The Romance of Chastisement

The Romance of Chastisement

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Writing the Spanking scene, part 8---"Charles II" by Ashlynn Kenzie

Today I present a formerly unknown author, Ashlynn Kenzie, who has graciously allowed me to use a scene of hers as another illustration in my "writing the spanking scene series." The original text has been edited by yours truly with Ms. Kenzie's blessing.

Now it turns out that King Charles II was a merry old soul, so merry that he had 9 mistresses that we know about, and one would have to speculate that there were more. After all, where there's smoke there's fire, and with 9 mistresses, well, that's a lot of smoke. Was Cheerful Charlie into TTWD? This being England and all, home of Le Vice Anglais (those sneaky French--pot calling the kettle black, says I), I'm thinking it's highly likely. And that is the delightful premise of Ms. Kenzie's novel-in-progress.

The following scene, which occurs fairly early in young Charles' life, provides some speculation on what might have fired such an interest. Folks, let me say that this is a very well written scene, both in concept and in execution, and Ms. Kenzie is a real talent. I can only hope that she will finish the novel of which this is to be a part.


      England, 1643
      
      It was Jacqueline who would live in his memory forever.
Jacqueline standing, head bowed, hands gently clasped at her waist, eyes downcast. The picture of submissiveness.
 "Charles!"
      He straightened automatically and turned toward Queen Henrietta Maria, proud daughter of the House of Bourbon. She was a Bourbon through French King Henry IV and Marie de' Medici, and wife and yet-to-be-crowned consort - thanks to her Catholicism -- of Charles I, King of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
      "Oui, Maman," he said with a slight bow and the French response that he hoped would put him in her good graces.  Try as he might, it seemed that he would always be found wanting in her eyes: not sufficiently French, not entirely devoted to her own interests, and  - most of all - not the first of her children to be blessed with that revered name.
      For the one with a claim to such a distinction -- Charles James and also Duke of Cornwall as first son of King Charles I and Henrietta Maria -- had died tragically almost 14 years before, prior to the birth of the troubled couple's second son Charles and the young Princes' several younger siblings. Charles the Perfect - the most handsome of princes, most keen of royal intellect, most courageous of soldiers, most dutiful and loving of children, most devoted son of the Church. Or he surely would have been, had he attained even his first birthday. Of that his still-grieving mother was very certain. She made it possible for all to share the royal assessment of her firstborn's attributes by reminding them how frequently young Charles  now  missed the mark. And none shared that parental disappointment  more  than the current Charles Stuart himself.
      "I have asked Master Whitnell to join us," the Queen announced with a summoning hand imperiously waved toward the screen over her left shoulder.
      Try as he might, Charles could not quite control the  trembling that ran through his body as his tutor stepped around the divider and took his place a few feet away from the Queen. In the Charles'  experience, nothing good ever came of having his mother summon his strict taskmaster..
      The stern gentleman  took his place and waited, unmoving.
      As for Charles, he stood  and observed with trepidation the triangular tableaux formed by his mother, his tutor and his first hint of forbidden fruit - Jacqueline, by name, and the apparent subject of this unfortunate exercise. The entire tension-filled structure now seemed  mysteriously and delicately balanced between these three, the penitent, the judge and the executioner. And who was he to be? Another penitent perhaps? A shudder ran through his body and he licked his lips nervously.
      
      The Prince forced his eyes away from the 18-year-old because to look upon her was to remember things he should not remember - things that could call down his mother's wrath on his own guilty head. The probability  that this was, indeed, what was about to happen, was so strong he felt himself reduced to the stature of a fearful child. It was another unfortunate impression he would have preferred not to have made on the beautiful Jacqueline.
      For in her eyes, what he wanted desperately was to redeem himself and rise to the level of young manhood; a man upon whom she might consider bestowing womanly charms of an intimate nature.
      Because to this point, what he knew of the maid he knew only because he was a common sneak - a "puking, pitiful spy" - as Jacqueline had hissed in his ear when she had discovered him crouched in the thick shrubbery on the far side of the palace's rose garden. From that vantage point, he had been witness to the lifting of her garments for one of his father's nameless courtiers who had rearranged them for his carnal advantage and then had used a panting, beseeching Jacqueline for the same.
      Charles had wished desperately, as the sun set that day, that he could claim innocence, but the truth was, he had overheard rumors that Jacqueline, the daughter of the woman who had been his mother's favorite servant, sometimes enjoyed dalliances in that location. So, he had followed her in that general direction more than once hoping to learn what he could not in Master Whitnell's classroom.
      But On that particular day, only Jacqueline's fury had confronted him and had caused him to file the matter under question for another day.
      Indeed, she had threatened him with all manner of unpleasant repercussions if he ever revealed to anyone what he had seen  and had reminded him that his mother would be appalled at his behavior.
      He could all too well imagine his staunchly Catholic mother's reaction if she knew he had spied on matters she made it clear were sinful in the extreme outside the bounds of the duty to procreate.
      Having expressed her extreme displeasure, Jacqueline had gone on to win him to her point of view that no good thing could come of his sharing his knowledge by softening her approach. She, who stood almost on eye level with the young man, though she was older than he by several years, had kissed away his mortification gently and hinted at future rewards if he guarded her privacy well.
      "It will be our secret, my young Prince," she had whispered as she traced the same lips she had kissed so sweetly with soft finger tips. "Some day soon, perhaps we shall meet here again, if you prove yourself trustworthy. And then, oh, then, beautiful boy, I will show you things you cannot imagine. But you must not betray me, or it will never be as it should for you with me - or with any woman. You will be cursed forever, I promise you."
      He had promised her. He had kept his promise. Partly from fear should his mother learn he had sullied himself with such worldly knowledge and partly so he could gain more such knowledge in some glorious future with Jacqueline.
      So there must be some other reason they were all here. But what could it be?
      Charles stole another glance at Jacqueline's pale face as the silence surrounding them first stretched and then began to tighten uncomfortably around him like drying leather.
      "Master Whitnell." The Queen's voice was stoked with the hot fury to which Charles was all too accustomed, and he knew the mystery was about to be revealed. He could not stop himself from praying whatever happened next would not serve to humiliate him in Jacqueline's presence, whether it was related to their guilty secret or some other infraction. He marshaled his forces and prepared to accept with dignity and bear with fortitude whatever punishment his mother was, undoubtedly, about to call down on his head. He only hoped he could emerge from it a brave and resolute young man in Jacqueline's eyes and would not disgrace himself as a foolish child, trembling to accept  payment for some foul deed his parent had detected and summoned his tutor to correct.
      His worst fears as to his immediate unhappy future were confirmed when the Queen spoke again. "You are prepared to dispense discipline for the shameful sin which has been committed?" she demanded of the pedagogue. All hope that the Queen was somehow ignorant of his  behavior  was certainly now lost. She knew; somehow, she knew, and she was clearly horrified that he had behaved this way, spying on a maid for carnal purposes..
      "I am, Your Majesty," Matthew Whitnell of the strong right arm responded. In the time it took to utter the words, he raised his left hand - concealed until that moment - and displayed the supple, wide leather strap with which the future King of England was more than familiar.
      "Two dozen. Well laid on," the daughter of France ordered. Charles set his jaw and drew back his shoulders. Clarification as to how the Queen had come by her knowledge shrank in importance as he prepared himself to pay the price for his sin stoically. He only prayed Jacqueline did not think he had broken faith with her and thus placed himself in this unhappy circumstance.
      "Here," ordered the Queen pointing to her own wide, skirted lap. "And bared. I wish to see the full effect and to make certain the strap teaches a valuable lesson to all concerned."
      Charles felt the blood rush to his face, detailing shame that he was about to be cast into the role of a naughty child, still fit for bare-bottomed discipline across his mother's knee. Could a more unjust and mocking punishment be devised for a sin so anchored in the adult world? he thought rebelliously.
      The maid kept her eyes down, but Charles caught sight of the tear trailing slowly past Jacqueline's nose and settling in the corner of her perfect mouth. His heart lifted, somewhat, that she wept in sympathy for him already. Perhaps she would offer sweet comfort and proof of her concern when it was all over. He only knew he would bear what he had no choice about, and he would bear it so nobly this one he now felt he loved fiercely would never forget it and would see it - and him -- elevated to some higher level than his mother planned. For once, Henrietta Maria's noble parental goals would be stymied, if his own strength of will played any part.
      "Is there something you wanted to say, Charles?" the Queen demanded in her heavily accented tongue.
      "No, Madame. Except that I have been true to my word and will continue to be so." He said so with backbone stiffened, head raised as proudly as possible, and a strong gratitude willed toward the beauty who had shown him what it could mean to be a man.
      "What a pretty speech, Charles. A pretty but empty and foolish speech. Does it comfort you, Jacqueline?" the Queen demanded.
      For the first time the maid, who well knew her mistress' temper and devotion to discipline, spoke in English accented with her own lilting native French. It was somehow more gentle and appealing than the Queen's outraged pronunciations in the same tongue.  "It comforts me only in so far as it does not displease Your Gracious Majesty," she said.
      "Then it comforts you not at all, for it offends me greatly. Do you see that you have not only introduced my son to the most hideous of venial sins but you have encouraged him to deal dishonestly with that knowledge and to wound his mother?"
      Charles' freshly discovered sense of honor demanded that he speak, but he could think of no words that would not make a grievous situation far worse, no defense for Jacqueline that could not be diminished by his mother's scorn. Best, perhaps, to let his parent finish the tongue lashing of her maid and turn her more damaging intentions on his own shrinking flesh. At least the lovely girl would know, then, what he was willing to bear for her sake. His mother could not diminish that gift, he was determined.
      "Enough of this foolishness, then. We shall see who wants to play again at this game of 'romance,'" -- uttered with formidable scorn -- "when Master Whitnell has used up his supply of sting." The queen gestured to Jacqueline. "Come here, girl. Come here now, you miserable creature."
      Charles attempted to swallow through a bone-dry throat, stunned at the sudden turn of events.  "Yes, my Queen," said the maid. It was then that Charles realized that all eyes were focused on the voluptuous beauty as she moved toward her fate. By this  time his brain had finally made sense of the scene. The tantalizing maid was standing beside his mother, raising with her own hands a  skirt that he suddenly noticed was not supported in usual fashion by a rich array of stiff undergarments.
      Charles watched in  horrified fascination as his heart's desire  bunched the simple outer garment and the linen chemise against her sides at waist level, framing the pale and perfect mounds he had seen far too little of that afternoon. What he wanted, and now wanted desperately, even more than in his fevered night time imaginings since then, was to stroke, fondle and squeeze those fulsome globes.
      The fierce hunger gnawing in the parts of his body to which Jacqueline had fully awakened him were at war with the sudden shift in circumstances his brain was trying to process. He wanted to protest, to gallantly reclaim the punishment he had thought would be his, to become Jacqueline's bright knight. But relief and lust grappled with each other in such war-like manner within his youthful body that he could only gulp noisily and with complete lack of refinement and try to minimize his body's all-too-observable reaction to the stimulation stretching out before his gaze.
      For Jacqueline, with one swift sidelong glance at him through tear-glazed eyes, was placing herself across the limitless expanse of the Queen's gown and grasping both a front and back leg of the simple, armless chair where her sovereign was seated.
      Her long legs anchored her on the opposite side nearest Charles, at least until the Prince's mother gestured irritably toward a small footstool across the room and the tutor hastened to fetch it. When he slipped it beneath Her Majesty's left foot, it had the effect of elevating the tightly clenched domes resting uneasily on Henrietta Maria's royal petticoat-padded knee and, at the same time, causing the unfortunate Jacqueline to lose touch with the floor. Still not quite satisfied, the Queen urged her new maid into an even more precarious position and, with her own hands, draped the girl's garments so that they afforded a clear field of operations for Master Whitnell.
      Pleased with her efforts, she glanced at her son and her gaze fastened on his hands, cupped over the manhood whose arousal he could not successfully hide.
      "Shameful," she pronounced. He felt the blood rise in his cheeks and throb through his penis.
      "How many times have you watched this maid's sinful behavior?" she demanded.
      "On-only o-once," Charles quavered, praying it was an answer that would meet with her approval.
      "And did you then think yourself a man when it was over?"
      "I don't ... I m-mean ... that is, I d-didn't ..." The self-justifying words did not actually stick in his throat because they never made it that far, his brain having refused to supply any acceptable response.
      "Well, this is where your searching in sinful places has brought you, boy." His regal mother rescued him imperiously, spreading her bejeweled hands wide above the lengthy expanse of Jacqueline's pale beauty as though he needed help in focusing his attention.
      "It is well known that males lack sufficient self-control to turn aside from sins of the flesh, especially when that flesh is presented so freely and is aided in the effort by the very talents of Satan himself . That a young woman of my household should so forget herself as to tempt that degree of control is beyond understanding, however. I knew your mother well, Jacqueline du Furnier, and I can assure you she would beg me to chastise you well for your shameless behavior. If she knew that punishment would not only drive you away from such additional folly but also serve as a constant reminder to the future King of this realm of the need for self control and the ugliness of its loss, she would urge me to make this not a single instance of justified punishment, but a daily reminder."
      There was a soft moan of protest from the young woman bent so unceremoniously over her lap.
      "Indeed, I advise you to think well on that possibility while you undergo correction, Jacqueline. Your attitude will help me determine whether that might prove to be the best course of action for the good of your soul. And as for you, my son, I can assure you that before we are done here today, the sight  of Jacqueline's charms that may have excited your fleshly appetites these past few days will become, instead, a constant reminder of the depths of degeneracy to which some have shown themselves willing to descend. And I promise you, such sights as this," and here she skimmed a hard hand across the crest of Jacqueline's twin nether charms in such fashion as to set the cheeks wobbling gently even as she produced a mingled sound of crisp smack and surprised squeal, "will never serve to enflame you again, but will always remind you of your obligation to limit yourself to no fleshly contact, even with your future Queen, except for the purpose of getting children on her for the good of your kingdom."
      Charles had never had cause to question his mother's wisdom or word on any matter in his short life, and yet, his body was adamant that this was one instance about which Henrietta Maria was either totally ignorant or completely dishonest. He committed himself to obscuring all traces of suspicion from Her Majesty's mind, however, willing the trio simply to move through the scene being played out in his presence before he totally disgraced himself.
      The Queen might be loathe to air her son's dirty laundry - and increasingly stained it had become of late - and his tutor would certainly hesitate to call attention to bad behavior he should have anticipated and prevented.  The unfortunately erotic Jacqueline would surely not be foolish enough to attract disciplinary attention twice by sharing any details of the morning's scenario, but his mother's sitting room buzzed with the constant, faceless presence of any number of other servants and court members who would be only too delighted to replay the entire disciplinary scene for appreciative friends.  Charles desperately wanted to provide as small a part in the story line for himself as possible.
      The Queen, who justified  what took place in her own marriage bed by the uncomplaining, orderly and plenteous delivery of royal offspring on a regular basis, was determined to recall her erring son to a position of purity and piety, beyond any of her other responsibilities. Happily, she felt she might accomplish that goal, along with bringing the wayward daughter of her dear former first maid to repentance for her disgusting behavior -- behavior being discussed in virtually every corner of the scandal-hungry palace -- by stripping away Jacqueline's allure as a young woman and reducing her to the status of a disobedient child.
      No stranger to such correction in the Bourbon court of her own girlhood, she had gained new respect for its effectiveness as her own innocent babes grew into willful and rebellious children who would be under her influence for all too brief a time.
      Let Charles get a good view of Jacqueline reduced to a naughty, squirming, squalling, red-eyed, striped-bottom child; let him consider how easily he might find himself in the same condition. Henrietta Maria doubted problems of such a nature would surface in his own young life any time soon.
      Intent on impressing every facet of the scene upon her wayward son, the Queen stiffened her shoulders and caught her son's eye.
      "Come here, Charles," she ordered.
      The boy started, tearing his guilty eyes away from Jacqueline's creamy white, tightly clenched bottom and trying to understand what his mother wanted of him.
      "Do not test my patience, mon fils, and do not make me repeat my instructions."
      Charles took a half dozen steps toward the trio, his heart hammering.
      Close enough to view the landscape upon which his tutor would shortly begin to paint broad stripes of stinging pain, he noted the perfect symmetry of the promiscuous girl's twin globes. But sight was not a sufficient sensual reminder for the Queen. She reached across the unfortunate maid's back and, seizing Charles' hand, drew it down firmly until his palm made contact with the servant's plump right cheek. He made to draw back, horrified and fascinated at the same time, as Jacqueline uttered a surprised and shamed squeal of protest, but Henrietta Maria maintained a firm grasp on his wrist and kept his hand in contact with the smooth expanse of guilty flesh.
      "Touch her naughty bottom, Charles. Yes, that's it, both sides. How does it feel?"
      "Like the softest, smoothest silk," he was almost foolish enough to say aloud as he fought the temptation to pat and squeeze and even press his lips to the fulsome expanse that was cool to his touch.
      "Well, Charles," the Queen demanded.
      "I d-don't know - that is, -- she - it  -- she m-must be very c-cold ..." he mumbled miserably.
      "Indeed. Well, that is a circumstance that will not long trouble her, I can assure you. You will count, Charles. There, Jacqueline, you wicked girl. You see how merciful I am that I spare you that task. But it is only because I fear you cannot go above three or four, or nine or ten, at most. For if you could, you would surely have counted to thirteen and realized my son is not yet a man to be privy to your shame or seduced by your charms. Is that not so?"
      Charles' eyes slid to Jacqueline's face, turned ever so slightly toward him, though on the level of his knees, as she fought the humiliation to which she had been reduced. He sensed that further contact with her could only work to their detriment and withdrew his hand guiltily, using it to shield the hints his body was offering up about the ineffectiveness of his mother's methods. The girl remained silent, yet that faint air of rebelliousness still draped her like a cloak, Charles marveled. The Queen's eyes narrowed.
      "It seems you must count to thirty then, Charles," she said, "since Jacqueline declines to give us her opinion."
      Jacqueline shook her head frantically, causing her enticing bottom to jiggle most alluringly. "No, n-no, I beg you, I b-beg your par-pardon," she quavered.
      "Oui. And you shall beg with even more enthusiasm, and soon, I am quite certain."
      The Queen gestured again, waving Charles a few steps back and Master Whitnell a few steps closer, in a signal that she was weary of the preliminaries and ready to get down to business.
      "With as much vigor, as though this were Charles' bum and him at his most sinful," she instructed the tutor, who smiled and dipped his head to indicate his willingness. Angling his body perpendicular to the target and letting his gaze sweep from the artfully framed nether charms toward the delicately slippered feet of the first female he had ever disciplined. Taking a stance, the teacher raised his right arm enough to allow the twin tongues of leather, secured one on top of the other by a wooden handle that fit his grip perfectly, to trail across his target. He was unaccustomed to the disciplinary arrangement and realized he must practice extreme caution in applying the double strap, lest he endanger the Queen herself. Taking that into account, he adjusted his stance somewhat and, this time, with a word of explanation to his sovereign, allowed the leather to snap against pale flesh with only half the strength he was prepared to use, just to be certain where the lash would fall. It was enough to cause Jacqueline to stiffen her limbs and take a firmer grasp on the chair legs.
      "Come now. Get on with it," the Queen ordered. "I have other matters to see to today and so does Jacqueline. You realize, Charles, sin such as hers must be atoned for by pain and shame to the body and the mind. When Master Whitnell is finished here, Jacqueline will spend the remainder of her day as a living lesson to other worldly young women in my court and the foolish boys who allow themselves to be tempted by them. She will display her well-striped and very sore bottom by standing in the corner outside my chamber door, where all may take note. And she will recite her sin, thank me for spanking her bare bottom and add to it her plea for forgiveness at every chime of the clock until I dismiss her this evening."
      If possible, Charles thought, Jacqueline's body became more rigid than before and her jaw set more determinedly, even as tears trailed down her ashen cheeks. He was no stranger to the fires his tutor could light with a flick of his wrist, but even at his worst, Master Whitnell had never thought of such a fearsome and humbling refinement as the one the Queen proposed. He dreaded it for the girl he lusted over, and yet the very idea was, in some strange fashion, adding to his shamefully eager anticipation of the very event.
      The tutor trailed the simple twin leather tongues languorously across his left palm, and then, with no further warning, drew back his arm and brought the fire-etched strips down with a loud thwack,  scalding a path across Jacqueline's bottom, marking perfectly the upper limits of his work space with a two-inch-wide stripe of pain.
      Charles tensed as though his own body had absorbed the blow, and Jacqueline stiffened across his mother's lap and only just succeeded in biting back a gasp. The young Prince watched the pain mark the surface of flesh and saw the one he was prepared to love for the rest of his life draw her full cheeks into the tightest target possible. Gradually, the maid willed her body to relax and she draped once more over his mother's lap.
      "I was impressed, but apparently Charles was not," the Queen observed. "He thought your efforts not even worthy of a count. Try again," she advised the tutor, who had completed her instructions, in virtually the same place, before the boy found his voice.
      "T-two," he stuttered at the same time Jacqueline drew in a sharp breath and tossed her head of curly ringlets.
      "I think not," Henrietta Maria decided. "But I am sure Jacqueline will forgive your insistence on seeing her punished most thoroughly. At least this once. If you determine to repeat it, however, she may come to harbor less than pleasant memories of you."
      She pulled the girl a trifle more closely in to her body and leaned out of the way of the tutor's strap with a nod, indicating he should continue.
      As for the one undergoing correction, she turned huge brown eyes, sparkling with tears, on the future sovereign. He could not tell if the look was beseeching of mercy or scornful of his failure that  was too late to correct. Then her eyes squinted and her jaw clamped, her body jackknifed as the strap struck and her bare bottom registered another distinct band of fiery red attention. There was not another sound in the room as Charles repeated the number, this time in French, "Deux."
      Whatever pretense  had been at work in the rest of the room, whatever idle chatter had passed among occupants of the space - all was swept away now and every eye was focused on the punishment taking place across the Queen's very lap.
      When the lick Charles would count as "Trois" bit deep, it also bit farther down, hugging the two rapidly-coloring mounds together in a pain-filled embrace at their crest. Opposing arms and legs flew up in a reflexive effort and Jacqueline moaned deep in her throat. The whipping continued at a methodic pace.
      By the time Master Whitnell had stretched out his leathery friend thirteen times, there was no area of the trembling, swollen, ruby globes that had not been treated harshly.
      Jacqueline's moans had given way to shrieks. With each lash  she was quite certain the leather tails were stripping away a swath of protective skin and leaving her bottom raw and aching. She had not fallen off the Queen's lap, though she had certainly thrashed about enough in an effort to escape the pain.. Yet, Henrietta Maria managed to keep a firm grasp on her midsection and had even secured her hands at the small of her back  when they sought to provide protection.
      "You must rest, Master Whitnell," the Queen commanded and the tutor took himself off to taste the wine that had been poured, liberally, for him earlier. He also divested himself of his coat and then proceeded to roll his cuffs in such manner that his arm might, conceivably, perform even more effectively, although Charles did not see how he could possibly strike with additional force.
      He would have given a great deal for wine himself, but while his mother nodded at a page to bring her own glass forward, she gave instructions that he should taste only lukewarm water, lest he forget his numbers again and create another unfortunate situation for Jacqueline.
      The wine presented a dilemma for the Queen, however, who was discovering the young woman lying across her lap was quite determined to free her hands from the royal grasp, still, and use them to provide some comfort for herself.
      She considered this for a moment, while the room collected itself and Jacqueline's wails turned to piteous moans and persistent efforts to shake off the sting by dent of squeezing hard together and then frantically wriggling her nether parts.
      The young Prince heard his name called again and managed to raise his eyes from that particular fascinating activity in progress before him..
      " Mon fils, fetch the scarves from my table and bring them here. And be quick about it."
      He stumbled, almost blindly, toward his mother's sleeping chamber and found, with great good fortune, the supple, soft silk scarves she desired in careless profusion on the tabletop where her maid would have been assisting her with her morning's toilette.
      Gathering up a handful, he hurried back to her sitting room and approached the Queen from behind, stepping around Jacqueline's feet, which were now quite bare - her shoes having been kicked off as the strap found its mark on the fat and tenderly quivering little pouch of flesh at the base of her derriere moments before.
      "Kneel there." His mother indicated a position near the sorrowful face of the wicked girl she held captive. He scrambled onto one knee and the girl yearned toward him, begging him wordlessly and then with soft little moaning pleas to help her escape further punishment. He could not bear to look into her pitiful eyes, so he glanced at his mother again, who nodded her approval.
      "Now, take Jacqueline's arm and secure it to the chair leg with a scarf. How many did you bring ... ah, yes, enough, I think, to devote two to the task, and they will be needed, I am quite sure, once Master Whitnell has revived himself. Then secure the other arm, as well. I am quite exhausted with the effort of restraining her stubborn limbs.. I think, in the end, she will thank me that I prevented her foolish efforts to avoid the full penalty for her sins and kept her from earning additional punishment for herself."
      Charles reached for the girl's slender arm, twisted in his mother's grasp against the small of her back, and drew it down, silently praying Jacqueline would understand he had no choice in the matter.
      Unhappily for him, her eyes burned with fury and she did her best to break his hold before he could bind her, but he was a determined future King, and he finally accomplished the task, for her own good.
      When he arose, his mother was casually rearranging Jacqueline's skirts to once again more artfully frame a landscape that now glowed as though lit from within by a fiery sunset.
      "We will begin again," she announced and Master Whitnell took up his strap and returned to his former position.
      "I am not so knowledgeable as you, good sir, in the best way to proceed, but I think it possible you must make a slight alteration in your approach. First, bring me a pillow," she directed with a nod toward the chaise lounge drawn up before the sparkling window across her chamber. When the school master returned with it, she gave new instructions. "The stool is helpful, but I require more height. I pray you, help me make use of the pillow after you have placed it atop the stool."
      The effort, awkward in the accomplishment since, under no circumstances, must the male commoner hand come in contact with the royal foot itself, was finally completed, and the hapless bare-bottomed maid found herself bent even more sharply in two, with her tortured and defenseless bottom turned as much skyward as possible. In that position, the deliciously plump twin mounds revealed a thin band of hitherto-protected skin where, technically, buttock became thigh. It was a stretch of territory Charles could testify was sensitive in the extreme.
      His mother's fingernails traced suddenly white paths through red bottom flesh from top to bottom as Jacqueline gasped tearfully at the new assault and tightened every muscle in her body. Then, using one digit only, Henrietta Maria moved back and forth across that vulnerable and pale path from one side to the other.
      "This is the place where instruction tends to be most effective, I believe, Master Whitnell. See that the lesson is not wasted but is driven home in such fashion that it shall be remembered for some days --, no, let us rather say 'years,' -- in the future."
      "Wait," Jacqueline pleaded on a frantic scream and a swift upward bend of her knees. It was a defensive gesture that had to be undertaken by anyone with a sense of self-preservation but one that clearly fell short of the goal. The move tested his mother's patience, however, and Charles' eyes widened while he licked his lips in appreciation as the Queen grimly and briskly spanked the flesh held captive over her lap with her hard hand. Jacqueline protested with a full throat and a vain effort to free her own hands, but Henrietta Maria only increased the energy she brought to the task.
      "Stop that immediately, you ungrateful girl," she commanded, punctuating each word with a half dozen lightning-fast, sharp smacks, but Jacqueline continued to kick her feet back frantically toward her arched bottom.
      "Bind her, lest she add the guilt of striking her Queen," Henrietta Maria ordered Charles and he stepped forward, once again. This time he managed to wrap the trim ankles together and then to connect them, with a long leash-like use of a scarf, to the cross piece holding the legs of Her Majesty's chair together.
      There was nowhere for the frantic Jacqueline to go. No escape she could make. No defense she could offer. No sting she could diminish. And she could thank Charles for her helpless condition. He knew it was true and was shamed in the knowledge, almost as much as he was excited by it.
      "Concentrate your efforts, Master Whitnell. Just there. At the crease that is still so white and clearly undisciplined. And do not be deterred by any sound this foolish girl makes. She knows precisely what she deserves."
      The tutor was as obedient as though he feared he might experience the same fate if he faltered in any way. As a result, Charles had to shout the numbers leading to twenty to make himself heard over Jacqueline's shrieks and pleas and empty promises. His earlier pity for her began to dim and he wondered, forgetting past performances of his own, if anyone with so little self-control might not deserve the punishment she was receiving. Indeed, it struck him as quite miraculous that his mother countenanced some of the sacrilege the girl screamed as Master Whitnell's strap came down eight times, in that most tender of spaces, with all the vigor and determination he could call to the task.
      Charles could only assume it required all Her Majesty's concentration to keep the girl pulled in tightly enough to inhibit efforts that otherwise might have sent them both tumbling to the floor. 
      When the young prince shouted "Vingt," his mother signaled for respite, once more, and Master Whitnell traded hands with the strap and wiped the sweat from his forehead and upper lip with a small square of linen generously supplied by another of the Queen's maids.
      "You must be weary, sir, but I pray you, continue on as you have begun and let her have a fresh taste now from that division of her bottom in two down to her knees. Can you accomplish that in ten stripes, think you, Master Whitnell?"
      "I am quite certain of it, Your Majesty," the tutor said with a bow and took a step closer, the better to inspect his handiwork. "It might be best to have salve and bandages ready. Her cheeks seem ready to weep if she insists on fighting the strap and causes me to apply a fresh lick to a vulnerable spot," he said. "See here," he pointed to a particularly tender area in the crease that had seen more than its share of attention in the last few moments. Immediately the Queen's sharp-nailed fingers scraped across the area and Jacqueline's sobs, which had been scaled back to some degree during the respite, rose to a piercing shriek and a babble of fresh pleas. Charles' pulse raced and he felt far too warm.
      "Not th-there," Jacqueline wept piteously, shaking her head wildly and trying to sink down into the Queen's lap and away from her merciless finger. "I'm s-sorry. Pl-please."
      The queen sighed and withdrew her hand, then reached down to grasp the girl's chin, slick with tears and the additional moisture from her mouth and nose, and turn it to the side and up toward her in an awkward stretch.
      "Have you had enough, my dear?"
      "Y-yes, oh y-yes, Your Maj-majesty," she sobbed pitifully.
      "Then bear these last you earned by you stubbornness with dignity and gratitude and you may escape more. Show me you welcome chastisement for your sin, rather than trying to escape it. Ask Master Whitnell to spank you again and encourage him to do his best job."
      The young woman's body shuddered at the fresh assault on her pride, and Charles took note, realizing she was broken and studying every hint of that new attitude.
      She was, finally, submissive. He was fascinated.
      It took a moment for Jacqueline to complete the process of yielding, to abandon  her defenses while acknowledging her fault, but as the clock on the Queen's bureau chimed the hour, the maid won the battle to relax her taut muscles, allowing her scalded, freshly blistered bottom to open fully for well-merited punishment. Her voice, raw from her shrieks and pleas, framed the request in a childish whisper and she obeyed: " Pl-please spank my b-bottom h-hard, Master Wh-whitnell."
      He complied with the request and Jacqueline sobbed piteously, but she no longer fought and she even managed to request the next strokes. In return, the Queen and Whitnell were kind, allowing her time to find her voice, particularly when the strap found the most tender line  and she found it impossible to omit pleas for mercy from the request for punishment. That occurred at Charles' mouthing of "Twenty-five."
      Her young skin held firm, although it was as swollen and puffed up and angry a red as anyone in the room had ever witnessed, and the final five were delivered on virgin territory down her snow-white thighs.
      There was a moment of relative silence after the final stripe was added and Jacqueline had given herself over to sobs that shook her body but were held captive in her raw throat.
      "Release her," Henrietta Maria ordered, but when Charles would have hurried to do her bidding, she turned cold eyes on him and he withdrew, trying to contain his own shiver and shudder as Master Whitnell bent to the task.
      "Touch her," the Queen ordered. The young Prince closed his eyes and prayed for a steady hand, then took the requisite steps to his mother's side and laid his palms, as gently as possible, on the scarlet crowns of Jacqueline's bottom. "Do you think her still cold?" his mother demanded.
      He shook his head and mumbled a negative, wishing desperately that he could somehow soothe the girl and yet wondering what it would be like to press his beardless boy's cheek to her freshly bruised nether one. He throbbed afresh under garments that offered scant  disguise for his interest and forced his hands to withdraw, stepping back
      His mother's imperious voice continued. "You will never touch her again; or she, you. You know well that part of the sin is yours and I promise you that should I ever hear of another such scene, it will be you who suffers most. Do you understand me?"
      Charles dropped to one knee, head bent, and raised what he hoped was a penitent face to his mother, just as Whitnell loosed Jacqueline's final bond and helped her to her feet. Her trembling hands hovered over her well-punished bottom for a moment as she found her balance, but she had learned her lesson well, and those same hands gathered her skirts more firmly at her waist as she turned a shamed face to the Queen and even managed an unsteady curtsy, with the tutor's aid.
      "I beg your pardon, most humbly, Your Majesty, and thank you for calling me to account for my sins. They - they will not be repeated," she promised as new tears streamed down her cheeks.
      For just a moment, the Queen's visage softened and she reached out to wipe away the new salty drops. "Your mother would be proud," she said. "Pray to be delivered from new temptation, and busy yourself far away from my son. He has learned an important lesson today, as well. I trust neither of you will ever forget it."
      And indeed, Charles did not.
      He was a man changed forever.
      
      
      


2 comments:

Tabitha Black said...

"Writing the spanking scene" is a brilliant series; thank you for bringing it to my attention!

Rollin said...

You are very welcome, Tabitha. There will be more.