Story from Privilege Plus 12.
The Bottom Drawer
by Sarah Veitch
Ryka smiled as she selected the nightgown she would wear on her impending honeymoon. It was three long days till she married Thomas. Three days until her traditional English wedding took place! Again the Russian girl looked at the book on marriage customs which she'd bought, and read of lucky horseshoes and rice and confetti. It was all very different to the Russian village where she'd been raised.
"What are you thinking, dear?" Thomas asked her now. He was a mature, intelligent man who, at thirty five, was fifteen years her senior. He'd been her boss at the translations publisher where she'd worked since coming to Britain two years before. Now she hoped he'd also be her boss in the master bedroom, for that was what she suspected she would most enjoy. Her mother had told her little of such intimate matters. So far Thomas had kissed and caressed her but he hadn't presumed...
"I'm wondering which of your English customs you'll want to adopt on Saturday, and thinking of Russian wedding customs," she said, loving the strict smart lines of his formal suit. She so wanted to please.
"I've heard of one old Russian custom," Thomas said slowly. His gaze seemed to become more assessing. "On her wedding night, the Russian bride would be told to choose from a pair of shoes which her bridegroom had left peeking out from under the marital bed. One of them was empty, the other contained a coiled whip." He smiled, then kissed the top of her head in an avuncular gesture. "If she chose the shoe with the whip, she got a taste of it right away."
"And have you bought the shoes?" Ryka murmured, aware of a slight blush colouring her usually pale strong features.
"I have," her fiancé murmured. "So now you must buy the whip." The next day Ryka shyly set off with a very special shopping list. Thomas had written down all the details. He walked determinedly by her side. "I will blush all the time that I'm doing this," she said.
"But it will also excite you," Thomas answered. He took her hand and pressed it lightly. "I'll consider it an act of pure love."
The first two words on the list read 'Riding Shop'. Thomas drove Ryka there and they entered the premises.
"My mare's being skittish. I need a whip to calm her down," he said.
The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow. "Obviously we're not in favour of excessive punishment."
"Nor am I, sir," Thomas replied.
The man brought a selection of whips and placed them in turn in Thomas's hands. He flicked each through the air, then handed them to Ryka. She fingered the knotted cords of nylon braid and new-cut leather. Finally she chose a fibre-glass dressage whip.
"Shall I wrap it?" the assistant asked softly.
Thomas ran the riding crop through his fingers. "No, I'll be using it very soon," he said with an anticipatory wink.
The next item on the list read 'Cook's Store'.
"At least they'll just think I'm going to be baking!" Ryka murmured. "Your bum will be baking if you're naughty," Thomas replied. Ryka blushed and dipped her head for a moment, then gave him a loving little kiss. She knew that men sometimes lovingly chastened their women as part of a consensual erotic arrangement. But hearing him talk like that – and imagining such discipline – still made her go red.
The Cook's Store held everything an amateur chef might need. It also contained the implements which Ryka had been ordered to buy for her own small bottom. Nervously she selected a long wooden spatula and a paddle-sized wooden spoon. Again, Thomas said that there was no need to wrap the thick smooth punishers. "This gives a whole new meaning," he said, "to a girl setting up her bottom drawer!"
Thirdly, Thomas drove her to the maths department of a large scholastic store. There Ryka examined wooden and plastic rulers. When no one was watching, Thomas swished first the plastic and then the wooden one against her skirt-clad cheeks.
"Which hurt the most, love?" he asked consideringly.
"The second one, I think!" Ryka stammered, thrown by the public nature of the lash. Her soft high bottom tingled and the curve between her legs gave an answering lurch. She put the plastic measurer back on the shelf then turned towards the counter.
"Remember," he added, "that when you next feel the ruler you won't be wearing a skirt or underslip or pants."
Finally they made their way to a very adult shop. The two men serving there obviously recognised Thomas.
"Not got Liz with you?" one of them asked.
"We broke up last year," Thomas said.
"So what can we do for you?" the man continued.
"Liz took all our equipment with her. Ryka's here to buy new stuff," Ryka's fiancé replied.
And buy new stuff she did! Ryka dipped her head prettily as the men brought out long whippy canes and Scottish tawses and razor strops and laid them out on the long glass counter. The assistants whisked the thin rattans through the air to show her how they'd sound before they made contact with her completely bare bum. "This one leaves a thin red line, whereas this type creates a wide pink band which glows for longer," the oldest man said with relish. No wonder they called discipline the English vice!
"I think we'd like this rattan," Ryka said nervously at last. She noticed Thomas looking longingly at the leather instruments. "And a four-tailed tawse," she added haltingly, glad to see lust and gratitude entering his eyes. Thomas put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.
"I'll be firm with you," he whispered, "but I'll also be scrupulously fair."
The wedding went well, and at last Ryka's honeymoon night began in earnest. She walked to the hotel's large bridal suite, wondering what awaited her therein. She'd never had full intimacy or even undressed before the opposite gender! And she'd no idea if she could bear the whip or ruler or the tawse.
Thomas was already in the room, putting his suit jacket on a hanger. He rolled up his sleeves then smiled at her expectantly. "Ryka, would you like to choose a shoe?" he asked, indicating his new bride's side of the bed. Ryka looked down. Two black glossy toes peeped out at her. There was no way of telling which was empty and which was full.
"I'll take the right one," she murmured, drawing it out.
She saw immediately that it contained a small coiled whip, a sort of lightweight riding crop. Taking it from its lair, she handed it to Thomas then stepped back.
"You can taste the whip or choose whichever implement you prefer," he offered. Remembering how he'd obviously liked the leather goods, Ryka opted for the four-tailed tawse.
"Fetch it from the suitcase now, and bring it to me," Thomas ordered. He smiled more gently. "When we get home we'll keep such implements in your bottom drawer."
"And will we use them often?" Ryka whispered, her trepidation increasing as the moment of her punishment drew nearer.
"We'll use them whenever the situation warrants it," Thomas said. Then he smiled. "For now you're to be disciplined to maintain the old Russian custom. That is, because you chose the shoe with the disciplinary implement in it you'll get a taste of the tawse." He looked thoughtful, as if remembering her transgressions. "And I'm also going to chasten you for hesitating when it came to buying these self-same punishment tools."
"I was shy about approaching the shopkeepers," Ryka murmured, with an apologetic wince. "I was uncertain."
"Perhaps you'll be more certain when you've a hot sore bottom to sit on," her new husband said.
Ryka looked nervously at him. Next, she looked down at the leather tawse she was still holding.
"Hand me the implement and then lie on your tummy on the bed," Thomas bade. The Russian bride did so, her movements jerky. She wondered how she'd feel about what came next.
"Lift your dress up above your waist," her spouse continued. Ryka reached her small ringed hands back and pulled at her hem until the ankle-length brocade skirt moved away from her haunches. She knew that her equally long petticoat still remained in place.
"Now raise your underskirt," Thomas said. Ryka did so, then felt her husband adjusting the material so that it would stay folded over her back. "Which garment do you think comes off now, Ryka?" he murmured exultantly.
"My panties, sir," Ryka said.
There was a pause. Ryka reminded herself that she was married now, that such acts were allowable. Still she felt very vulnerable and a little scared. "Oh dear, I requested a bare bum and I'm still looking at a fully clothed bum," Thomas said softly. "I'll have to redden it more fully for failing to obey."
"Please don't! It's not that I don't want to... It's just..." After a few more moments of internal struggle, Ryka slowly pulled down her lace-trimmed pants. She lay there on her tummy, knowing that her new husband was staring down at her newly-bared bottom. A bottom that had never before been tawsed or paddled or whipped.
"Good girl," Thomas murmured. She felt the mattress give as he knelt on one side of the bed and pulled back one arm. Ryka knew without looking that that arm contained the tawse. "Would you like to count each stroke out loud and thank me for it?" he asked softly. Ryka nodded into the pillow, but didn't speak. "I'll have a verbal answer, if you please," her new spouse continued. "Good communication is vital between husband and wife."
"Yes, sir," Ryka answered, her feelings of desire and degradation increasing. She pushed her legs more tightly together and waited for the lash to fall. Suddenly heat sizzled across both twitching buttocks. This was a veritable brand! This was lightning in the form of leather! Ryka gasped loudly and started to scramble up from the bed.
"Going someplace?" Thomas asked.
She looked at his face. It showed both sadness and disappointment. "N...no, sir," she gasped out.
Slowly the girl flattened herself to the mattress again. Her hands fluttered by her waist, half wanting to cover her bare bottom.
"Perhaps it would be easier if you gripped the lower rung of the headrest," her thoughtful spouse said. The Russian bride did. The tactile certainty of the wood somehow helped her to control herself. Still, she sucked in her breath as she waited for the second searing stroke.
When it fell, it went lower than lash one. It licked the tender crease at the top of her thighs, and seemed to reverberate through to her belly. Ryka groaned and shook her hips from side to side.
"Only four more to go," Thomas said, "then we'll move on to the second stage of your punishment."
Registering his words, Ryka groaned again. She tried to avoid her next sore taste of the tawse.
"I've accepted the tawse to please you, sir. Can't we go on to the Russian whipping custom?" She hoped that the whip would sting much less.
"We probably could have," Thomas replied. "If you hadn't failed to obey me when I told you to take down your panties. That's why you're due six hard strokes of the tawse."
Ryka nodded into the pillows. She knew that this thrashing would ultimately make her less coy, would help bring her womanly urges to the surface. Her fantasies had always been of dominant older men. That said, it still took lots of willpower for her to ask her spouse nicely for the third tawse lash. When it came, it scorched across the centre of her naked globes. All four leather tongues seemed to flicker out their smarting impact.
"Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!" the Russian girl whimpered. She rolled wildly on to her back, both palms cupping her reddened bum.
After rubbing her tender flesh for a few moments, she recovered herself and peeked curiously over at her man. He was still holding the tawse and was looking down at her impassively.
"It hurts," Ryka said in a plaintive little voice.
"Of course it hurts. It's punishment," her beloved answered.
"But it's our wedding night. We should have... we should have pleasure," Ryka cut in.
"And the pleasure will be all the more strong due to this bum-based stimulus," Thomas replied knowingly. He touched her in her most intimate place till she almost swooned with yearning. Desperate once more to please him she rolled back on to her tummy, presenting him with her hot red arse.
Her husband fondled that same arse for a moan-making moment whilst she forced herself to grip on to the bed's wooden headboard. Then he picked up the tawse and brought it down across her tendensed underswell. Before Ryka could cry out, he'd raised the punisher again and whacked it further up her jerking bottom. Then he placed the final stroke nearer the top of her heated bum.
"Aaah!" Ryka gasped out. Her hands flew back to massage her rump cheeks, but her husband caught her wrists and held them away.
"No, no, my dear. I want you to contemplate how vulnerable your bum is after it's felt the lash. You mustn't protect it."
"Couldn't I just hold it for a second, sir?" Ryka whispered throatily.
"No, but you can come and look at it in the mirror before it receives its whipping," Thomas said.
Curious, Ryka started to rise up from the bed, obediently keeping her hands away from her bare buttocks. As she moved, her skirt and petticoats started to fall down. Helpfully, Thomas took hold of the hems and put them between her nervous fingers. "Keep them up above your waist, sweetheart. We want to be able to see the bottom that we're still chastising," he said.
"Yes, sir," Ryka murmured hesitantly. Part of her wanted to see how crimson her virgin haunches were, to admire her own courage. The other part felt flustered and ashamed.
With Thomas's hand on her upper arm, she marched towards the full-length mirror. There she turned so that her bare bottom faced the glass. Then Ryka took a deep breath and peeked over her shoulder at the chastened orbs.
"They're really red, aren't they?" she whispered, feeling a sense of pride and self-discovery as she surveyed both scarlet hemispheres.
"These little cheeks are about to get even redder," Thomas said.
He walked over to where the whip lay coiled on the floor. Its clean dark lines looked sleek and almost pretty. "Would you like to kiss it, my dear?"
Ryka nodded and pressed her lips slackly against the slender braid. "Shall I hold on to the bedrail again?" she muttered huskily.
"I think so. But we'll put a pillow under your tummy first to make your bottom a more obvious target," her husband said.
Ryka held her breath as he pushed a pillow in place. It tilted her body slightly so that her bum felt even more vulnerable. "Let's see how this works out," Thomas said. The Russian girl felt the bed move and the air currents change and knew that the first whip-stroke was imminent. She wondered how it would feel on already sensitised buttock-flesh.
A moment later she knew that it felt incisively sore! She yelled and rubbed at her cheeks and shoved her belly into the bolster.
"Oh dear. You touched your sore bum without permission; now I'll have to use another pillow," Thomas told her, voice holding a frown. Again the mattress moved, then the girl felt a second pillow being added to the first, raising her globes still further. A moment later she felt the whip connect with her tenderised rump again.
"Aah! How many more?" she gasped out plaintively.
"You mean, 'How many more, sir?'," Thomas corrected. "Respect goes so quickly from a marriage nowadays!"
As if in answer, he applied the riding crop for the third sore time. Ryka howled and drummed her feet against the bed and puckered up the main muscles in her bottom. "Untense that bare arse! I like to whip a nice smooth canvas," her husband said.
Pleasing him would ultimately mean more pleasure for herself so, with difficulty, Ryka obeyed him. She forced her bum to lie still, if not exactly relaxed. God, it was hot! She wanted to smooth cool body lotion into her twin rotundities. She wanted her man to kiss the pain away.
But the kisses would come after the olde worlde Russian whipping. Ryka reminded herself that she'd agreed to this chastisement for their marriage's greater good.
"Please use the whip on my haunches again, sir," she said raggedly.
"Haunches is too coy a word for a married woman," Thomas said.
Ryka twisted her head back to look at him. "I don't understand. What words do you... which words are proper?"
"Say 'I've been a disobedient young wench, sir, and I deserve to get a red hot arse for causing trouble'," Thomas bade.
Eyes downcast, Ryka repeated the words. They set up a fluttering in the secret core below her belly. She so wanted the initiation into womanhood to begin!
"Yes, you're a naughty girl who won't escape whipping," Thomas continued, raising the riding crop. He flicked it against the crease where bum meets thigh. "Where do you think you should get the next lash?" he continued in a conversational voice.
"Anywhere but there, sir!" Ryka replied fervently, still feeling the newest line of erotic anguish. Obligingly, Thomas applied the lash further up. At last he set down the whip and fondled her glowing small buttocks.
"What should I use on you," he whispered, "the next time that you fail to please?"
Ryka thought of the implements they'd bought so far and imagined their effect on her bare bottom. "The wooden spoon which doubles as a paddle, sir," she said excitedly.
"And how will you be displayed for your punishment?" Thomas continued.
"With a..." Ryka writhed about on her tummy, still loath to say the words. "With a completely bare arse."
She felt Thomas's lips brush her hair. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I meant will you lie on the bed or bend over the dressing table or...?"
Ryka envisaged various punitive options which all involved pulling down her pants. "Over the kitchen stool, sir," she said a little breathlessly, remembering the whipping-stools they'd seen in the adult shop.
"And will you count each swish of the paddle out loud after you've received it?" her man continued.
"Yes, sir. And I'll ask nicely for the next!" Ryka said.
"Good girl," Thomas murmured. He turned her over and took her into his arms, his fingers caressing. And Ryka knew that she wouldn't have to ask for anything else.
The Bottom Drawer
by Sarah Veitch
Ryka smiled as she selected the nightgown she would wear on her impending honeymoon. It was three long days till she married Thomas. Three days until her traditional English wedding took place! Again the Russian girl looked at the book on marriage customs which she'd bought, and read of lucky horseshoes and rice and confetti. It was all very different to the Russian village where she'd been raised.
"What are you thinking, dear?" Thomas asked her now. He was a mature, intelligent man who, at thirty five, was fifteen years her senior. He'd been her boss at the translations publisher where she'd worked since coming to Britain two years before. Now she hoped he'd also be her boss in the master bedroom, for that was what she suspected she would most enjoy. Her mother had told her little of such intimate matters. So far Thomas had kissed and caressed her but he hadn't presumed...
"I'm wondering which of your English customs you'll want to adopt on Saturday, and thinking of Russian wedding customs," she said, loving the strict smart lines of his formal suit. She so wanted to please.
"I've heard of one old Russian custom," Thomas said slowly. His gaze seemed to become more assessing. "On her wedding night, the Russian bride would be told to choose from a pair of shoes which her bridegroom had left peeking out from under the marital bed. One of them was empty, the other contained a coiled whip." He smiled, then kissed the top of her head in an avuncular gesture. "If she chose the shoe with the whip, she got a taste of it right away."
"And have you bought the shoes?" Ryka murmured, aware of a slight blush colouring her usually pale strong features.
"I have," her fiancé murmured. "So now you must buy the whip." The next day Ryka shyly set off with a very special shopping list. Thomas had written down all the details. He walked determinedly by her side. "I will blush all the time that I'm doing this," she said.
"But it will also excite you," Thomas answered. He took her hand and pressed it lightly. "I'll consider it an act of pure love."
The first two words on the list read 'Riding Shop'. Thomas drove Ryka there and they entered the premises.
"My mare's being skittish. I need a whip to calm her down," he said.
The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow. "Obviously we're not in favour of excessive punishment."
"Nor am I, sir," Thomas replied.
The man brought a selection of whips and placed them in turn in Thomas's hands. He flicked each through the air, then handed them to Ryka. She fingered the knotted cords of nylon braid and new-cut leather. Finally she chose a fibre-glass dressage whip.
"Shall I wrap it?" the assistant asked softly.
Thomas ran the riding crop through his fingers. "No, I'll be using it very soon," he said with an anticipatory wink.
The next item on the list read 'Cook's Store'.
"At least they'll just think I'm going to be baking!" Ryka murmured. "Your bum will be baking if you're naughty," Thomas replied. Ryka blushed and dipped her head for a moment, then gave him a loving little kiss. She knew that men sometimes lovingly chastened their women as part of a consensual erotic arrangement. But hearing him talk like that – and imagining such discipline – still made her go red.
The Cook's Store held everything an amateur chef might need. It also contained the implements which Ryka had been ordered to buy for her own small bottom. Nervously she selected a long wooden spatula and a paddle-sized wooden spoon. Again, Thomas said that there was no need to wrap the thick smooth punishers. "This gives a whole new meaning," he said, "to a girl setting up her bottom drawer!"
Thirdly, Thomas drove her to the maths department of a large scholastic store. There Ryka examined wooden and plastic rulers. When no one was watching, Thomas swished first the plastic and then the wooden one against her skirt-clad cheeks.
"Which hurt the most, love?" he asked consideringly.
"The second one, I think!" Ryka stammered, thrown by the public nature of the lash. Her soft high bottom tingled and the curve between her legs gave an answering lurch. She put the plastic measurer back on the shelf then turned towards the counter.
"Remember," he added, "that when you next feel the ruler you won't be wearing a skirt or underslip or pants."
Finally they made their way to a very adult shop. The two men serving there obviously recognised Thomas.
"Not got Liz with you?" one of them asked.
"We broke up last year," Thomas said.
"So what can we do for you?" the man continued.
"Liz took all our equipment with her. Ryka's here to buy new stuff," Ryka's fiancé replied.
And buy new stuff she did! Ryka dipped her head prettily as the men brought out long whippy canes and Scottish tawses and razor strops and laid them out on the long glass counter. The assistants whisked the thin rattans through the air to show her how they'd sound before they made contact with her completely bare bum. "This one leaves a thin red line, whereas this type creates a wide pink band which glows for longer," the oldest man said with relish. No wonder they called discipline the English vice!
"I think we'd like this rattan," Ryka said nervously at last. She noticed Thomas looking longingly at the leather instruments. "And a four-tailed tawse," she added haltingly, glad to see lust and gratitude entering his eyes. Thomas put his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him.
"I'll be firm with you," he whispered, "but I'll also be scrupulously fair."
The wedding went well, and at last Ryka's honeymoon night began in earnest. She walked to the hotel's large bridal suite, wondering what awaited her therein. She'd never had full intimacy or even undressed before the opposite gender! And she'd no idea if she could bear the whip or ruler or the tawse.
Thomas was already in the room, putting his suit jacket on a hanger. He rolled up his sleeves then smiled at her expectantly. "Ryka, would you like to choose a shoe?" he asked, indicating his new bride's side of the bed. Ryka looked down. Two black glossy toes peeped out at her. There was no way of telling which was empty and which was full.
"I'll take the right one," she murmured, drawing it out.
She saw immediately that it contained a small coiled whip, a sort of lightweight riding crop. Taking it from its lair, she handed it to Thomas then stepped back.
"You can taste the whip or choose whichever implement you prefer," he offered. Remembering how he'd obviously liked the leather goods, Ryka opted for the four-tailed tawse.
"Fetch it from the suitcase now, and bring it to me," Thomas ordered. He smiled more gently. "When we get home we'll keep such implements in your bottom drawer."
"And will we use them often?" Ryka whispered, her trepidation increasing as the moment of her punishment drew nearer.
"We'll use them whenever the situation warrants it," Thomas said. Then he smiled. "For now you're to be disciplined to maintain the old Russian custom. That is, because you chose the shoe with the disciplinary implement in it you'll get a taste of the tawse." He looked thoughtful, as if remembering her transgressions. "And I'm also going to chasten you for hesitating when it came to buying these self-same punishment tools."
"I was shy about approaching the shopkeepers," Ryka murmured, with an apologetic wince. "I was uncertain."
"Perhaps you'll be more certain when you've a hot sore bottom to sit on," her new husband said.
Ryka looked nervously at him. Next, she looked down at the leather tawse she was still holding.
"Hand me the implement and then lie on your tummy on the bed," Thomas bade. The Russian bride did so, her movements jerky. She wondered how she'd feel about what came next.
"Lift your dress up above your waist," her spouse continued. Ryka reached her small ringed hands back and pulled at her hem until the ankle-length brocade skirt moved away from her haunches. She knew that her equally long petticoat still remained in place.
"Now raise your underskirt," Thomas said. Ryka did so, then felt her husband adjusting the material so that it would stay folded over her back. "Which garment do you think comes off now, Ryka?" he murmured exultantly.
"My panties, sir," Ryka said.
There was a pause. Ryka reminded herself that she was married now, that such acts were allowable. Still she felt very vulnerable and a little scared. "Oh dear, I requested a bare bum and I'm still looking at a fully clothed bum," Thomas said softly. "I'll have to redden it more fully for failing to obey."
"Please don't! It's not that I don't want to... It's just..." After a few more moments of internal struggle, Ryka slowly pulled down her lace-trimmed pants. She lay there on her tummy, knowing that her new husband was staring down at her newly-bared bottom. A bottom that had never before been tawsed or paddled or whipped.
"Good girl," Thomas murmured. She felt the mattress give as he knelt on one side of the bed and pulled back one arm. Ryka knew without looking that that arm contained the tawse. "Would you like to count each stroke out loud and thank me for it?" he asked softly. Ryka nodded into the pillow, but didn't speak. "I'll have a verbal answer, if you please," her new spouse continued. "Good communication is vital between husband and wife."
"Yes, sir," Ryka answered, her feelings of desire and degradation increasing. She pushed her legs more tightly together and waited for the lash to fall. Suddenly heat sizzled across both twitching buttocks. This was a veritable brand! This was lightning in the form of leather! Ryka gasped loudly and started to scramble up from the bed.
"Going someplace?" Thomas asked.
She looked at his face. It showed both sadness and disappointment. "N...no, sir," she gasped out.
Slowly the girl flattened herself to the mattress again. Her hands fluttered by her waist, half wanting to cover her bare bottom.
"Perhaps it would be easier if you gripped the lower rung of the headrest," her thoughtful spouse said. The Russian bride did. The tactile certainty of the wood somehow helped her to control herself. Still, she sucked in her breath as she waited for the second searing stroke.
When it fell, it went lower than lash one. It licked the tender crease at the top of her thighs, and seemed to reverberate through to her belly. Ryka groaned and shook her hips from side to side.
"Only four more to go," Thomas said, "then we'll move on to the second stage of your punishment."
Registering his words, Ryka groaned again. She tried to avoid her next sore taste of the tawse.
"I've accepted the tawse to please you, sir. Can't we go on to the Russian whipping custom?" She hoped that the whip would sting much less.
"We probably could have," Thomas replied. "If you hadn't failed to obey me when I told you to take down your panties. That's why you're due six hard strokes of the tawse."
Ryka nodded into the pillows. She knew that this thrashing would ultimately make her less coy, would help bring her womanly urges to the surface. Her fantasies had always been of dominant older men. That said, it still took lots of willpower for her to ask her spouse nicely for the third tawse lash. When it came, it scorched across the centre of her naked globes. All four leather tongues seemed to flicker out their smarting impact.
"Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!" the Russian girl whimpered. She rolled wildly on to her back, both palms cupping her reddened bum.
After rubbing her tender flesh for a few moments, she recovered herself and peeked curiously over at her man. He was still holding the tawse and was looking down at her impassively.
"It hurts," Ryka said in a plaintive little voice.
"Of course it hurts. It's punishment," her beloved answered.
"But it's our wedding night. We should have... we should have pleasure," Ryka cut in.
"And the pleasure will be all the more strong due to this bum-based stimulus," Thomas replied knowingly. He touched her in her most intimate place till she almost swooned with yearning. Desperate once more to please him she rolled back on to her tummy, presenting him with her hot red arse.
"Aaah!" Ryka gasped out. Her hands flew back to massage her rump cheeks, but her husband caught her wrists and held them away.
"No, no, my dear. I want you to contemplate how vulnerable your bum is after it's felt the lash. You mustn't protect it."
"Couldn't I just hold it for a second, sir?" Ryka whispered throatily.
"No, but you can come and look at it in the mirror before it receives its whipping," Thomas said.
Curious, Ryka started to rise up from the bed, obediently keeping her hands away from her bare buttocks. As she moved, her skirt and petticoats started to fall down. Helpfully, Thomas took hold of the hems and put them between her nervous fingers. "Keep them up above your waist, sweetheart. We want to be able to see the bottom that we're still chastising," he said.
"Yes, sir," Ryka murmured hesitantly. Part of her wanted to see how crimson her virgin haunches were, to admire her own courage. The other part felt flustered and ashamed.
With Thomas's hand on her upper arm, she marched towards the full-length mirror. There she turned so that her bare bottom faced the glass. Then Ryka took a deep breath and peeked over her shoulder at the chastened orbs.
"They're really red, aren't they?" she whispered, feeling a sense of pride and self-discovery as she surveyed both scarlet hemispheres.
"These little cheeks are about to get even redder," Thomas said.
He walked over to where the whip lay coiled on the floor. Its clean dark lines looked sleek and almost pretty. "Would you like to kiss it, my dear?"
Ryka nodded and pressed her lips slackly against the slender braid. "Shall I hold on to the bedrail again?" she muttered huskily.
"I think so. But we'll put a pillow under your tummy first to make your bottom a more obvious target," her husband said.
Ryka held her breath as he pushed a pillow in place. It tilted her body slightly so that her bum felt even more vulnerable. "Let's see how this works out," Thomas said. The Russian girl felt the bed move and the air currents change and knew that the first whip-stroke was imminent. She wondered how it would feel on already sensitised buttock-flesh.
A moment later she knew that it felt incisively sore! She yelled and rubbed at her cheeks and shoved her belly into the bolster.
"Oh dear. You touched your sore bum without permission; now I'll have to use another pillow," Thomas told her, voice holding a frown. Again the mattress moved, then the girl felt a second pillow being added to the first, raising her globes still further. A moment later she felt the whip connect with her tenderised rump again.
"Aah! How many more?" she gasped out plaintively.
"You mean, 'How many more, sir?'," Thomas corrected. "Respect goes so quickly from a marriage nowadays!"
As if in answer, he applied the riding crop for the third sore time. Ryka howled and drummed her feet against the bed and puckered up the main muscles in her bottom. "Untense that bare arse! I like to whip a nice smooth canvas," her husband said.
Pleasing him would ultimately mean more pleasure for herself so, with difficulty, Ryka obeyed him. She forced her bum to lie still, if not exactly relaxed. God, it was hot! She wanted to smooth cool body lotion into her twin rotundities. She wanted her man to kiss the pain away.
But the kisses would come after the olde worlde Russian whipping. Ryka reminded herself that she'd agreed to this chastisement for their marriage's greater good.
"Please use the whip on my haunches again, sir," she said raggedly.
"Haunches is too coy a word for a married woman," Thomas said.
Ryka twisted her head back to look at him. "I don't understand. What words do you... which words are proper?"
"Say 'I've been a disobedient young wench, sir, and I deserve to get a red hot arse for causing trouble'," Thomas bade.
Eyes downcast, Ryka repeated the words. They set up a fluttering in the secret core below her belly. She so wanted the initiation into womanhood to begin!
"Yes, you're a naughty girl who won't escape whipping," Thomas continued, raising the riding crop. He flicked it against the crease where bum meets thigh. "Where do you think you should get the next lash?" he continued in a conversational voice.
"Anywhere but there, sir!" Ryka replied fervently, still feeling the newest line of erotic anguish. Obligingly, Thomas applied the lash further up. At last he set down the whip and fondled her glowing small buttocks.
"What should I use on you," he whispered, "the next time that you fail to please?"
Ryka thought of the implements they'd bought so far and imagined their effect on her bare bottom. "The wooden spoon which doubles as a paddle, sir," she said excitedly.
"And how will you be displayed for your punishment?" Thomas continued.
"With a..." Ryka writhed about on her tummy, still loath to say the words. "With a completely bare arse."
She felt Thomas's lips brush her hair. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I meant will you lie on the bed or bend over the dressing table or...?"
Ryka envisaged various punitive options which all involved pulling down her pants. "Over the kitchen stool, sir," she said a little breathlessly, remembering the whipping-stools they'd seen in the adult shop.
"And will you count each swish of the paddle out loud after you've received it?" her man continued.
"Yes, sir. And I'll ask nicely for the next!" Ryka said.
"Good girl," Thomas murmured. He turned her over and took her into his arms, his fingers caressing. And Ryka knew that she wouldn't have to ask for anything else.
