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the boys
in her area, and once she’d established that, few of them came
around her. She’d not had to submit much in her life, except
perhaps to her father, and this man was far from her father. He was
a stranger to her, and he was requiring her to do something she had
no interest in doing, yet she had an obligation to obey him. And
she knew that if she didn’t, he wouldn’t hesitate to send her back
to the sideboard to fetch that damnable leather thing
again.
    The tears she’d worked so hard to dry
up were returning again, but she did her best not to let him see
that as she did as he told her to do, and moved her legs a bit
apart. The tunics weren’t very far up her legs, so they prevented
her from spreading them very far. His voice was surprisingly
gentle, almost insultingly so, when he said, “Amber, pull your
tunics up to your waist. I want to see your lovely punished bottom.
And then spread your legs well apart for me, and bend
over.”
    She’d never wanted to beg anyone for
anything in her life, but she desperately wanted to beg him not to
make her do this now.
    But she didn’t. She stood up and took
a deep breath, then did exactly, to the letter, what he
asked.
    Jesu, she was magnificent. And Piers
wasn’t just referring to the glorious portrait in front of him at
all, although it definitely was that. She’d submitted beautifully.
He could tell that she hated him for every second of it, and that
it had been sublimely hard for her, but she’d done it anyway. He
knew that if he hadn’t taken that blade away from her, that he
might well be dead at the first given opportunity, and he might
well still be in the future, but he’d take his chances with the
little lady. What was life worth without a little risk?
    He leaned forward, and she did, too,
until he cautioned low, “Stand still.” His callused fingertips not
really even able to discern the fineness of the creamy skin on the
inside of those thighs, which he decided right then and there that
he would definitely need to see strapped in the near future, maybe
the next time she was naughty.
    And he knew, with Amber, there would
always be a next time.
    Piers let his fingers delve gently
between the folds that offered themselves so eagerly to him,
dipping himself into the creaminess he had been hoping to find, but
wasn’t at all sure would be there. Some women warmed to a
punishment in a way that others didn’t. They didn’t want to. No one
really wanted their hind end roasted as he’d just done to hers. It
hurt, and it hurt badly; they cried the same tears, experienced the
same level of agony that anyone else did. Still, to an infrequent
few, it triggered something in them, something primal and
pleasurable that mingled with the pain, and she was, as he’d hoped,
one of those rarest of gems.
    And, he learned, as he probed further,
closing his eyes and reveling in both the heated moistness of her
as well as her barely discernible whimpers of pure, unadulterated
stress, that she was a virgin, completely and thoroughly
intact.
    He withdrew his hand quickly, with a
shudder that was embarrassingly, humiliatingly close to completion,
standing and turning away from her to go to the window. “You may
leave now.”
    Confused, humiliated almost beyond
bearing, Amber straightened and left the room as fast as she could,
running down to her room, ignoring Mrs. Tulane’s calls from behind
her and bawling her heart out onto the rough rope bed and straw
mattress she’d been given.
    Mrs. Tulane let herself in to the
girl’s room, which wasn’t much more than a closet, wondering what
it was that had happened in the master’s room. He wasn’t the sort
to abuse girls, really, unlike a lot of the higher ups. He amused
himself with them, yes, but they usually ended up the better for
it, like this one seemed to be. She’d helped run his households for
quite some time and had never had a complaint from any of his
chits, much less seen one go crying from his chambers