“You can’t, I’m so sorry.” She clasped her hands behind her back and hung her head.
She hadn’t had a spanking since the day at the lake. She’d worked hard, obeyed, tried to make the best of the situation she’d found herself in.
But now she feared a bare-bottomed spanking was in her near future.
“I am sorry, Master,” she said again. “Perhaps you will allow me to search for the hen.”
“Raven can do that.” He turned to the dog and spoke in his native dialect. Raven began scooting around, with his nose to the ground. “At least it wasn’t the rooster.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Get in the longhouse, wench. I will see to you in a moment.”
See to you.
She knew what that meant.
She scurried into the longhouse, perspiration popping in her armpits and cleavage.
Misty had been successful and was snacking on his catch.
She left him to it, then rushed to the fire and threw on two stumpy logs, poked at it to bring it back to life. She’d neglected the flames while she’d been playing with Misty and that would double her spanking, for another of her jobs was to keep it burning.
Perhaps if she quickly made Halvor’s supper, he’d go easy on her. Food would maybe mellow his mood.
She grabbed two carrots, a parsnip, and some salted mutton.
“Put that down.”
Her belly clenched, and she tensed all over, especially her buttocks.
“Now!”
She tossed the food back into the basket. “I was making—”
“I do not care what you are making. I care about a lost hen which I paid good coins for and still had another year, at least, of laying.”
Again she hung her head. “I wish it had not happened.”
“What were you doing for it to happen? How can you not notice the sun slipping from the sky?”
“I was...” She could hardly bring herself to give the explanation. She feared it would mean her ass was tanned more severely. “Spit it out, Duna.”
“I was playing with Misty. Well, not playing, Master, teaching him to catch mice. And he was successful, look.” She pointed at him.
Halvor didn’t look. “He is a cat, he can teach himself to catch mice, which means you were wasting time when you had duties to perform.”
“Yes, Master.” She paused and swallowed a lump the size of a crab apple, which had formed in her throat. “I understand that I’ve disappointed you.”
“You have. And when you’d been doing so well at carrying out instructions, slave. I haven’t had to spank you for a long time.”
She could hear the disappointment in his tone. It made his voice deeper, dragged out the last few words of his sentence.
Staring at her feet, she wriggled her toes within her boots. “Bend over the table,” he said.
“I do not understand.”
“I think you do, bend... over... the... table.”
Nerves swirled within her belly, memories of her previous spankings filling her mind. She was glad there was no ginger root in the house.
“Now!” he commanded, his tone sharp.
She started, her eyes misted. Rushing to the table, she pushed a small wooden board used for slicing bread aside and bent over. Her breasts pressed against the surface, and she went up onto her toes.
“Pull up your dress.” He strode to the fire and held his hands to it, as if warming his palms. “Quickly.”
Reaching behind herself, she dragged at the material of her dress, her fingers fumbling in the folds. All the time she had one eye on him, watching what he was doing, wondering how he would spank her. With his shoe? His heated palms? Or did he have some other implement in mind?
“Right up.” He turned to her, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. “You know full well where your punishment will be delivered.”
She did as instructed.
The dress was at her waist, her ass in the air, covered now only by her white undergarments.
He stepped up to her.
Resigned to her fate, she rested her cheek on the cool surface of the table.
A sudden yanking of her undergarments made her gasp and jolt forward.
Cool air slid over her ass cheeks.
The pose was familiar now, bared to him, but still a wave of humiliation went through her. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how she must look to him in this position. So immodest, so vulnerable. He could, and would, do what he wanted with her.
An image of him working his cock by the lake besieged her. She snapped open her eyes, almost afraid he’d see into her mind.
He should have done it in private.
That thought replaced her last one. She’d touched herself, of course she had, but never when anyone would see her. Not that she’d truly understood what all the fuss was about. Her friend in the village had said playing with her cunny made her breathless and she struggled to keep her mind. Apart from that one time with the ginger, almost at this very spot, that hadn’t been Duna’s experience.
“You have added some meat to your bones,” Halvor said, smoothing his warm palms over her ass cheeks. “That pleases me for I was fearful for your strength and stamina come the winter.”
“I only want to please you, Master.” As she said it, she realized she did... mostly. Bringing a smile to his face with a good meal, making him laugh with a comment gave her a warm, mellow feeling inside.
But there was nothing warm and mellow about this moment—she was in for a good spanking, she knew that with every piece of her heart.
“You should be able to take your punishment better,” he said, “with more flesh. But do not fear, that won’t affect my treatment of you.” His work-roughened palms caught on her skin. She imagined his hand spanned her buttock entirely as he rubbed over each one.
“Thank you,” she said.
He set his hands on her shoulders, pressing her into the table. “I do not wish you to move from this position, slave.”
“I won’t, Master.”
“I want my hands free, not keeping you captive.”
“I will do my best.” Her ass was tingling already, as if the skin there knew what was coming. Her heart beat so fast she could feel her pulse in her temple.
“You will understand when I start.”
She bit on her bottom lip. She’d reached the point she just wanted him to begin so it would be over.
There was a small clunk to her right.
He’d picked up the bread board.
She gulped. It was made of solid oak, the surface flat and wide. She was sure it would deliver a wicked spank.
She didn’t have long to ponder the fact.
Whack.
“Ouch!” She jolted, but tried not to push too far up the table. Heat seared over her right cheek.
Whack.
She tried to hold in a yelp, but failed. Her left cheek had taken the strike this time. Now that was on fire, the same as the other one. The wooden board delivered such an even spread of pain.
He used it again, once on each cheek.
Her eyes welled with tears. She curled her fingers so tight her nails dug into her palms. “This is a fitting punishment for your crime. A hen lost her life this eve.”
“I know. I am sorry.” She deserved this. She’d been so neglectful. Poor hen had done nothing wrong. It had trusted her to care for it. She’d let it down.
“Now remember, keep still, this is the start of the real punishment.”
The start?
“Oh, God,” she moaned.
