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Her hoarse, rasping gasps eventually gave way to measured, steady breathing, the thrumming of her heart eased, and after half an hour of quiet conversation about various subjects not related to the bedchamber ... and many long stares into each other's eyes ... he reminded her that there was still much to be done that evening. He helped her stand, eyed her carefully to ensure that she had recovered enough to continue, then affectionately slapped her still-aching rump and sent her back to her corner.
Rather than face the stonework, this time he had her kneel facing outwards with her fingers interlaced behind her head, knees a wide distance apart, and her ankles crossed. The slashing marks that the tawse had left on her rear were painful, searing brands upon her pale skin that she dearly wished to rub with her hands, but instead she held her chin high, stretched her elbows up and away from her body, and kept her back straight.
She would stay in that pose for as long as her husband required, until she collapsed from exhaustion, in truth, but she trusted that he would never keep her in such a demanding position for long. When he did command it of her, however, the exposed, lewd nature of her posture always renewed her ardor in short order. She had only just knelt, and yet she already could feel her core warming despite the fact that her bottom and sex still throbbed from the buggering and lashing they had received. While it was tempting to watch her husband's nude, muscular form while he disassembled the bench, she knew he would be carefully observing her every move, and thus she resolved to keep her eyes pointed straight ahead.
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