Janys went back inside after all the color had disappeared from the dual sunrise. Putting some of her new cooking skills to work, she tried to make the breakfast version of the pastries Shalimerie had served her the night before, using cheeses and fruit spreads as fillings. She also brewed up a fresh batch of corittan, guiltily remembering sneaking the sleeping drops into the last cup.

"That smells good," a voice murmured behind her.

Startled, she turned around to see Martel leaning against the kitchen table. His sleep tunic lay unbuckled over his rigid body, but otherwise he looked and sounded normal.

"Should you be up?" she finally got out.

"I can stand as well as I can lie down," he replied. "The sitting part—well, that will have to wait."

"Did you sleep well?" she asked before biting her tongue

He shuffled towards her, plucking one of the fresh pastries off a baking sheet on the stove. "Surprisingly yes. I thought I would not be able to do it at all, but I must have been so exhausted I dropped off immediately."

"That's probably it." She turned her back and rapidly started putting more pastries on a sheet, hoping he wouldn't notice her crimson cheeks.

They didn't speak again of his condition as they consumed their meal, Martel putting away more pastries than Janys could have imagined. She felt awkward sitting while he stood, but he seemed comfortable with the arrangement.

As she got ready to store the extra pastries for other mornings, someone knocked on the door. She opened it to a party of three—Kronitin, Zellin, and a stout woman holding a medical bag. "Dr. Alaniette, Mistress Janys," Zellin intoned. "The doctor has come to check on Martel."

"Fortunately I do not need to be checked on," her husband responded, joining her in the entryway. "As you can see, except for my informal attire, I am doing well."

Kronitin and Zellin exchanged puzzled glances while the doctor breezed into the room. "Even so, Master Martel, now that I am here, I might as well look at you. I am sure Mistress Janys as well as your family would like my report."

I'm sure Mistress Janys doesn't need a report at all, Janys cried inwardly as she tried to think of a reason to send the doctor on her way. What if the woman saw remnants of Shalimerie's salve and thought Martel knew about it? He could end up being punished as well.

But Martel gave in, ushering the doctor up to his bedroom for the examination. A few minutes later she came down smiling. "Nothing to worry about," she assured the waiting crew. "He will have continue to have pain and stiffness for several days, but should heal completely."

Zellin beamed back at her, patting Kronitin on the shoulder. "A miracle!"

"Indeed." Kronitin's eyes narrowed as he looked at Janys, and she wondered if Shalimerie's other treatments had gone as unnoticed as her friend believed.

But Zellin's obvious relief couldn't be dimmed by his younger son. He even kissed Janys on the cheek before ushering the doctor out the door, telling her to get back to her clinic "for the people who really need your services."

As soon as the door shut behind the threesome, Martel padded down the stairs. "I did not want to argue with Dr. Alaniette any longer about staying in bed on the first day you and I have ever had to ourselves. Perhaps I could teach to play one of our games? Or I have a chess set and others you might already know."

Although Janys had not played anything for years, she followed him into the dining room and watched him pull several wooden boxes from the large bureau. This time she scarcely paid attention to the ominous wedding gifts still piled about.

He grinned sheepishly. "I had thought to find places for all these things, but it will have to remain this way a while longer while I spend time getting to know my wife. Let us take the games into the living room."

She helped him arrange himself on his side on the couch while she sat on a low stool. They started with checkers, finding themselves evenly matched. Then came Oso from Rigel, a dice and tile game Janys picked up easily. Finally they finished with up with something that reminded her of the late-night pinochle games at the Institute.

Shalimerie dropped by after lunch, Chardontal in tow. "I will only stay a moment," she announced as she handed Janys a loaf of warm bread and another bottle of winotal. "But I wanted to see for myself how Martel was doing."

"Much better than expected," he reported, not noticing the wink Shalimerie fired off behind his back. "But I admit a glass or two of this excellent beverage will help me sleep tonight." As Martel pried Oso pieces out of Chardontal's chubby hands, Shalimerie grinned at Janys and pantomimed shaking out drops.

Their next visitor was much less welcome. Scarcely had they resumed their card game after Shalimerie's departure when they heard another knock on the door. When Janys opened it, Yagote made a beeline for the stairs, a large basket over her arm. Only when Martel called out that he was in the living room did she turn around and rush to him, practically throwing herself on the stool Janys had just vacated.

"Let me help you!" she cried as she rummaged through the wicker, pulling out various jars and flasks. "See, I have everything to make you feel better, from —"

"But that is not necessary, my sister," he interrupted. Janys approved the emphasis he gave to the last word. "My wife has looked after me quite well, and I am all but mended. Even if not, I could not knowingly allow any balm to touch me." This time she didn't like the way he stressed the word "knowingly", nor the smile he gave her.

"I understand," Yagote muttered, though Janys thought otherwise.

Martel picked up the cards. "We were just getting started again. Would you join us in a game?"

The woman hesitated as though weighing the benefit of Martel's company versus the horror of socializing with Janys. Finally she shook her head. "I should go. Your mother will be expecting me back soon."

"Then give her my love, and tell her not to worry about me," he instructed, lightly brushing Yagote's cheek with his lips before Janys eagerly showed her to the door…

They continued playing games until the sun set. Janys brought out meats and spreads to make sandwiches from Shalimerie's bread while Martel opened the winotal. She'd gotten the feeling from the way Martel held his body that the salve had worn off, so she silently thanked her friend for bringing something else which eased the pain lines from his face.

After she cleared the rest of the food away, Martel gingerly sat up, then patted the space next to him on the couch. "Let us talk for a moment before I go upstairs." She slipped into the spot he indicated. Somehow it seemed natural to cuddle up to him, though she was careful to lean against his chest rather than his sore shoulder.

At first he chatted about Chardontal's growth and his hopes of becoming an uncle for a second time in the near future. She was getting sleepy herself when he woke her up. "Janys, is this getting easier for you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"All of this." He waved his hand around the room. "Living here with me. Adjusting to our way of life."

"A little," she admitted, surprised to find she told the truth. "But there's still so much that bothers me."

"Tell me." His tawny arm paralleled hers, drawing her closer.

Where to start? "Last night—people you know did that to you. How could they stand it? And how could you let them?"

"Something one learns to do." His fingers stroked her arm, sending tingles down her body. "No one here enjoys receiving or giving forbinner, but it has to be done."

"I don't see why. There's other ways to make people follow the laws," she pointed out, tilting her head up so she could see the blonde bristles poking up where he hadn't bothered to shave that morning…

"Such as jails?" He raised an eyebrow. "You know our population is small. We need everyone working or raising children, not locked up where other people must guard them."

"Then fine them instead!"

"By taking away what? Their food? Their home? Unless people are saving for offworld travel or education, many do not bother with bank accounts," he reminded her. "Without expensive gadgetry to fill our homes, most have few possessions. And those who do, such as Rodogan and his books, would much rather suffer brief pain than surrender any of it."

"I just don't see why people should be beaten for breaking some minor rule," she continued stubbornly.

His hand lightly smacked her hip, his fingers curving around to the softer parts. "The secrecy of the Gathering is no minor rule, my dear. Everyone needs a place to confess their errors and endure the consequences without becoming the latest gossip at the meeting hall."

Although the spank hadn't really hurt, Janys rubbed it, but didn't draw away. "All right, I'm sorry I described it that way. But scarring someone for life—"

"Very few punishments, even forbinner, carry that risk. When the time comes, I will take great care not to permanently mark you," he assured her.

She drew in her breath. Although this wasn't the first reminder she'd gotten about her upcoming acquaintance with the spanking bench, she hadn't realized before how badly she could be hurt. Again her body tensed as though she had someplace to run to escape.

Martel noticed her shift in mood and drew her closer, kissing the top of her head. "Let us talk of happier things. Speaking of Rodogan and his library, you will soon get a chance to see it. Each year, he and his wife hold a party in honor of the Feast of Planetfall. He invited us last night."

"That sounds lovely," Janys agreed, wondering if she already owed their host an apology. Rodogan seemed close enough to Martel to have joined Kronitin and Zellin at the Men's Gathering in diverting strokes away from his friend. Yet would he invite her to his home if she'd caused him suffering?

At least I know better than to ask. Instead she stayed on the safer topic. "When is the party going to be?"

"Three days before Planetfall. Of course my family will host the actual Feast dinner for us, though I expect both you and Shalimerie will be asked to help prepare it."

Of course we will. But she liked the idea of Shalimerie being around to deal with Yagote. Somehow between the two of them, they ought to be able to keep the girl's hands where they belonged.

As if reading her thoughts, Martel continued. "I hope this year Yagote will ask someone to accompany her. If not, Master Lewital just returned from offworld to assist me in the trade office. His family left permanently some time ago, so I may persuade him join us."

Janys snuggled in closer, letting her arm trail across Martel's stomach. Now there was good idea—give Yagote a new target. Who knows? Under changed circumstances, the woman might become tolerable.

A loud rap interrupted their comfortable silence, banishing Janys's charitable thoughts towards her pseudo sister-in-law. She fumed as she slipped out of Martel's embrace, fully expecting to find either Yagote or Elondelle's face at the door.

Either would have been more welcome than the brown-bearded one who swept in. "Mistress Janys," Tadewidan greeted her. "I apologize for the hour, but our Council meeting ran late. We wished to know how your husband fares, and I agreed to find out on my return home."

"Quite well, as you can see," she replied, steering him towards the living room before falling back behind Martel. Although he'd exchanged his robe for a tunic, the loud thumping of her heart reminded her how close she'd come to banishment and death at the councilman's hands.

Although Martel tried to stand, Tadewidan motioned him to remain sitting. "The Council will be delighted you have recovered so rapidly," he said finally.

"I owe it to Janys. Her care and company made today much easier than I imagined." Martel reached up and took her hand, holding it to his cheek.

"I am sure they did." Janys found herself turning red under the Elder's scrutiny. "While normally the Council would not concern itself with marital relationships, except when by a spouse to become involved, under the circumstances we need to know how this one progresses."

"Just fine," she jumped in, hoping to get his mind off Martel's amazing recovery. "I've been going to lessons with Elondelle and learning a lot."

"As the Mistress herself reports," Tadewidan acknowledged. "But you must also find your way within our larger community, not just within the family circle."

So I'm being graded on playing well with others? They must think Martel and his relations are covering up for me. "I've spent time with Shalimerie and her family," she defended herself. "And we have just been asked to a party at Master Rodogan's house."

Tadewidan nodded. "Yes, the Council supports that means of introduction to our society."

Janys bit her lip. Apparently these people knew everything before she did. For all she knew, they'd twisted Rodogan's arm to sponsor her "debut". As if there were anyone in Wyteen who didn't already know her from the trial and the wedding.

But her complaints about the Council's interference in her social life paled with the Elder's next words. "I assume that the forbinner will be completed well in advance so Mistress Janys may fully enjoy all festivities connected with the Feast."

"We have not yet scheduled it," Martel replied cautiously. "I would like to get beyond the first decedonner so that my wife has more experience handling—"

"By all means, let the first decedonner pass four days from now," Tadewidan agreed. "Set the event on the next Karala."

Karala—what day was that? Frantically Janys tried to recall the 100-day cycle created on the pioneer ship to replace outmoded months. Thanks to Elondelle's teachings she knew they'd synchronized their new calendar with the planet's orbit by adding a few minutes to each "day", but she hadn't lived there long enough to remember the individual name of each one in the sequence.

Martel knew immediately. "But that would be only three days after her first decedonner! Surely we can have a little more—"

"May I have your permission to examine the bibalon?" Although the Elder asked politely, Janys doubted her husband could refuse. Before he nodded, she began drawing out the book with a shaking hand.

As Tadewidan studied the first few pages, Janys made the calculation. Four days to the decedonner plus three resulted in seven, which she still thought of as a week. Even though the period stretched slightly longer than its Earth counterpart, she knew she could never face her punishment in such a short time.

Unfortunately Tadewidan believed otherwise. "Assuming the bibalon is correct," he noted as he handed it back to her. "Most of your correction has been handled as instanter. Unless Martel, you intend to be unusually hard with the paddle, your wife should be fully recovered in three days. Doing it on Karala ensures she will have seven days before the next decedonner."

"I still believe we can wait until after her second decedonner," Martel argued. "She needs more preparation."

"The Council disagrees."

"Please!" Janys pleaded. "I'm not ready—"

"Of course not." Tadewidan smiled almost kindly although his gaze remained steady. "No one is ever ready the first time. It is much better to get it behind you, so it is no longer weighs on your mind or those around you."

"I agree, Elder, but I still think a few more days would be worthwhile without causing any harm." Although Janys fell silent remembering her unsuccessful attempt to postpone the wedding, she was glad Martel still continued the argument on her behalf.

To her surprise the other man appeared to consider her husband's last remark. "All right," he finally said. "If you truly need a few more days, I can give you three, until the Council meets again in ten. I ask both of you to appear before us at that time, and we will provide the restraints and implements. Of course this will not be necessary if the punishment has already been carried out by that time."

For a second Janys struggled to understand Tadewidan's proposal, then she broke away from Martel's grip and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Sobbing, she threw herself on the bed and buried her face in a pillow. To be beaten in front of all those people—.

She didn't hear the door open, just the rustle of a body moving towards her. Something heavy eased itself down, then began stroking her back. "Janys, please do not be frightened. I told Tadewidan we will go forward here in private, seven days from now as he suggested. If so, I can report to the Council that it has been done, and there will be no reason for them for them to participate."

Slowly her tears eased up as she listened, but she still trembled until he tucked her under his arm. "If you like, I will ask Shalimerie to help prepare you and treat you afterwards."

She shut her eyes, trying to block out the nightmare visions of being tied down on that horrible bench. "I thought I had more time to—adjust to everything. You said you hoped I'd see things differently by then."

"I think you already do," he murmured. "And the Council is correct—better to get on with it than endure much more anticipation."

Suddenly she realized he might be right. Before she'd been able to put the whole thing out of her thoughts because it existed in the undefined future. Now that a date had been set, she knew she'd feel each minute carrying her closer. How could she possibly get through seven Demetian days knowing what awaited her at the end?

She wrenched herself off the bed. "Then why don't you do it now?" she cried. "Get it over with, and neither of us will have to think about it a moment longer."

"I wish I could," he responded sadly. "But even if my arm were up to the task, you have your first decedonner in just four days. Recovery from forbinner often runs five or six. "

"It's okay," she insisted. "I'll take my chances."

"But I will not." His fingers might be gentle at the moment, but his gaze was firm.

Janys sat back down next to him, crying with fear and frustration. After a moment he reached over and clasped both her hands together, pulling them into his lap. "I know this is difficult to understand, but some waiting must be part of the punishment to allow you to focus on your acts and their consequences. It is hard on others as well. If we socialized now, you would find many keeping their distance. Yet afterwards everyone will relax and welcome you, just as they did me last—"

He broke off, and she knew he'd almost revealed some small aspect of his ordeal. Yet she had trouble feeling sympathy for those who'd rather avoid her than think about her upcoming rendezvous with the whipping bench.

Except for Martel. Although he would not share her physical pain, she could tell he dreaded the role he would play on Karala. Looking at his pinched face and worried eyes, she believed the thought of administering the forbinner distressed him far more than he'd let on. While she knew he would carry out his obligations, she would never again accuse him of enjoying the act.

For the first time, she allowed him to comfort her, holding her close for many minutes before easing her back on the bed and tucking her in with one of the larger quilts. Only after she began drifting off to sleep did she feel him let her go of her hands. Without knowing she did it, she reached out to hold on, but he slipped back to his room without noticing.

.

The next day Martel felt well enough to resume walking, so he showed her on a tour of Wyteen, showing several parts she'd never visited, including his school. Janys marveled at its smallness, believing him when he claimed that until he'd gone to the single college on Borocovia which drew from all the communities, he'd met only a few hundred people in his entire life.

"That's where Kronitin and Shalimerie found each other?" she asked, remembering the bits and pieces of family history she'd picked up.

"Yes." He shook his head. "But that is a story much better told by the participants." Laughing, he gave her rump an affectionate squeeze. "A little winotal and you will hear the entire tale."

When she saw her friend the next day, they spent their time shopping rather than talking about their backgrounds. She'd been surprised when Shalimerie stopped by Elondelle's home near the end of lesson time to ask if she wanted to find a new sleep tunic to mark her first decedonner.

"I don't know," Janys told her as she rubbed her right thigh. No longer distracted by Martel's condition, her teacher had returned to administering correction in far larger doses than Janys found comfortable. "I can't see why I should want to get dressed up just to get undressed and spanked."

"Why Janys!" Shalimerie laughed. "Even on Earth brides shop carefully for things to wear on their honeymoon, even knowing it will soon be shed. The first decedonner is an intimate moment between husband and wife deserving celebration."

"How about I wait and celebrate it's being over?" Janys grumbled. Still the idea of getting away from Elondelle early had its attractions, so she let herself be led to Mistress Landell's small clothing store.

Although neither Janys nor Shalimerie mentioned the express purpose of their trip, the seamstress knew immediately. But then everyone in Wyteen could count ten days from the wedding to determine her first time.

Still she found it embarrassing when Mistress Landell extolled the virtues of particular tunics in terms of the way they draped female posteriors. "If you give your man a lovely view," the little woman twinkled. "He may skip the last few smacks in favor of more pleasurable business." Her face blushing almost as pink as her selection, Janys quickly completed her purchase.

While she would have liked to spend more time with Shalimerie, the other insisted she should devote the entire evening to Martel. "He will have a special dinner waiting," her friend predicted. "Then afterwards you both need time to take things slowly. A decedonner session can be the ultimate expression of communication and trust, but only when you give it your full attention."

Maybe between Kronitin and you, Janys wanted to scream. But even if I want to be intimate with Martel, my visions feature flowers and kisses, not laps and paddles.

Shalimerie had been right about the dinner—the smell of hot bread wafted in from the kitchen as Janys went inside. "You must have found something," Martel commented as he looked at the package in her hand. "Do you want to put it on now or later?"

"Later," she replied shortly, although Martel already wore his own sleep tunic. He shrugged and turned back to the oven as she went to her bedroom and unlocked the door. She would gladly abandon the savory smell of dinner and go hungry if she could spend the rest of the night safely in her bed. But remembering her husband's determination that first evening when he'd pinned her over his knee, she had no doubt he'd break down the door to do it again.

When she came back down, flickering light drew her into the dining area… Martel had finally stowed away all the wedding gifts in order to set the table with a cloth and silverware she'd never seen before. "From my mother," he commented, watching her from the kitchen. His eyes gleamed in the light from the candles, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like to be elsewhere with him, having a first date at a romantic restaurant.

Knowing what would come afterwards, she'd expected dinner to be awkward, but the unusual darkness drew them more closely together. For once they talked neither of his work nor her lessons but about her childhood on Earth and the difficulty of leaving her friends there to accept the Institute's scholarship. When he took her hand, rubbing her fingers gently, she didn't pull away. "I must be glad you made that choice," he murmured. "Otherwise you would never had come to Boracovia."

And I would have been much off, she finished the sentence silently, although with less asperity than usual. While she wished she could be here freely doing her work, it disturbed her to think she might never have met the man whose warm grasp made her tingle. If only he'd been at the Institute, or on any of the thousands of worlds where their relationship wouldn't be dictated by barbarous customs, she would happily have shared his bed.

They lingered over the last drops of winotal, until Martel squeezed her hand. "A decedonner has a certain ritual about it. When I blow out the flames, you will know it is time to go to your room. You will take the marital paddle with you, and lay it with your bibalon on the bed. Then you will dress and make any other preparations."

He paused. "When I come in, I expect to find you kneeling on the bed, bared and ready to receive the paddle. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice, her warm thoughts about being with him scattering. She could hardly bear to contemplate the painful and humiliating time in front of her. Thankfully he leaned over and blew out the candles before he could see how much she trembled.

Somehow she got the paddle down from the wall. This time despite Mistress Landell's predictions, she knew it would be used full force. Her buttocks clenched as she made her way up the stairs.

She took off her tunic, then fished the bibalon out of the pocket. Quickly she skimmed the pages of entries. Some had numbers included as dictated by Martel or Elondelle, though most of hers bore the notation "Recommended". Assuming he followed his mother's advice, Janys looked to receive at least thirty-three smacks, not counting those entries simply describing her conduct.

The pink-and-white sleep tunic slipped on perfectly. For a moment she left her prander on, relishing the illusion of being safe and covered. But she heard his steps coming towards her, and hurriedly stripped off the undergarment. Clutching a pillow for comfort, she arranged herself at the foot of the bed so her bottom lay totally exposed.

As he came in the door, her knees shook, making the target area bob. Martel didn't seem to notice. "Very good, my dear," his voice boomed behind her. "Now let us see what we have to deal with tonight." She heard the rustle of pages and shut her eyes tight, wishing this would be over.

After a long pause, he spoke again, mentioning a number that made her want to burrow into the bed. "By my calculations, fifty-six will clear the balance, but we will find out for certain as we work our way through. A high number by most standards, but understandable for a first timer under the circumstances. However Janys, I am afraid that means you are going to have a very red and sore fanny by the time we finish, even if you do not provoke any additional swats by your conduct during the decedonner."

Just do it! she prayed as he stepped behind her. But he ran his hand lightly down the curve of her buttocks until it was between her legs, gently forcing her knees farther apart. Don't respond, she ordered herself, but she grew wet as his fingers passed within touching distance of her clitoris. Worse yet a moan escaped as he planted a hand in the small of her back, steadying her. Then she felt the slight give of the mattress as he picked up the paddle while still holding the bibalon.

"First we have three instances of slowness in presenting yourself for correction. Once at my parents, twice here. Janys, do you remember the incidents?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Do you have anything to say about any of them?" He sounded surprisingly warm, as though actually inviting her comments.

But she couldn't think of anything to excuse her behavior. "No," she whispered, wishing she could keep her voice from shaking.

"Then I have no choice but to administer five swats for each," he said almost sadly.

The noise of the first crack shocked her almost as much as the sting. Her moan turned into a cry as he swatted her other cheek, then hit her full across the crack. Without breaking he repeated the set four more times. "Fifteen away," he informed her. "The next ten is for eavesdropping on my conversation with my brother. Do you have anything to say about that?"

They continued on as her rear end began throbbing. By the time he hit forty, she didn't think she could stand any more. Only the knowledge she'd prolong her punishment by moving kept her on the bed. "Now let us deal with the times you have been rude."

She knew she couldn't effectively defend herself on the ones involving Martel or Elondelle, but she gritted her teeth when she heard she'd been written down to receive four swats for her attitude towards Yagote the afternoon of the Men's Gathering. "Wait! I can explain," she shouted as he drew back his arm.

"All right." Surprisingly he pulled her into a sitting position so she looked up at him from the bed. Underneath her rear end burned as it pressed against the quilt. She smoothed the tunic over her knees, trying to regain some dignity, then began the story.

He sat down next to her around the half-way point, listening intently, then put his arm around her. Again she let him draw her close so she could hear the slow beating of his heart as she finished her tale.

"My mother told me about your fears for me at the Gathering," he said finally. "And she recorded the brushing you got on your palm for bringing it up during your work. But I did not know Yagote had been the catalyst."

"I think she hates me," Janys ventured.

He sighed, stroking her shoulder. "Yagote has had a difficult life. Perhaps there are more reasons than just her own happiness to hope she can find someone to share it. But as my sister, she also worried about the Gathering. I am sorry her fear spilled over onto you."

Holding her tightly, he continued. "I want the two of you to get along. If not, I still expect you to be polite to her, as you should be with everyone. But this time I understand why you might not have been able to do so." Picking up the bibalon, he took a pen from his tunic and crossed out the entry relating to Yagote.

"Let us go through the rest of this now, then we can finish up." As they went through the last two pages of writings, they talked about each incident, exploring why it had occurred. By the time they got through the list, he'd made two other adjustments—one up and one down—resulting in a final number of eleven remaining swats.

Although she dreaded any more hard contacts with her backside, Janys didn't protest as he helped her back on her knees. Both his understanding about Yagote and his allowing her to discuss her feelings made everything much better. Maybe she still believed there were much less painful means of dealing with her conduct, but she knew he would carry it out in a fair and caring way.

While emotionally she felt better than before, the paddle felt even worse as it lit up her backside. By the time Martel landed the last one, she'd started sobbing again. In her haze of tears she didn't realize for a minute that he'd laid down next to her, taking her into his arms.

"We are done," he whispered as he smoothed her hair.

She clung to him, feeling his solid body envelop her. For the moment she forgot he'd been the one to bring her to this state as she accepted his offer. He rubbed her back as she pressed tighter against him, then tilted her head back until she stared into his eyes. Without quite knowing she did it, she lifted her lips to his.

For a second he hesitated, then he pulled her to him, his mouth and tongue meeting hers with a hunger she'd never before felt in any man, even the Professor. Suddenly his image filled her head. "You're losing yourself, Janys," he shouted. "Look at you now—embracing a man who hurt you. What are you going to do now? Make love to him?"

Yes, her body screamed back. I don't care what he did to me. I want him!

Or maybe you want him because of what he did to you, the Professor whispered back. Maybe you secretly enjoy it. Isn't that why you got so hot right before your paddling?

"No!" she cried silently as she pushed against Martel's chest as hard as she could.

He pulled back immediately, his face full of confusion and regret. For a second he still kept his arms around her, then he dropped them to his sides as she turned away from him, drawing her knees up. When he lightly touched her back, she shook him off angrily.

After a long moment, he got up and murmured, "Goodnight, Janys" he finally said. She stayed silent as he picked up the paddle and left, softly closing the door behind.

Her rear end aching, she buried her face in the pillow and cried herself to sleep.