Aithne’s spouses were already dressed and waiting for her, much in the same way her parents sometimes had when she stayed out too late. She suppressed a giggle at the comparison and stepped toward them. “I’m sorry, that took longer than I expected.”

 

Nyatt looked troubled, which was better than the rage Aithne had feared (yet somehow also secretly hoped for). He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of what he had been about to say, closed his mouth again, then, finally, “I would have understood, you know.” Aithne blinked as Nyatt continued, “I told you I would gainsay you nothing. If had told me you were going and simply asked me not to join you, I would have gladly agreed.”

 

Aithne felt herself flushing and wrapped one arm in front of her, gripping the other while she looked at the floor. “I…I know, my husband. I…was simply afraid. I apologize. I’ll trust you from now on.” A pause. “Not that I didn’t trust you before! I…”

 

“Except when it came time to seeing your parents?”

 

Aithne winced. “I…wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

 

Nyatt sighed. “I know Chyehye told you, but I will have to punish you. I want you to know that I do so unwillingly – you are new to the orcish lifestyle and simply wanted to see your parents. However…” he heaved himself to his feet and Chyehye rose with him, her face an unreadable mask. Well, not unreadable to Aithne, who could feel the conflicted emotions burbling beneath the surface. “…I will not hold back. I cannot appear weak in front of the meyge, especially since we are ṭi sna.”

 

“I understand, my husband.”

 

A pause, then he nodded and began making his way out of the ngot. Aithne fell into place beside Chyehye and followed.

 

Her heart thumped against her chest as they stepped into outside air. The emotions that had scattered earlier were now tangled into a giant knot that she began to pick at as they walked.

 

The dominant one was, of course, raw fear – this was going to hurt. Not like the beatings she had received from Borkul or the cruel games inflicted by Sutfu, but she was certain sitting was going to be uncomfortable for the next few days.

 

Then came the shame. Aithne had been whipped, raped, burned, tortured, displayed naked like a piece of art…nearly everything that could be done to a human body had been done to her. Yet a simple spanking was somehow more humiliating than any of the rest. There was something primeval about it; something etched into the foundation of societal ethos based on it being a punishment for children, and by extension as a punishment for anyone who was not deemed mature enough to be allowed their own agency.

 

Spanking was, in short, the ultimate weapon to use if you wanted someone to feel small and insignificant.  

 

There was also a spot of anger mixed in, based very much upon the principle of shame – she did not deserve this punishment, after all - but she ignored it. She had agreed to the unspoken social contract of the Orsimer people when she married into it; she had no choice.

 

Finally, the emotion she knew was there but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge: somewhere buried deep in the dark recesses of…okay, if she was being honest with herself, it was not buried, it was right up front and center. Some sort of unholy combination of the fear and shame mixed with her twisted Borkul-trained psyche had produced an alloy of pure lust. Somehow, the idea of being spanked in public had aroused her to such a state, she was afraid she would start panting.

 

Fortunately, her thoughts were interrupted at that point by Chyehye.

 

“I know you are tough, but cry out while you’re being spanked,” Aithne’s wife advised. “If you don’t,  it will make Nyatt look weak. If you can muster tears, that would help as well.”

 

Aithne bit back what she wanted to say (“It will take everything I have not to scream through the entire thing”) and simply nodded.

 

There was no ceremony to the event itself. Once they reached the clear area in center of the kwaim, Nyatt sat on a log and gestured to Aithne, who forced herself to walk with calm steps to him. Nyatt motioned at her trousers and, after a confused moment, Aithne took off her belt and pulled her pants down to her ankles. Nyatt swept her up with one hand, laid her across his knees and, a moment later, Aithne cried out as Nyatt’s hand smacked down on her exposed buttocks.

 

He took his time with it, pausing a few seconds between each hit. As it progressed, the other orcs of the meyge took notice and soon a crowd gathered. They hooted and cheered with each hit, often supplying helpful commentary and advice (in the Common language, so Aithne knew they were meant as much or more for her than for her husband):

 

“Don’t just spank one side! Make sure you cover her entire ass!”

 

Smack

 

“Ooh, look - human skin turns red! See if you can change her color permanently!”

 

Smack

 

“Looks like you’re going easy on her!”

 

SMACK

 

“Cup your hand as you swing!”

 

Smack

 

The lust Aithne had felt dissipated by the third hit; the reality of the spanking was far too visceral to leave room for flights of emotional fancy. By the time it was done, twenty evenly-paced spanks delivered with orcish strength to Aithne’s exposed bottom later, all she felt was pain and humiliation. She did not try to stem the flow of her tears as Nyatt lifted her back to her feet and she pulled her pants up, biting off the cry of pain as the rough texture scraped against the tender skin of her ass.

 

She shuffled after Nyatt and Chyehye back to their ngot, where both her spouses immediately turned from outward walls of stone to fonts of concern and care. Chyehye helped Aithne out of her clothes and wrapped her in a soft robe, then led her to the softest cushion they had (where Aithne sat in an awkward side-repose to keep from sitting on her ass) while Nyatt poured tea and handed her a cup.

 

Aithne thanked them with watery eyes and as much of a smile as she could muster, then sipped her tea in silence while she pretended she couldn’t hear Nyatt’s regret and Chyehye’s concern; the last thing she wanted at that moment was to forgive them.

 

It had been a long time since she had felt so helpless and she seethed for a time as she parsed through her thoughts and emotions. One thought, in particular, began to grow until it shoved itself to the forefront of her mind and planted a banner of defiance.

 

She did not have to put up with this. There was no reason she had to allow it.

 

It was one of those revelations that seemed obvious once it was noticed. As it percolated through the rest of her mind, Aithne felt a shift in her perception, in her very way of looking at the world.

 

Despite the apparently permanent spike of lust at the thought of pain that had entwined itself into the deepest parts of her psyche, she vowed she would not allow anything like this to happen again, even if she did break some inscrutable orcish rule.

 

If pressed, she would simply leave – she had joined the meyge on a whim, but she was not so invested in this new family that she would feel much sorrow upon leaving it. A bitter part of her regretted coming back at all after her visit with her parents.

 

Aithne blinked as another, simpler, realization crossed her mind. She shook her head at her own stupidity, reached behind her, and cast a healing spell on her ass while a distant memory of Urag laughed and teased her about her lack of imagination. She wasn’t sure how she kept forgetting the most important lesson of her life.

 

She thought she had managed to keep her outward expression neutral, but when, a few minutes later, Nyatt asked her if she needed anything, her tone or expression when she responded, “No, thank you” must have betrayed some of her internal turmoil; she felt a shot of fear rush through him as he fumbled through a hasty apology and retreated to the opposite side of the ngot.

 

Aithne hid a small smile behind her cup as she took another sip. Of all the things her husband could have given her, that reaction was the only one she would have wanted, and she felt much better as she finished the tea and set the cup down.

 

Whatever else happened, in this marriage or elsewhere, she would never meekly submit to her own degradation again. If her husband wanted to punish her, he would have to fight her first.

 

 

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