What could it mean? Surely this Sir Guy did not mean to hurt her—truly to hurt her, who had never done him wrong?
Anne thought about the prospect, and the vision that came into her mind’s eye, of her punishment, along with her friend Alianore, by Sister Marie, disquieted her even more than the thought of the pain her betrothed might wish to inflict by, say, slapping her face. The vision of Alianore’s bare bottom, striped by the blows of the birch, delivered for telling one of her naughty stories within earshot of sister Sister Jehana, of the tender cheeks squirming uncontrollably over the punishment block in Sister Marie’s study, while Anne looked on, knowing that she would be next because she had supported Alianore in her misdeed, giggling at the story—troubled Anne even more here and now than it had then, though it had troubled Anne greatly there in Sister Marie’s study.
The vision troubled her, because Anne had felt pleasure, watching her friend beaten.
Then, even worse, she had felt pleasure while she herself was birched—terrible pleasure that did not leave her when the birching had finished, but seemed to grow all the greater, and to spread to the front of her private places, so that she had to rub her legs together in bed, and to try to squeeze her muscles there to assuage it somehow, until she fell into an unquiet sleep, in which she dreamed of Sister Marie, and of the king and his knights, birching her and Alianore together, and then making them touch themselves upon their private parts while everyone in the kingdom watched.
In the morning, she had awoken with her hand there, and had pulled it away guiltily but reluctantly, though Sister Marie had told the pupils time and time again that if a girl should touch her private part she would invite the devil to take up residence in her breast.Buy it at Amazon by clicking here!
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