Her Lord's Desire (The Forbidden Saga #3) - Maggie Ryan Page 0,45

do its job to teach you your proper duty,” Charles said repeating words that Eleanor had taught him in a calm yet authoritative manner. Willamena’s soft cry spoke of her embarrassment at his instruction, but he watched as the young woman softened her buttocks until they were rounded and no longer clenched.

Satisfied that he had her in the proper frame of mind for her discipline, Charles lifted the cane and placed the first stroke. As it landed across the top of the offered cheeks, Willamena moaned deeply. Charles saw that, though he’d placed the stroke where he’d intended, the weal was not immediately apparent as he knew it should have been the moment the rod cracked against her flesh. He tapped her bottom again and then lifted the cane higher over his shoulder. The second stroke cracked much louder when he remembered to flick his wrist with the blow. Willamena lifted her head and cried out loudly as the weal rose on her bottom only slightly below where the first had landed. Charles stepped a bit further away and snapped the cane forward again, this time nodding as the weal instantly bloomed on her flesh, only the divide of her buttocks disrupting the linear red line.

“Nooo!” the woman sobbed, her head arched back at the fire of the stroke. “Oh, please, sir, please, not so hard… I… I can’t bear it,” she sobbed, but remained in position.

Charles looked to Eleanor, who simply shook her head and smiled.

“You shall bear it, Willamena, and thank me for it after we are done,” Charles said, as he tapped the cane lower on her cheeks. Stroke after stroke cracked against Willamena’s bottom, forming almost a perfect pattern down the surface of her buttocks. Charles’ aim had only allowed a slight overlapping of two weals. Willamena was soon wailing, her knees bending after each stroke was given and received. Nine lines of fire decorated her rump before Charles paused and allowed the girl to compose herself before receiving further instructions.

“Naughty little girls need to have a hot bottom to remind them to be good girls. Now, bend further forward please, baroness, and push up your naughty bottom so you may accept the next strokes right on your sit-spots,” Charles ordered. Willamena sobbed hard as she bent forward, covering her face with her hands as she willingly submitted the most sensitive part of her bottom to the cane. Charles nodded, appreciating her immediate submission though he knew her bottom had to feel as if it were on fire. He was further pleased when she remembered to loosen her thoroughly wealed bottom.

“Very good, Willamena, your papa would be pleased,” Charles said before lifting the cane again.

Strokes ten and eleven cracked loudly in the room, each raising a weal along the line where her bottom met the tops of her thighs. Willamena was wailing now, her face buried in her cupped hands, her bottom wagging up and down and side to side in a futile effort to ease the burning across her cheeks. Charles stepped slightly to the side and tapped the cane on a diagonal across the weals raised on her bottom. He had learned that this was considered ‘closing the gate’ and as he gave her the last stroke, harder than any previous, the weal immediately rose across the previous weals as she shrieked from its delivery. He smiled noticing that the lines did, in fact, resemble an innocent garden gate.

“Ohhh, please… I’m so sorry, sir! Please… no more…” Willamena sobbed as her bottom bounced wildly.

Charles wasn’t even aware he’d stepped closer to her until he felt the raised lines he had painted onto her posterior. Tracing over her flesh with his fingertips, he was amazed at the heat each weal gave off and realized he could feel the ridges of each one. A delicate cough had him looking to see Eleanor shaking her head. Slightly embarrassed, he lifted his fingers from the punished posterior and stepped back.

“Willamena,” Charles said softly. “You may rise and go to the corner to consider your behavior. Keep your skirts up and your caned bottom properly displayed.” He watched as Baroness Willamena Johansson, a respected woman of upper society, slowly stood, her face tear-streaked as she kept her skirts off her well caned bottom.

“Than… thank you, sir,” she said.

“You are most welcome. You did very well in offering your bottom, little one. I am sure your husband would be proud of you for accepting your caning so well. I’m proud