Chapter XLIX: Touch
The king's confusion deepened, "Punish you? What are you talking about?"
Isabella's voice remained steady as she replied, "If you believe I've disrespected you, my king, then you should punish me accordingly."
The king's laughter turned uneasy, his brows furrowing in disbelief. "Are you insane?" he asked incredulously.
Isabella's voice remained calm as she shook her head. "No," she replied simply.
The king's laughter ceased, replaced by a look of bewilderment. "Yeah, I think you are," he retorted, his tone firm.
Isabella turned towards him, her eyes determined as she reached for his belt. The king quickly grabbed her hands, his voice filled with concern. "What are you doing?" he demanded. Isabella struggled against his grip, her desperation evident as she released one of her hands and delivered a sharp slap across his face.
"Punish me!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the room.
Isabella tried to slap him again, but he stopped her. The king's grip tightened around Isabella's wrist as he angrily turned her around, bending her against the table in a rough movement. With practiced efficiency, he lifted her dress and exposed her bare ass, his movements decisive as he retrieved his belt.
Isabella braced herself, her heart pounding with anticipation and fear for less than a couple seconds as the first strike of the belt met her skin. Each lash left a stinging mark, eliciting a mixture of pain and relief. She felt something oddly exhilarating about receiving that belting. It felt like a twisted replacement for the touch of him she longed for so bad and couldn't have. As the punishment continued, Isabella's breaths grew ragged, her senses consumed by the rhythm of the blows and the overwhelming intensity of the moment. It was a kind of pain she enjoyed feeling for some reason she couldn't explain.
The king couldn’t tell exactly what was happening inside of Isabella’s head, but he knew her body language well enough to tell that, in some way, she was enjoying being spanked. He enjoyed dominating her, putting her in her place. She was bent over the table, her ass up and bare. His belt already off, all he had to do was to open his pants and satisfy his burning desire for her right there.
The king's grip on the belt loosened as he heard the faint cries of his son drifting through the walls, blending with Isabella's own sobs. It was as though he had been snapped out of a trance, a sudden awareness dawning on him. What was he doing? Isabella was no longer a defiant girl, a simple concubine in need of discipline. She was the mother of his son. With a heavy sigh, he dropped the belt to the ground, his chest heaving with a mixture of guilt and confusion. Isabella, still bent over the table, trembled with a mixture of pain and relief, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.
The king returned to his chambers in haste, a storm of conflicting emotions raging within him. As he stepped inside, he nodded silently at Alicent, gesturing for her to return to Isabella's quarters. With a sense of urgency, Alicent hurried back, cradling the crying prince in her arms, her heart heavy with concern for her dear friend.
Alicent entered Isabella’s room and found her adjusting her dress, her face displaying a strange mix of serenity and distress, her cheeks reddish and stained with tears. With concern etched on her features, Alicent approached Isabella. “Isabella… Are you alright?” She asked, deeply concerned.
Isabella wiped away her tears and reached out for her son, reassuring Alicent with a strained smile. “I’m fine.”
As the king retreated to his chambers, a whirlwind of emotions consumed him. Confusion tangled with devastation, leaving him adrift in a sea of unanswered questions. He grappled with the maddening paradox of desire, unable to fathom why Isabella, once so eager, now seemed so distant.
Thirteen other women awaited him, their affections readily available, yet it was Isabella's elusive gaze that haunted him. What secrets lay hidden behind those guarded eyes? What had caused the abrupt shift in her heart, turning her away from him? He learned a long time ago that it was easy to keep women infatuated with him, all he had to do was to give them hope, mitigate his attention to keep them docile. That never seemed to work on Isabella and he couldn’t understand why.
With each unanswered question, the king's frustration mounted, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. He longed to unravel the enigma of Isabella's heart, to understand the mysteries that held her captive. Her behavior was unpredictable, he knew for sure that none of his other women would do something like this. But for now, all he could do was grapple with the tumultuous storm raging within him, desperate for answers that seemed forever out of reach.
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