it when he used that tone with her. It usually didn't mean very good things for the health and welfare of particular parts of her anatomy. "No we don't!" she snapped.
"We most definitely do. Tell me why you were scrubbing away your skin in the river. Tell me why you fled from me, although I commanded you to stop. Tell me what upset you - did Mother Agnes say something?"
Mary Francis closed her eyes, new tears leaking down her face. He caught the tears with his fingers and brushed them away. "Talk to me, Mary Francis," he said sternly.
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "It just came to me," she confessed. "I had argued that it was okay to lay with you, since even Mother Agnes had sinned... but she didn't. She was married first, and joined a convent when her husband didn't return from the war. And I've... I've fallen... I'm a sinner, and yet, I really enjoy the sin. I don't know that I can make the same promise at the prostitutes did in the Bible, to 'go and sin no more.' It was just too much."
He held her, not knowing what to do to help. He was as much a part of the sin as she, more so, because he was older, and supposedly, wiser. But he couldn't find it in his heart to regret the precious moments they had shared, and prayed she would treasure them as well.
"I need you," she began, then bit her lower lip.
He kissed her lower lip, surprised that it wasn't constantly bruised for as much as she worried it. "I'm here, darling."
She pulled out of his grasp and sat up, surprisingly comfortable with her nakedness. "I need you to punish me," she said.
He could not have been more surprised than if she'd told him to grow wings and fly away. "What?"
"You heard. I want you to spank me. Hard. I know that you are leaving, so after you spank me, I need you to go. Just go. I'll be okay. But I've been sinful, and maybe if you punish me for it, I'll be able to forgive myself."
"Sweetheart, how can you ask me this? Making love with you has been the highpoint of my life. God made man and woman, and I can't believe that what we've shared is something dirty."
"Please, J.D. I've not asked anything of you in all the time you've been here. Do this for me."
Angrily, he got to his feet. He stomped through the woods, returning to the convent without another word. He would give her the spanking of her life, but he would have to calm down first, so he didn't break her in two.
Mary Francis carried her wet robe, walking gracefully, and fully naked, through the woods. After J.D. left, she would never be naked again. She would return to wearing bloomers and bindings, and all the layers of her office. She would repent and repent, and whenever a bittersweet memory of their lovemaking returned, she would try to focus on the way he spanked her, too.
She hung her robe on the clothesline in the yard, then stepped inside.
J.D. was in the dining room, his expression dark and threatening. Part of her wanted to beg his forgiveness, to tell him she'd changed her mind, but she knew she needed this. She could never survive his leaving her if he didn't punish her. She went into the dining room, her hands at her sides, doing nothing to hide her nakedness.
He held a hickory switch in his hand. She gulped, knowing the sting of the switch, although Mother Agnes had never used it on her. Sister Claire had switched her several times when she'd been a young teen, for doing poorly in her studies. Mary Francis learned to read perfectly and write with the prettiest penmanship because of it.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for her to put herself over his lap. It felt different, and strangely humiliating, she thought, as she complied. He put his weaker arm over her back, then rested his right hand on her bottom. "I'm sorry I have to do this," was all he said, before he began to spank her in earnest.
He hadn't spanked her with his hand before. It was so intimate, and yet, quite painful. She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to think about him