Otis Davenport clearly led the pack. It wasn't his place at the head of the table that set him apart, but the aura of command that enveloped him like a mantle of armor. As she had before, she sensed Otis would be fair and evenhanded; he would demand a full quarter, but wouldn't exact a cent more.
Emma respected Otis. She loved Dan. The other man scared her.
She didn't know his name, but the instant she'd entered the room, his animosity filled the chamber like a malevolent fog. The malice in his eyes had nearly made her abandon her decision and flee from the room.
But she wasn't a coward or a shirker, and she was determined to atone for the violation of trust and accept whatever punishment Rod and Cane deemed fair.
Unfortunately it wouldn't change the situation between her and Dan. In baring her bottom, she'd exposed her heart. Dan's rejection on the mansion steps and his lack of contact since indicated her worst fear had come to pass—she'd destroyed their relationship. When she'd dredged up the courage to seek his gaze during the meeting, he still wouldn't look at her. He'd remained silent during the entire hearing, except to protest retention of her membership. He intended to expel her from the organization as well as from his life.
Emma blinked back tears. Maybe over time she could convince Dan she'd changed and had become the woman he'd thought she was. But while maintaining her link to the Auxiliary might pave the way to reconciliation, that wasn't why she wanted to keep it. She needed the discipline, the sense of duty and honor Rod and Cane stood for, to help her channel her drive and impetuousness.
She hadn't felt this anxious since her root canal. Come to think of it, the board's decision was like that dental procedure—necessary but unpleasant.
Emma nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared at her pale, wide-eyed reflection in the large mirror. Were the men watching her now? No doubt the panel of reflective glass was a two-way mirror on her side, a transparent viewing window on the other. A curtain had covered it when she was on the governance chamber side. Had the men drawn the drape?
The disciplinary room hadn't been included in the Auxiliary new member tour. Melania had told her that a room existed at the mansion where men sometimes brought their wives when special circumstances required special discipline.
Emma never expected to see it, let alone be in it. Stark, austere—nothing about the room welcomed or brought comfort to the occupant. Other than her hard chair, the only other “furniture” pieces were a couple of spanking benches. She'd never seen them before, but she recognized them immediately. One positioned the spankee in a kneeling position, while the other looked like a pommel horse, a wide leather “seat” resting on four sturdy, adjustable legs.
More disconcerting were the spanking implements aligned with precision on the wall: paddles in many sizes, all drilled with holes to decrease the wind resistance and increase the sting; long dowels of various diameters used for caning; and leather strops that would feel anything but soft and supple when they slapped against bare skin. Emma shivered as she realized her bottom would soon feel the physical imprint of the Rod and Cane name.
How bad would her punishment be? Would she be paddled or caned? Or both? To be physically reprimanded frightened her, but it worried her more to contemplate who might administer it. What if Rod and Cane appointed the glowering man to do it? Had his wife been one of the women she'd interviewed? Emma shuddered.
Though humiliating, the public nature of her punishment might serve to protect her from excess, she realized. Jordan Bevy seemed compassionate. As did Otis and Melania's husband, Jared. She could only hope that the men who had reason to resent her would protect her by adhering to Rod and Cane's code of honor.
Suddenly the door swung open. Her stomach stopped churning and leaped into her throat.
Otis entered, followed by Jordan, and lastly, Dan. Had he come to gloat?
Emma got to her feet and locked her knees together to still the trembling. Her mouth went so dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She pushed up her glasses.
Davenport and Bevy's shielded expressions revealed no emotion, no hint of her fate. She suspected they'd be damn good poker players. She stole a glance at Dan. He stood rigidly, as if every vertebra of his spine had been fused, his eyes cold. A muscle twitched in his iron jaw. Clearly he hadn't forgiven her and desired to eject her from the organization and his life.
"Miss Dupree.” Otis's voice echoed like a muted roar in her ears. “The governing board has determined your breach of confidentiality warrants a level-one physical chastisement."
"Level one?” Emma wet her dry lips.
"Paddling. The board has reached a consensus of thirty-two strokes."
Emma's gaze flew to the pain-inducing implements on the wall. Could she do this? Fresh doubts pummeled her.
"Do you still wish to proceed?” Davenport asked.
"Emma.” Dan's voice hit her like gravel thrown in her face, and she jerked. His mask of icy fury slipped to reveal the pain motivating it. Of all the people she'd hurt, she'd injured Dan the most. She would never forgive herself if she didn't try to make it right.
Emma took a breath and lifted her chin. “Yes, I do."
"Mr. Bevy"—he nodded at the other man—"will remain in the room to monitor the process.” He gestured to the mirror. “The board will view the procedure from the governance chamber."
Procedure. Davenport made it sound like a sterile and routine operation, when it compared more to a humiliating public flogging. At least she wouldn't be pelted with rotten vegetables.
But then Otis hit her with a verbal tomato as he exited: “Mr. Tanner will administer the paddling."
SHOCK AND DISMAY ricocheted across Emma's face. Dan wanted to shake her and spank some sense into her. Surely Rod and Cane couldn't mean this much that she would endure this? She ought to tell them all to go fuck themselves.
With Paul whipping up sentiment against Emma, the board had listed away from leniency and deadlocked on the vote to allow Dan to discipline her. Otis had claimed executive privilege and had broken the tie before a motion to select McGinnis as disciplinarian could be made. Dan was grateful; only the power of Otis's favor had placed Dan in this room and not McGinnis.
But God help him, Dan would not be able to go easy on her. Like hawks, the men would watch, and if anyone suspected he wasn't adequately discharging his duty, McGinnis would be sent in. Dan couldn't risk that. It killed him to not be able to hug Emma, tell her he loved her and convince the pigheaded woman she didn't have to do this. Ironically she deserved a spanking for her stubbornness.
The only good to come from this debacle was the realization of how much he did love her. Nothing she had done mattered anymore.
Jordan flicked a switch on the wall panel to activate the room's mic so board members could hear.
"Let's get this over with.” Dan said grimly. He moved to the wall of implements and eyed the options. His only choices were bad and worse. A smaller, narrower paddle would concentrate the force; a larger one would spread out the impact, but would cover more area. Dan selected a medium one, hoping to minimize the extremes.
He set his selection on the chair. “Let me have your glasses,” he said. Emma removed the frames and handed them to him. He placed them next to the paddle.
"You'll need to bend over the spanking bench.” He pointed to the taller one. “It won't be a bare-bottom spanking, but I'll need to lift your skirt."
Emma blanched but stepped to the form and leaned over, presenting her backside to the two-way. Her arms dangled. Dan knelt and pointed out the leather loops attached to the legs. “Hang on to these. They will help,” he deadpanned. Aware of the mic, he held open the loops and leaned close.
"Don't do this, Emma. Stop this now!” he ordered in a low voice for her ears only, dismayed by her mulishness. If they were married and she insisted on doing something not in her best interests, he'd spank her most certainly. But not like this—not coldly, in front of an audience. He'd discipline her in private, where he could care for her, reassure her, love her.
"I have to,” she murmured, her voice husky. He could hear the thickness of suppressed tears, and it wrenched his heart.
"No, you don't,” he insisted in a whisper.
Jordan cleared his throat in warning and nodded slightly at the mirror.
"I do.” Emma's liquid gray eyes laid bare her emotions: anxiety, stubbornness, and love. He ached to kiss her fears away, kiss her because he loved her.
"Oh, Em.” He covered one of her hands, wrapped in the loop of leather, with one of his, then gently squeezed her icy fingers.
Dan rose to his feet. The invisible scrutiny of the men behind the two-way bored into him. Emma wore a conservative white blouse with a simple black skirt that fell a couple of inches above her knees. He prayed she didn't have on a thong or a sexy pair of boy shorts that exposed half her butt. The men could view the spanking, but they had no business gawking at her ass.
Dan took a breath, raised Emma's skirt—and exhaled silently in a gush of relief. He'd never been so happy to see granny panties in his life. But even her plain white cotton briefs didn't disguise the pert roundness of her heart-shaped ass. Even in old-lady underwear, she exuded sex appeal. Or maybe it was because of the underwear.
He tucked the hem of her skirt into its waistband, restraining himself from smoothing his palm over her rounded rear. The white briefs protected her modesty, but the contrast of those innocent panties and the unintended provocativeness of her pose sent a shaft of desire skittering through him. He imagined her posed like this in his home.
Dan's cock twitched, and his lips thinned in self-disgust. There was nothing erotic about this for Emma; there should have been nothing carnal about it for him. What the fuck was wrong with him, anyway? Emma deserved better than to have him leering at her. For the way she'd deceived people, she deserved a spanking. But not like this.
He picked up the paddle.
DOUBLED OVER THE bench, Emma clung to the leather straps with a viselike grip, wishing she could get a hold of her feelings as easily. Every emotion under the sun careened through her body like rocket-propelled pinballs. Her legs trembled with nervousness, and her face burned with humiliation, but her heart swelled with giddiness. Her tummy curled with relief.
Dan still cared. As he'd knelt beside her, he'd revealed his feelings in his gaze, his touch. By some miracle, he'd forgiven her. Despite her precarious circumstances, her heart sang. She could bear anything knowing Dan still wanted her; his concern reassured her that she was doing the right thing and strengthened her resolve.
She was profoundly relieved Dan would be the one to discipline her. It made the paddling seem like a shared experience rather than a public punishment. It made it seem intimate.
Yeah, intimate. Just her, Dan, the proctor guy, and the entire board observing from the adjacent room. Thank goodness Melania had cautioned her to wear conservative underwear. She had to block the awareness of her observers from her mind, pretend they didn't exist.
Pretend the tiniest trace of excitement wasn't skipping along her nerves, kindling a throb in her clit. Make believe she hadn't imagined herself like this—draped over a spanking bench in the privacy of their home while Dan played stern headmaster to her naughty schoolgirl.
But all fantasy, all pleasure evaporated in a flash of pain as the paddle connected with her ass. Emma grunted, and before she could catch her breath, another blow seared the other cheek square in the middle.
The intensity bore no comparison to the delightful sting of Dan's hand kissing her bottom. Or the sharp pleasure of her hairbrush connecting with her flesh. Or the invigorating and arousing game-play session. This paddling was meant to punish, pure and simple.
Emma swore to be stoic, yet as each blow fell, she couldn't hold back a cry.
Dan alternated cheeks, spanking with an even pace, but while she could tell he avoided hitting the same spot twice in a row, soon flames consumed her backside.
"Eleven.” Dimly she registered Jordan counting out the strikes. She clung to the leather straps, her body writhing and twisting.
And then Dan paused. “Do you need a break?” he rasped. Her ass throbbed.
"That's not in the bylaws,” Jordan said.
"Fuck the bylaws.” Dan growled. “Fuck this whole thing. Emma, I want you to end this."
"Her membership will be terminated permanently,” Jordan said quietly.
His words shot a jolt of panic through her heart. “No! I don't want to quit. I'm...I'm okay, Dan. Please.” Emma tried to keep the wobble from her voice. “J-just finish.” She would accept her punishment through to the end, but that didn't mean she wanted the experience to be drawn out.
As if he recognized her wish to speed up the pace, he increased the tempo of the smacks. She wasn't sure, but it appeared he wasn't striking quite as hard. But because there was no place on her backside the paddle hadn't touched, it was no less painful.
Through it all, Jordan called out the spanks clear and loud so the viewing board members would be assured she was receiving the full measure of discipline ordered. But Emma thanked the count for the glimpse of the finish line it afforded her.
Smack. “Nineteen."
Smack. “Twenty."
Her cries were the only noise in the room, except for the sharp crack of the paddle, a sound forever imprinted on her brain, one she would equate with not only her punishment, but the act that had warranted it.
Emma had messed with people's livelihoods to further her own. The members of the Rod and Cane Society had been practicing their devotion privately, quietly, until she'd ripped the curtain away and exposed them to public ridicule. She had no right to do that.
And now here she was. A spanked woman who'd consented to punishment. Her choice, seemingly, but was it? Wasn't there a certain karmic justice? How apt, too, that Rod and Cane had appointed Dan to spank her.