Read an Excerpt
Beatrice left it for awhile. But after I'd come out and had dried she offered to massage some lotion over my backside. I was still naked, lying on my stomach, as she got up and kneeled on the mattress over my legs. My buttocks were still quite sore, but the cool rose-scented lotion spread out under her gentle hands took some of the heat away.
"I do not believe you, Isabeau," she said bluntly.
"What do you mean?" I asked, lost for understanding at the accusation.
"I mean, there has to be more to it than that," she said. "To be spanked so thoroughly, and by a teacher who was a stranger until today ... his hand chastising your bare flesh? Oh, this must have been very embarrassing."
"Yes, certainly it was," I said softly.
"And then be made to keep your panties lowered. Sister Edna could have walked in at any moment. You say that is all there is to it. I think not."
I turned my head and gave her an exasperated look. "There is a point to this observation you make?"
She nodded, looking down very thoughtfully as she continued to massage. "Either you are very angry and very contrite. Or you are stirred at the same time by this stern M. Hunt."
My cheeks prickled hotly. Trying to ignore this, I gave her a flippant reply, "Don't expect to pass psychology class with your usual breezy grapple, Beatrice."
She poured some more lotion into a palm. "There is no shame, you know. Some muse that it is natural to feel this way. For M. Hunt to fluster the carnal senses during chastisement is a superior chastisement. A control, a discipline, and a reminder of your vulnerability for the passion incited by your chastiser."
"Where do you hear these things, myfriend? Surely not from the nuns."
She smiled. "Ah, there are some passages from the letters that my Gerald sends that I do not share."
I squealed with amusement. "Beatrice! Here you are attempting to coax me into some confession, when it is you and your decadent suitor who are in need of confession! Such shame, my dear."
"Shame? No. I am no more pious to this faith that is foreign to my constitution than you."
With this said she gave my buttocks a smart slap and moved off my legs. She lay down on her back atop the mattress and crossing her arms behind her neck, looked at me.
"Ouch," I muttered, rubbing the spot she'd slapped. "Wait until it's your turn to bend over M. Hunt's lap!"
"I don't think that will happen," she said. She smiled brightly then, and lifted a brow. "M. Hunt has chosen."
"Chosen? What do you mean?"