Royal Discipline Read online

  “There will be an accounting every day,” he said, gazing into her eyes. When she looked away, he grasped her chin and tilted it back up. “Mind me, Violet. I’ll ask you each night before bed if you’ve resisted your urges, and I’ll know if you tell a lie.”

  She believed he would know, and didn’t want to imagine the consequences if he caught her in a falsehood.

  “I’ll be good, Your Grace,” she promised.

  “I wouldn’t be so strict about this if it wasn’t important. Everything about you is important. That’s why I’m so thorough in my duties where you’re concerned.”

  She blinked at him. Everything about you is important sounded so much better than Everything about you is awful.

  “I want to be good,” she said, and she really meant it.

  He released her chin, then put his hands to the ties of his breeches. “There is one last matter to settle. I believe you know what it is.”

  Violet stared at the gap in his breeches as he drew forth his rigid member. “I have not been mannerly,” she said with proper meekness. “I did not speak respectfully to you upstairs, or just now, when I called you a horrible person.”

  “And what do I do when you misuse your mouth, and speak like a termagant?”

  “You put your cock inside it to humble me.”

  She opened her lips the way she’d been taught, and was careful not to skim him with her teeth as he surged forward. This was indeed a humbling activity. She couldn’t breathe, move, or protest when he was buried in her throat.

  Even worse, he took obvious pleasure in this activity, pleasure which was to be denied to her. She wondered how it would feel to press her flower against his mouth, against his handsome, expressive lips. The thought was so striking she nearly got aroused again, even with the fresh cane welts meant to discourage that very thing.

  She set herself to pleasing him instead, out of fear, out of dread that she could not be as good as she needed to, that she could never be good enough to please him. Tears began to leak from her eyes. Perhaps it was only from the force of him driving between her lips.

  He made a soft sound, and withdrew enough to slide a thumb across one of her cheeks. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “You’re getting better. Much better, but we don’t want to let up yet. You’re still not as perfect as you could be.”

  He pushed to the back of her throat as she braced with her spread, shackled legs. When she tensed her muscles, every welt seemed to ache individually, building on each other so she must endure the vicious burn. Still, she tried to stop crying, as he said. She was not that sad, because she could feel she was doing better.

  Later, when he came after dinner to deliver her nightly spanking, he brought some strappy contraption with him, and laid it on the bed as he pulled her over his lap. So she not only had to endure the spanking, which was quite uncomfortable upon her recently punished bottom, but she also had to wonder over what the thing was.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered as he delivered brisk, steady smacks to her bottom. “It hurts.”

  “I know,” he said, and yet he continued the spanking until her entire backside was on fire. When he finally stopped and folded down her shift, Violet slumped into his proffered arms and rested her head against his shoulder. She almost, almost rubbed her bottom to make the sting dissipate a little faster. He would not have seen it, but she knew it wasn’t allowed, so she kept her hands curled together in her lap.

  “I suppose you’re very sore,” he said.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Have you had any difficulty keeping your hands to yourself?”

  She shook her head emphatically and then hid her face against his neck. She heard a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.

  “It will get easier. And remember, it’s only until you’re married. I’m sure your husband will allow you plenty of pleasure once he’s got you in hand.”

  “I hope so,” she blurted out, and then realized how unladylike it sounded. She sat up a little straighter. “What’s that thing you’ve brought?”

  He lifted it and showed it to her. “I had this fashioned especially for you. I thought it might help. It’s most difficult to be good at night, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, blushing. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He traced along the straps and began to undo one of the silver buckles. “This is a chastity belt. Really just a reminder, now that you know the consequences of disobedience in this quarter.”

  She shifted on her still-sensitive welts and studied the device, which was comprised of intersecting leather straps, two buckles, and a silver plate of a shape and size to cover her mons. “I have to wear it?”

  “Only at night. I think it would be best, at least until I know your urges are under control. Now, go and relieve yourself first, since it will be considerably more difficult to do so once it’s on.”

  After she visited the privy closet, he made her stand in front of him and lift the edges of her shift, and then he buckled one of the straps about her waist, and the other snugly between her thighs, so the metal plate fitted over her flower and the surrounding folds. The strap’s tail came up between her arse cheeks and buckled in the back. It was not precisely uncomfortable, for the leather was soft, and the plate fitted to her body. It was more the feeling of being constricted—or restricted.

  “Try to touch yourself,” he said.

  First, she tried to insinuate her fingers within the metal plate in order to reach her womanly parts, but he’d pulled the straps too tight. There was not enough room to do it. Then she tried to push on the plate hard enough to rub against it, but it was designed like a shallow bowl, curving outward, so all she could manage to rub against was the air within.

  As soon as she realized she was truly unable to get at that part of herself, she suddenly wanted it with a depth of perversity she’d never felt before. She crawled back into his lap, curling her legs against his chest, and whined a little as he laughed.

  “I don’t mean to make you miserable,” he said, giving her backside a soft smack. “Only to make you behave.”

  “I’ll be good,” she promised.

  He gave her an amused look. He didn’t believe her, and perhaps he shouldn’t have. “It’s only that I’ve just now discovered that height of pleasure, and you’re taking it away,” she said with a pout.

  “You shall have plenty of pleasure in your life.” He sounded so sure of it. She wished she felt the same.

  “It depends if someone will marry me.”

  His hand brushed through her hair for just a moment before it was gone. “My dear, you were made to be loved. Someone will marry you soon enough.” He lifted her off his lap and dumped her onto the bed, and helped her scurry under the covers. The metal plate felt substantial against her body. Implacable. She felt rather ashamed that she wished it wasn’t there.

  “Pleasant dreams,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. One day closer to being better.

  One day closer to going home.

  Chapter Twelve: Exceedingly Proud

  He made her wear the restrictive device every night for a week, and during that week she was absolutely obedient. The only discipline she received during those halcyon days was her nightly spanking, and even then, the duke coddled her because of her excellent behavior. The last night, he even gave her a hug, and told her with great sincerity that he was proud of her.

  Then, the very first night he let her sleep without it, she failed to behave.

  She had no idea what happened. One minute she was lying there, absolutely certain that she was too reformed to fall to temptation, and the next, her flower was throbbing. She hadn’t even touched it. She touched it then, just to try to smooth away the inappropriate sensations, but it had the opposite effect. Next she knew, she was rubbing her hips against the bed as she writhed in ecstasy.

  The episode did not take that long, or last that long. It was entirely not worth the consequences she would receive, but she had done
it. She wondered, if she lied to him, whether he could really tell.

  But she was not that princess anymore, the one who lied and schemed, and did whatever she wanted without a thought to the consequences. She was a respectful and dignified princess now. And she had done a very wrong thing.

  She lay awake the next half hour, peeking out from the sheets for fear he was spying on her. She spent the following half hour wondering if she ought to stroke her flower again, since she was already going to be punished when she confessed about the first time. Then she did do it again, and she knew then that she absolutely must summon up her willpower and stop.

  It was a long night after that, and a long morning as she waited for his eventual visit. She could hardly pick at her luncheon. Jeannie fretted over her poor appetite and asked if she was ill.

  No, Violet thought. I’m only in a terrible amount of trouble, after doing so well.

  The duke would be furious, and worse, he would be disappointed. What if—oh God—what if he delayed the time she was to go home? There were mere days left until Saint Valentine’s. She worked herself into such a frenzy of fear and self-remonstrance that the moment he walked through the door, she burst into tears.

  He crossed to her in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

  “I...Your Grace...” She wrung her hands and bowed her head. “I have... I have played in the garden.”

  “Which garden?” he asked in puzzlement.

  “My garden,” she wailed. “My flower. I practically drowned the poor thing from overwatering. I’m so sorry. I will never, ever go in that garden again.”

  “My goodness.” The duke frowned and rubbed his forehead, then crossed to her. “Calm down. You’ve been disobedient, yes, and you’ll be punished, but it’s not the end of the world. There’s no need for hysterics.”

  “I’m only so sad. I had made you so proud. You were pleased with me, and I was changing for the better, and now I’ve gone bad again, and I truly, truly didn’t mean to.”

  He led her over to the couch and made her sit beside him. “How did it happen if you didn’t mean to?”

  “I tried to make it stop feeling good. But it only made it feel better.” She buried her face in her hands. “I could have stopped. I tried, but I didn’t have the willpower. You’ll have to punish me again, and that makes me anxious, and afraid, but mostly it makes me sad. I thought I was changing. I wanted to change.”

  “Look at me, Violet.” He took her shoulders and gave her a little shake until she met his gaze. “Look at me and listen to what I have to say. There will be lapses in behavior sometimes. You’re too headstrong and impulsive to ever be perfect. That part of you will never change. But do you know what has changed? Your awareness of your actions, and your desire to behave and obey.”

  “You’re not...” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “You’re not angry?”

  “Oh, I’m angry. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m displeased. You disobeyed instructions and did something you were not supposed to do. But you also confessed your fault at once, and admitted your need for punishment. So I’m not as displeased as I might have been.”

  “I’m so very sorry,” she said. “I tried so hard.”

  He studied her a moment, then took her hand. “I think the sooner we punish you for this, the better. I have an appropriate consequence in mind.”

  He led her out the door and up the stairs to the discipline parlor, as Violet thought with dread about what the consequence might be. The lingering marks from her last caning had only just faded. But she had earned a punishment, so she would try to accept it with grace.

  “I think the most important thing to do today,” he said as they entered, “is to make sure you feel expiated of your crime.”

  “I suppose so,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Therefore, I think a ride upon the pony is in order. You will not like it, and it will have the added benefit of punishing you precisely where you need it the most.”

  “A ride upon the pony?” Violet echoed. There were no ponies, in fact, no livestock at all in the duke’s discipline room. Then he led her over to the narrow, peaked length of wood fixed into the wall, and she understood.

  “We shall have to remove your gown to do it properly,” he said, turning her about to work at the fastenings in the back. While he did this, Violet regarded the vertically positioned beam, and thought how very unpleasant this was going to be. Perhaps she ought to have kept quiet about her mishap the night before.

  No, she chided herself. That would not have been good behavior at all.

  He drew her gown up and over her head, and laid it aside. She glanced at it longingly as he led her to the beam.

  “This is of an approximate height for a woman on her tiptoes. If it’s not quite right, we can adjust it with one of those platforms,” he said, gesturing toward a stack of sanded boards. “Now, then, up and over.”

  She took a deep breath and straddled the beam. Her feet did not quite reach the ground, so he brought over one of the boards for her to stand on. She could barely reach the ground then, and was obliged to go up on the balls of her feet to keep the edge of the wood from pressing against her private parts.

  “It’s still not quite high enough,” she said.

  “On the contrary, it’s the perfect height. It’s not meant to be comfortable. In fact, it’s meant to be very uncomfortable, to teach you the error of your ways. When it begins to hurt too much, you may go up on your tiptoes for a while to find momentary relief.”

  He drew her legs wider, adjusting her so the most sensitive part of her flower was forced right against the smooth wood. Then he made her reach up, and shackled her wrists to a sturdy chain hanging above her head.

  How exposed she felt, and how pained. This indeed seemed an appropriate punishment for a woman who had played with her flower in such a careless and abandoned way.

  A moment later, she heard a quiet knock at the door. The duke crossed to answer it as Violet stared at the wall. I can bear this, she thought. It’s not so bad if I stand exceptionally still.

  Then the duke returned and parted her bottom cheeks. She suppressed a groan.

  “Of course the ginger is not strictly necessary,” he said. “But it will make you feel more punished. To make insertion easier, I lubricated it with some of the special oil.”

  Violet realized he’d done so as soon as he pressed the ginger within her clenching, sensitive ring. “Oh, but—” She squirmed, only to suffer increased torment from the pony. “If I cannot be still, this gets ever so much worse.”

  “Then you’d better try your best to be still.”

  For goodness sake, there was no possible way to be still with the nagging, itching ache of the ginger fig in her arse. You must accept it, she thought. You must behave.

  He watched her squirm for a moment upon the “pony,” and Violet was quite sure he was pleased by the frantic look on her face. She went up on her toes, but that had the effect of clenching her bottom and making the ginger hurt worse.

  “This is really very uncomfortable,” she said. “I suppose I deserve it. It makes it easy to regret my behavior, and wish to do better.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Now, I believe I’ll add a bit of extra torment to your naughty flower,” he said, “considering the reason for this punishment.”

  To her dismay, he strode across the room and fetched three of the black metal clips.

  “I know you will not like this, my dear,” he said as she shook her head in vigorous protest. “But pain is a necessary part of conditioning.” He parted her womanly folds and stroked her up and down. She gasped.

  “Does that feel good?” he asked, holding her gaze.

  “Y-yes.” She wished he would continue touching her like that forever. She could feel her flower begin to dampen and swell beneath his caress. Then, just as she nearly forgot herself and inched her hips forward against his hand, he pinched her flower between his fingertips and applied one of the clips to the sen
sitized flesh. She cried out, staring at him in entreaty.

  “You need to breathe,” he said, as she panted through the pain.

  “I can’t.” It was the most shocking, awful feeling, to go from feeling so good to feeling so bad. She yanked at the manacles. If her hands were free, she could take the clip off and relieve the biting torture, but she was shackled too tightly.

  “Breathe,” he said again. “Your nipples are next, and then you shall have ten minutes or so to ride this pony and think about what you’ve done.”

  She threw back her head and closed her eyes. She wanted to beg to be released. She wanted to beg for mercy, but that was not the way to learn. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said instead. “I am ready.”

  She felt him tug at each nipple, and then attach the clips. It was impossible to bear the pain, but she had no way to escape it. The more she thrashed about in her agony, the more the ginger stung and the harder her sensitive folds slid across the top of the beam.

  She sucked in air and opened her eyes, and went up on her tiptoes for as long as she could. The duke watched from a short distance away, his arms crossed over his chest. She felt ashamed beneath his scrutiny, but he was not looking at her in a reproachful way. In truth, it was hard to figure out his expression. He did not precisely look proud, or pleased, but he seemed to admire her all the same.

  If I beg, perhaps he will let me go. If I pretend the pain is too great, or that I am taking ill, he’ll release me. She could try that. The old Violet would have tried it, but the new Violet gritted her teeth and bobbed on her tiptoes some more. She did not want him to be disappointed in her, or believe she was not sorry for disobeying him.

  She squirmed atop the beam and wondered how long it had been. One minute? Two minutes? Five? Probably not five.

  She gazed at him, in his dark coat and high, starched cravat. Why did it matter so much, to please him? At some point, it had become vitally important to her. But why? Was it because he was honorable and strict in his ways? Was it because he made her become a better person? He was the first person in her life to insist that a “princess” must be more than a title. It must be an entire state of being. Mildness, kindness, dignity, respect, truth, virtue...he had insisted upon all of those things, and had not accepted her rebellion against it.