other punishments that do not involve striking any body parts can also be used as well."

  Janys was starting to feel dizzy, both from her body's traitorous reaction to his fingers and from his words. Every form of whipping she had heard about on Demeter had been directed at what she considered the usual target area. Was Martel saying that her breasts and private parts were vulnerable as well?

  Seeing her expression, Martel quickly added, "I was just describing the extent of exclusive authority that a spouse is given. Except for your whipping for eavesdropping on the gathering, your bottom and thighs will be adequate for our purposes. Which reminds me—we need to discuss the bibalon."

  He checked on the stew, then went into the dining area. Automatically she followed him, although her ears will still ringing with his casual reference to whipping her. She watched numbly as he rummaged through a large pile of items covering what she presumed was the dining table.

  Finally she looked around at the many other things stacked about. "Wedding gifts," he said with a wave of his hand. "The ones on that side are from my family and friends, and those over there are from Shalimerie and others she recruited to represent you. I hope you will like them."

  Janys moved over to see what the groom had received, expecting to see the pots and pans that had been traditional presents when Earth was still in low-tech mode. But there nothing so harmless about these offerings. Leather belts, polished canes, paddles of varying sizes and shapes were stacked about.

  Quickly she looked over at the other side of the room, but the contents there were no less disturbing. She counted four pillows, three jars of cream, one of which was labeled "For Afterwards" and five handkerchiefs before her attention was drawn to a frightening piece of furniture.

  It was a high bench, built so that one side sloped down to the floor. The top flat part was narrow, but the slanted part widened in a triangular shape. At both ends, two leather straps had been embedded in the wood. "My parents gave us that," Martel said as he pulled out a small leather book from the pile. "In a couple of decedons, we will use it for your whipping."

  Suddenly the dam inside her broke that she'd held together for the last few nightmare days. She pulled away, her eyes flashing with anger. "No, we won't!" she shouted. "You think I'm going to lie down on that thing and let you beat me? Or let you use any of this other garbage on me?"

  "But this is our way of life," he told her calmly.

  "Then you're crazy," she raged. "You and your whole planet. No wonder your population is so small. If I had been born here, I'd have left when I turned of age, like everyone else does. I wish I'd never come here!"

  "I can understand your feeling that way," he continued in that infuriatingly mild voice. "But not everyone shares your views. Whether you like it or not, when you broke our laws, you submitted yourself to our ways. And as I told the council, I will see that you get your punishment. But," his voice softened still more. "I am hoping that by the time that day arrives, you will see it differently than you do now."

  "Only if I go blind in the meantime," she spit out. Wasn't he aware he was talking about causing her terrible pain? "Which is fine by me because then I won't have to look at all these instruments of torture, or all your faces smiling at me and saying 'don't worry' as you tell me how you're going to use them. I don't see how Kollent could be any worse than what you've got in store for me here."

  "Janys," he said, his voice rising slightly. "You need to calm yourself down. Remember everything you will experience at our hands is to help you get control of your life and take responsibility for your actions."

  She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. "Guess what, 'Master' Martel? I was doing just fine with my life until I made the mistake of coming here."

  "
Janys," he began dangerously. "You are to go to your room and wait for me. I will give you time to settle down, and then we will discuss your bibalon."

  "The hell with the bibalon!" she yelled, hitting his hand so that the volume was knocked to the floor. It skittered over in front of the whipping bench.

  He grabbed both of her wrists, his eyes smoldering. "Pick that up and bring it to me. Now!" Twisting them slightly, he spun her in the direction of the book.

  "I won't," she cried, willing her feet to become immovable objects, her hands still gripping her hips.

  Martel laid his big hands over hers, pushing her in the direction of the bibalon. As he did she kicked backwards hard, hearing his grunt of pain as her instep connected to his shin.

  "That does it". Clutching her tightly, he abandoned the bibalon and propelled her directly towards the table, pushing her face and breasts down into a pile of gift pillows. As he pinned her arm to her back, he yanked up her tunic. "I am now going to teach you something about kicking," he said grimly as he pulled down her prander.

  "Oh, no you don't!" she cried as she twisted her torso, trying to escape from his hold. Unfortunately the only part of her that wasn't immobilized were her feet. He had her far enough across the table top that only her toes touched the floor, so she could do nothing except kick helplessly. Apparently Martel wasn't going to make the mistake of getting within her line of fire as he stood to the side and raised his arm.

  She had only a second to think about the precariousness of her position when his hand descended with a loud smack, then caught her again. "Oooh!" she gasped as the next one came even faster.

  "A wife respects her husband," he continued in the same determined voice as he slapped her bottom again. "No matter what the circumstances."

  Now she was finding it hard to breathe as his hard hand connected with her bare skin. Unlike the paddle that afternoon, he allowed no recovery time in between wallops.

  "How dare you!" she got out as she fought the urge to wail.

  "Because I am your husband, and you have both disobeyed me and hurt me," he intoned.

  "When that happens, this part of your anatomy pays a very high price. This is the way we change behavior on Demeter."

  The more she struggled, the more she felt like an insect pegged to a giant board. One whose nether region was being stung by even bigger bugs. No matter how much she thrashed about, she couldn't escape his pounding hand.

  "Okay!" she finally cried. "I'm sorry for kicking you!"

  Mercifully he paused for a moment. "And for disobeying me about the bibalon?" he quizzed her.

  "Yes," she muttered quickly. "I'm sorry for that as well." For a second she relaxed, expecting to be released. At least this apology business was working.

  "I am very glad to hear it," he countered. "But we will not be done here until I have also taught you some respect for our community." She felt the next spank all the way up her spinal column.

  By now Janys had lost track of how many times her buttocks had rebounded from impact with his fingers. All she knew was that pain was building up in the area, not in the short bursts that had accompanied the paddle that afternoon, but in an endless wave that she was powerless to stop. For a while she kept twisting, but that only made her arm hurt while grinding her chin into the pillows. He's not going to make me cry, she vowed even as the tears pricked at her eyelids.

  Her resolve remained strong until Martel changed his tactics. Instead of striking all over her bottom, he began concentrating on one spot just where her thighs began. Over and over he pounded that one place until she was crying out with every smack. Surely this must be hurting his hand as well!

  If so, he showed no signs of distress. "Good—you are starting to feel it," he told her as he again stepped up the pace. Now her legs were moving not because she wanted them to but because she couldn't help it. Absurdly she felt as though she were dancing an involuntary jig. The thought made her want to laugh hysterically, or at least that's what it started out as before the tears started spilling from her face onto mixture of fabric and wood.

  So this is what it feels like to give into a spanking as the fight went out of her body. Who would have thought it wasn't just a physical thing? Because the scary part was that something was shifting in her emotionally as well. Some of her anger was flowing out with her tears. Not all of it. Not the righteousness with which she'd condemned the ceremonial paddling of innocent brides nor her sense of injustice at having to choose between marriage and death, but her indignation about this particular spanking.

  Because Martel was right—she had insulted him and his society, as well as kicked him hard enough to leave a bruise. Perhaps she did deserve to be punished, though surely not this way. Yet even though she condemned the method, she had to admit it was very effective in making her feel truly sorry she had treated him in that way.

  But if her husband sensed her feelings of contrition, he paid no more attention than he had to her apology or her sobs as he kept methodically pummeling her behind. Only when she had lost all track of time did he release his grip on her arm. She laid there crying for a few minutes more before he helped her up, guiding her out of the prander. "You will not need that for the rest of the evening," he informed her.

  As she rubbed her eyes, he led her back to the kitchen. "Dinner will keep while you complete display time," he said as he stationed her facing a closed cupboard. "You will stand there silently with your tunic held up until I release you. Your tunic is the only thing you are allowed to touch. I will be watching, and if I find you disobeying me, we will return to the dining room table for additional instruction. Nod if you understand."

  Her face crimson, Janys nodded and grabbed the sides of the tunic. Even though she knew Martel was well aware of the state of her backside, it was humiliating to be required to keep showing it to him. All she wanted to do was run for the bedroom, bury herself under the quilt, and try and rub the soreness away. Yet she had no doubt that she would be back on the table for another round if she didn't follow his directions.

  "I suggest you use the time to think about what you did and how you will now behave differently in the future," he added.

  With her face to the wall, she couldn't see how he was occupying himself, but it sounded as though he were sitting at the kitchen table rustling through papers. Again time seemed to lose meaning as Janys wondered if she had been there for hours or only a few minutes. The anger dissipated by the spanking started to creep back as she raged against this new humiliation.

  The rap on the door startled both of them. "Stay where you are," Martel commanded as he went to answer it.

  Please let whoever it is stay outside, Janys prayed as she kept her position. But this was not a day for prayers to be answered.

  "Normally I would not interrupt a couple on their first night together," Mistress Elondelle apologized to her son. From the sound of her voice, it was obvious that she was moving towards the kitchen. "But for the lessons tomorrow, I need Janys to be familiar with the first two chapters of the history book."

  "Thank you, Mother," Martel replied. "It looks like mine from school."

  "Yes, I was able to find it in your old bookcase. Fortunately for what we will be covering at the beginning, it should be suitable despite its age.

  "Unfortunately, it is clear your lessons cannot begin too soon." Now Janys could actually feel the other woman's presence outside the doorway. Mortified she realized that every inch of her reddened posterior was exposed to probing eyes.

  "I see that," Elondelle answered carefully. "May I assume that the marital paddle has been christened?"

  "No, we will be doing that later tonight," Martel told her regretfully while Janys tried to keep from shaking. "For this I used my hand, which is still recovering."

  "It appears to be a good job for your first try," the woman complimented him. "When Yagote fixes up your old desk, I will be certain she includes a pillow on the chair."

  Janys heard a thud as something was set dow
n on the table, then the two people turned back towards the front door. The last thing she heard before the front door closed was Martel promising his mother that he would release his wife from display so that she would have sufficient time to get her reading done.

  In fact as soon as he returned to the kitchen, he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I am pleased with how you acted just now, so your punishment will be ended if you will now fetch the bibalon."

  She surprised herself at how quickly she ran to the living room. To avoid bending over and giving Martel another eyeful of his handiwork, she knelt down. Although she winced as her fingers brushed against the leg of the whipping table, she popped up immediately with the small volume and held it out to him as he came up by her.

  "Thank you," he said gravely as he clasped her wrist and drew her closer to the table, using his other arm to pull out two of the wooden chairs. "Sit down," he motioned. "When we eat our meal, I will let you use the marital cushion, but I want to have this discussion just as you are."

  She winced as her bare skin touched the hard wood. For a few moments she shifted her weight, trying to take some of the pressure off of her backside, but nothing worked…

  "Be still," he admonished before sitting down himself. "You may have forgotten by now, but this position is uncomfortable for me as well after my session with my father. But one of the things you must learn is how to endure gracefully the aftermath of a punishment."

  Somehow she eased herself down, although she still wanted to rub her chastened skin. At least he no longer seemed to be angry at her.

  "What you just experienced was an instanner, or punishment on the spot. It is used to correct problems that must be dealt with immediately. Do you understand?"

  She nodded yes as he continued. "Decedonner is punishment for cumulative offenses, delivered on the last day of the decedon. The bibalon is used to record and tally those offenses so that an appropriate accounting can be had. Your duty is to maintain that record. At the beginning when you are learning, you will only be asked to record incidents that my mother or I tell you to put in it. Later you will also be expected to monitor your conduct and make your own entries to bring to my attention at the reckoning."