Even though his eyes were a polar frost blue, Thomas's mouth quirked up on one side.
The Corporation's Second in Command was reading a book and sipping from his scotch comfortably, legs feet propped up on the padded ottoman that contained his wife. He ignored her thrashing and kicking in the narrow enclosure and even grinned when her hands made it through the bars, trying to slap at his legs. This was actually the first time he had used the ottoman for this purpose, and Thomas was quite pleased with its functionality. His feet were comfortable on the leather-covered bench and the bars were wide enough that he could see his wife and she could see him, even the space left very little wiggle room for her. He'd been enjoying the book, a series of essays by philosopher David Hume that he found in Lauren's stack of books on her side of their bed. He had a similar pile on his side as well and they often exchanged books to enjoy something the other had read to them. In fact, there had been several very pleasant winter nights when the fireplace was crackling and Lauren's head was on his lap, smiling as he read to her in his beautiful sonorous voice as his fingers idly combed through her hair. His smile disappeared and his jaw firmed. He'd been too lenient with this girl. Too soft. Telling her about his scar! "Thomas?" He turned a page, taking another sip. "Thomas?" she persisted, "How long are you keeping me in here?"
He knew she was listening carefully, there was utter silence beneath his propped feet, so she could hear another page in his book turn. "Each time you speak," he said calmly, "an additional hour will be added to your containment time."
As he expected, this set off another round of bar rattling and kicking at the bench's seat as she screamed at the top of her lungs, "This isn't my fault! I didn't run away! I wasn't plotting anything and Arabella-"
With a sigh, Thomas moved his feet, lifting the lid and rapidly chaining his bride's wrists to the bars above her and her ankles to the bars at her feet. When she opened her mouth to scream at him again, he pointed a finger at her. "Take responsibility for your actions. You knew it wasn't safe. You ran off with Arabella like a child and put your life in danger. You terrified Straker, who has come to care for you like a daughter. You made yourself a target and a potential liability, just as she is, to Kingston and Fassell. And you..." Thomas could feel his fury and his fear heating up again, and he took a deep breath. "And you have deeply disappointed me. You have lost my trust." Slamming the lid shut again, he gritted his teeth shut, wanting to shout at his foolish, irresponsible wife for terrifying him, furious that hewasterrified for her. He listened, waiting for her to plead with him again, writhe in her handcuffs like a demented eel. But Lauren was silent. Thomas stood, stretching a bit. "You have another hour in containment because of your outburst, as warned. I'm going downstairs to order dinner."
"Wha-" the query shut off instantly as his footsteps slowed. With a dark smile, Thomas left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Lauren could not know, of course, that he monitored her on his phone, making sure she didn't injure herself in her thrashing. Lauren started kicking at the bars the moment shut the door, setting off a furious string of profanity that made one brow raise in amusement. After idly examining some takeaway menus, he ordered something to be delivered in a couple of hours. Just enough time for the next step.
There was no way to tell time in the goddamn fucking Fun Dungeon, Lauren thought, angrily kicking at the bars again. She hated that mean son of a bitch bastard! Locking her in this cage like a dog? That's right, she'd asked him during her first foray into this room if this was a cage for an animal. She stilled as the door finally opened. "There's my sweet pet. Have you been a good girl?" Thomas tilted his head to look through the bars of the bench. The girl was staring back at him, lips firmly pressed together. "Ah. You may speak now, darling. Choose your words carefully."
"May I please come out of here, Sir?"
Good girl, Thomas thought, remembering the right words for her role in this room. "Are you prepared to take responsibility for your own actions?"
Her voice was a little strangled this time. "Yes, Sir."
"Very well." Flipping the lid of the ottoman up, he deftly unfastened the handcuffs around her wrists and ankles, holding his hand out to pull her from the box. Lauren's hands tightened on the edge of her cage, sitting up. He knew she didn't want to touch him, didn't want to accept help. So that clever mind was analyzing whether there would be a consequence for refusing his assistance. Just as Thomas was about to issue another punishment, she gingerly took his big, warm hand and rose to her feet. He held her elbow for a moment as she regained her balance and hastily stepped from the cage. Thomas moved to sit on the corner of the bed. He'd removed his jacket, and she watched apprehensively as he rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt. "Come here." Lauren's brow furrowed and she looked at the door and then back to him. He wouldn't make her do something now, would he? When she hated him so much? Slowly moving to obey him, she stood between his spread legs. "Kneel." Staring at him, the girl could feel her insides turn to ice. This was a different Thomas, cold and withdrawn from her. There was still an alarming look of genial amusement on his face, but it was nothing she'd seen directed at her before. Maybe he showed this face to people he killed? Legs shaking from that thought, she knelt quickly and gracelessly. Pulling off his tie, Thomas held it in his hand, watching her gaze turn fearful, staring at it. "Look at me," he ordered. When Lauren obeyed, he put his other hand under her chin, lifting it.
"What did you do today, pet?" Her lips tightened at the new nickname, but she answered.
"I left the restaurant without alerting Chuck. I made him worry."
Thomas's head tilted. "What else?"
A bitter tone crept into her speech, but Lauren remained composed. "I made you look bad in front of the rest of management. I put myself in danger for not sticking with Chuck." She clenched her hands into fists in her lap, trying to stay composed. Her husband didn't look angry, or disgusted, or concerned. He just looked... indifferent. Slightly indulgent like she was a poodle begging for scraps.
"That's not all, is it?" His deep voice was like granite.
"I..." horrified, Lauren could feel herself start to cry and tried to swallow the tears down. "I disappointed you. You don't trust me anymore."
Thomas nodded. "You will have to earn that back. One step at a time." He could tell she was forcing down her tears and her resentment was poorly hidden. "Very well, let's continue." He patted his lap. "Lean over my legs."
The look of furious shock on the girl's face was almost comical. She knew this position, though she'd not had a punishment spanking since her first week here. "I..." her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as Lauren slowly got to her feet. She glanced at the door again, and Thomas mentally added it to her growing list of bad behavior.
Bending over his lap, she settled her hips into one long thigh as her breasts rested against the other. She closed her eyes as Thomas yanked her skirt off, and then her lace underwear. But then he briskly gathered her wrists together and bound them with his tie. It was tight against her skin and the position he used pushed her hands up between her shoulder blades. Trying to move them only hurt worse. "You have committed three major offenses today. You'll receive twenty strikes for each offense." Lauren sagged in horror? Sixty? He'dneverspanked her like that. And then the words she hated the most. "You will count each time I spank you and thank me for it."
The first slap of his hand on her ass made Lauren give a shocked little shriek. It hurt- so much more than any other- "OW!"
"You will count each one and thank me for it," her monstrous husband's voice was implacable.
"O-one," Lauren gasped, "thank you, Sir."
By the seventeenth slap, her ass was already a glowing red and Thomas showed no signs of slowing down. By the twenty-fifth, Lauren was sobbing. Suddenly his equally crimson palm was lifted in front of her face. "This won't do," he said, "ah, I know..." The girl started crying harder when he slipped his leather driving gloves on.
"Ah! God, ple- twenty-six, S- sir," she hiccupped. By the fiftieth slap, the lower half of her body was a medley of purples, reds and searing pink. Lauren wasn't capable of counting anymore, so Thomas took over for her. She wasn't crying anymore when he finished, her body limp over his lap.
Untying her wrists, Thomas spoke, "You think this was a cruel punishment. You have no idea- NO idea-" he yanked her upright on his lap, ignoring her pained yelp as her brutalized skin met his hard thigh. "No idea what would be done to you if the wrong person found you. Do you think that piece of shite Martinsson would help you?" He felt her stiffen and his suspicions were confirmed.
"That's who-" Lauren painfully cleared her throat, "that's who Arabella was trying to meet."
"Yes," Thomas agreed, then slipped her underwear and skirt back on. The lace was acutely painful against her ass, and she moaned in protest.
"Can I please have some of the lotion, the-" Lauren began.
