Intricate patterns of frost melted away under my hands firmly pressed against the window of my third story flat, and I watched them turning to drops and rivulets in silence while he unlaced the corset that bound my waist and breasts. Every now and then a warm finger would tease its way under the laced edge of my chemise, making the nerves under my skin flare with excitement.
My hands began to slip down the window, and he gently but insistently placed them back at shoulder height, all the while nibbling at the thin, flushing skin at the curve where my neck becomes my shoulder. I had been standing here for nearly half an hour in silence upon his command after he had removed my dress, and I could feel the muscles in my arms begin to ache with weariness. But I dare not move, dare not displease him. No, I had learned my lesson too well earlier in the day, and my tender flesh bore the evidence of his chastisement.
The thought of that lesson earlier in the day made my legs tremble: his hands had caressed and pinched my voluptuous thighs, leading me to falsely believe that I would get away with my disobedience. I had explained, stutteringly, that I had simply misunderstood, and that had I known what he'd expected I would have willingly -- nay, eagerly! -- complied. He merely repeated his demand that I lift my skirts and petticoats, pull down my bloomers, and bend over his knees to take the discipline of his hands in silence. So when he had begun with the pinches, I let escape a little laugh of nervous relief. I felt his body go tense with his sigh, and immediately felt the sting of his disappointment squarely across both my ass cheeks in quick succession.
I had let out an involuntary yelp, but then bit my lip in an effort to control myself as he slapped my bottom so rapidly and with increasing fervor that I knew his hand had to be stinging when he stopped. There was such a prickling rush of warmth that settled into a steady pulsing. I could feel the blush spread up my spine as his hand slid over and across the contours of my naked thighs, but this time I kept silent.
The respite didn't last more than a few seconds before he was striking me again, but that time with the flat back of my own tortoiseshell hairbrush. Each sharp blow had echoed in the bedchamber and rushed back at me, the sound increasing my anguish as my thighs grew hotter. I wanted so much to cry out, to beg him to stop, to tell him I'd learned my lesson...but at the same time I found an unexpected fire kindling between my legs. Small beads of sweat had gathered in the curve at the small of my back, and I unconsciously flinched away from his ministrations.
He had paused only long enough to grasp my hips in both his strong hands and seat me squarely across his lap before he applied the brush again. I was so distraught that I barely registered the rigid bulge pressing into the front of my thighs and the soft abrasion of his wool trousers on my tender flesh. Each ass cheek and thigh received several quick and hard blows before I caught myself moaning with the effort to stay put, my slit growing increasingly slick with excitement, my hips beginning to push up and back into each stroke of the brush.
He had paused, and I had barely registered his murmured question until he brought me back to him with one sharp slap by the palm of his hand.
"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, sternly.
"Y-yes, sir," I managed, riding waves of stinging pain and incredible longing.
"And what have you learned, my beauty?" he purred.
"That I should never doubt or question you, sir," I had replied breathlessly, feeling my nipples grow even harder at the sudden rush of electric energy that flowed through me, numbing the pain of my backside.
He had slid me off his lap and I had stayed there, facedown on the bed, awaiting his instructions. His lips, usually so welcomingly warm on my skin in these winter months, now burned hot on my skin as they soothed the rising welts on my thighs.
