"Edward, I think what you did was serious," Bella tells the table. "Are you sure that you want me to be the one to . . ." she trails off again.

"Please," I say, knowing that I sound young and scared.

"Alright," she says, "wait there."

I stand in my place, my hands behind my back, waiting for my sentence. But, Bella slips from the room.

She doesn't go far, I can hear her still from where I'm standing.

"Hello, well, yes . . . I was calling to ask you for something. I need a . . . yes, that's exactly . . . of course, the top drawer? . . . Thank you, Alice."

Somehow, Bella talking to Alice right now makes me feel even more nervous.

"What? No, that doesn't . . alright, Alice . . . he isn't . . . Fine. But, I do wish that sometimes you would be content to have just one conversation at a time."

Despite the seriousness of my situation, my lips curve into a brief smile.

"Thank you, Alice," Bella says, winding the conversation down, "see you soon."

Bella returns to her study, and walks over to a cabinet under the window.

She opens it and takes something out, but I can't see what yet. That brief smile is long gone.

While she's over there, she draws the curtains. I gulp as my body realises why she's ensuring our privacy. I know that I'm infinitely better off taking my punishment now, from Bella, than I would be facing the wrath of everyone else. Carlisle and Jasper, especially, tend to have pretty severe ideas of suitable consequences. Nonetheless, actually seeing Bella drawing the curtains makes my stomach flip. She's giving us privacy because she's going to spank me, right now. I'm getting a spanking, right now.

She turns back and starts walking towards me, and I get my first glimpse of what's in her hands.

I put my hands up in front of me and I move fast. Suddenly the wall is against my back.

I move before I fully articulate, even in my own mind, what I can see. Bella's carrying a cane.

She's holding it with both hands, flexing it experientially as she walks.

A whimper comes out of my mouth before I have time to close my lips. The noise attracts Bella's attention. She looks at me, and her eyes are very gentle.

"If you would rather someone else do this, that's absolutely fine," she says, "you still have time to change your mind."

I want to answer but instead I whimper again. I sound like a puppy.

Bella waits patiently, she even stops flexing that thing she's carrying.

I take a deep breath, press my back hard against the wall and answer her. "I don't want anyone else to do it," I say, "but do you have to use that?"

Bella sighs, "what do you think, Edward? Do you think I should just give you a couple of smacks with my hand and call it quits? Do you think that's what you deserve?"

Obviously not. Obviously I deserve to be thrashed. I was deplorably selfish and it was risky. But, then I deserve to have her leave me because she's fed up with being married to a perpetual child. Luckily, Bella doesn't give me what I deserve. I deserve to be spurned, to be left alone, to be hated by anyone as pure and good as her. But that isn't what she does. She loves me and stays with me and supports me. She doesn't even make me face my family's idea of proper discipline, she is stepping in to protect me from even the minor harshness of Carlisle. Even now, when she should probably just order me to bend over and take the severe beating I deserve, she is patiently waiting for me to be ready.

"You never give me what I deserve," I mumble.

Bella looks confused, "if you want to change your mind, and just sort all this out at the family meeting, that's totally fine."

Yeah, I think, that would be totally fine. Right up until someone hears that you have this thing in your room and decides that a nice public caning is just the trick to make me behave.

"No, I . . ." I have to hold onto the wall, I have a sudden urge to throw myself on the floor and beg her to forgive me, and I don't want to embarrass us both by giving in to it. "I just wasn't expecting it. But, I want you to be the one to discipline me, I do."

We stand for a little while, looking at each other.

I'm trying to screw my courage to the sticking place. Bella is chewing her lip.

Finally, she says, "shall we get on with it, then?"

I nod and try not to tremble, "where do you want me?" I ask her.

She lifts her shield and shows me a picture of myself bent over her desk.

I nod tightly and get into position. I fold my arms on the top of the desk and lay my head on top of them. The height of the desk means that my ass is arched up taught, in the ideal position to really sting when Bella thrashes me. Did Emmett consider this when he made this desk? Did he guess that I would one day be bent over his desk like this? Did he take my height into account when he carved this beautiful piece of furniture, ensuring that my doomed backside would be subject to the optimum amount of pain when Bella saw the need to inflict some?

"Thank you," Bella whispers.

Then her mind replays the picture of me in position and compares it to what I am doing. It's a sort of spot the difference, a horrible sort of spot the difference. She's too embarrassed to say it, but she wants me bare-assed over the desk.

I want to cry. "Please," I say, and the crying that I'm not doing is clearly audible behind my words, "is that absolutely . . ."

"I want to see what I'm doing," Bella explains.

Of course, this would be about her consideration. She's afraid of hurting me - no, that's not quite accurate, she knows that she has to hurt me; she's afraid of hurting me too much - she loves me in so many ways that I don't deserve. I don't look at her. I cannot bear her to see my face right now. I force my pants and underpants down to my feet and get back over the desk so I can hide in the crook of my elbow.

"Thank you," Bella says again.

I clench my teeth together tightly.

There's a whistling sound followed by a loud crack. I wait for the blossoming pain. But, nothing happens, I can't feel a thing.

For a second, I can't understand it. Why didn't it hurt? What happened?

Then I realise that Bella struck the side of the desk. It was an experimental swish, not aimed at me at all.

"All right," she says now, "ready?"

I don't trust my voice now. I just nod and bury my face deeper into my arms.

The whistling sound comes again, followed by the - argh! This was not a test! The searing, horrible pain in one line right across my backside. It feels like she's cut me in half. There's a sharp cracking noise as well, but that's completely overwhelmed by the pain.

Then I hear the whistle again and it takes every bit of self control not to leap up and run.

The second strike falls just above the first, and the sting surprises me again. Did she hit me harder this time? Is that thing electric or something? How is it stinging so badly?

The pain doesn't exactly fade, the two stripes continue to ache, they throb like a sort of heart beat. But I know that the next strike is going to feel even worse.

The whistling sound makes me tense, even though I know that tensing up will make it hurt more. The third line is the lowest yet, right where my thighs meet my buttocks. I'm going to feel a reminder of this pain every time I sit. I wonder if that has occurred to Bella. Every day when I sit in her class, on one of those unforgiving wooden chairs, I'm going to be fiercely reminded of what I get for messing around in class. It's certainly going to make detention a bit more of a punishment. An extra hour sitting down, doesn't sound like such an easy sentence now.

Another whistle, that's one of the things I hate about being punished like this: that awful sense of anticipation, waiting for the crack, hearing it coming. I hate other things too, I hate the impersonal nature of it. I hate that there's a thing between me and Bella. I hate that she owns something purely for the purpose of disciplining me. It's as though she saw this - or something like this - was bound to happen, I was bound to misbehave sooner or later.

The crack comes, and it crosses the existing lines, creating a new level of pain at the points of intersection. I gasp.

Bella hears me and pauses.

She lays her empty hand on the small of my back and says, "you're doing well, sweetie. It'll be over soon."

There's no way I can form words. If I open my mouth right now I'm going to howl like a wounded wolf (or like a wolf who's just missed out on the last ice cream sandwich, that always causes a proper soulful howl). But I don't want Bella to think I am ungrateful for her reassurance.

Keeping my mouth tightly closed I hum my thanks.

Bella strokes my back again.

"Do you want to take a break?" She asks softly.

Of course I don't want to take a break. I want this to end and any break, even this short pause, prolongs the awfulness.

I try shaking my head, but I'm not sure Bella understands me. With my face hidden in my arm, it just looks like I'm trembling. She rubs my back and sighs.

I have to speak.

I open my mouth, and whine, not like a wolf, even, like a weak cub.

I gulp air and struggle to get my tongue under control.

"Please," I stutter, "please, please, don't stop. Just . . ." I sob softly, "get this over with."

Bella takes a breath.

"Of course," she says, "I understand, we'll get this finished. Just three more."

I clench my teeth again. Three more. How can she say 'just'?

Another whistle, another sharp diagonal, cutting right across those three first lines. I manage to keep my mouth shut this time.

"Two more," she says softly.

I straighten my shoulders a little, try to prepare myself. There isn't really enough time.

The whistle comes back. What is it exactly? No normal cane would survive contact with a vampire, especially not when wielded with Bella's level of strength. It must be exceptionally flexible and strong. Some kind of metal, maybe?

The crack draws one new line, discovers a fresh uninjured strip of flesh, and sears into it.

My legs are shaking.

"Last one," Bella whispers, as if she thinks this will make me feel better.

It doesn't.

I know that this pain is going to remain for a long time. The end of this beating is only the beginning of my punishment. When the strikes are over, when the shock fades, the pain will blossom into its full, hideous glory.

One last whistle, one last crack, right on top of the first line, right on top of my sore, miserable, whipped backside.

I howl.

Then it's over. Bella drops the cane and I hear it hit the floor with a ridiculously soft thwack. How can this awful implement just drop to the ground so quietly, when it has been hitting my backside with such explosive force?

Bella is by my side and wrapping herself around me before I even think about how to stand. Her hair falls on my neck as she leans in to kiss my cheeks. She covers me with kisses, from my chin up to my eyes, as if she was trying to kiss away my non existent tears.

"I'm sorry," I stutter out between gargling breaths, I'm not sure if Bella could possibly make out my intended words through the gulping, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." It comes out broken and strangled by choking sobs, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She rubs my back and shoulders, pressing herself against my side, giving me an overdose of soft, loving contact.

I ought to be thanking her for my discipline, promising better behaviour in future, bowing my head and accepting my chastisement. Instead, I lean into her and let her stroke away my shaking. I know that I belong back on the other side of the desk, listening to a final scolding, or standing with my nose in a corner, contemplating my behaviour with the inspiration of a stinging rear end. But, none of that is Bella's style.

"Hush," she says, "it's over," she whispers over my pathetic babble, "just breathe now."

I don't exactly need to breathe. But the rhythm is soothing. I try to slow my breaths to the rhythm of Bella's hand.

She couldn't bear to scold me once I'm hurt. She couldn't send me to a corner or listen to me submit to her. Bella loves me so much more than I deserve. She's here for me, even now, especially now, holding me, soothing me, trying to help me recover from my punishment.

Her kindness seems to bring out the child in me. I find it hard to stop sobbing. Bella's pity bringing out my own self pity.

"Oh, Edward " she says at last, softly, almost breaking into sobs of her own, "I am so sorry for doing that to you. I know I was too harsh. I'm sorry. I hurt you."

For Bella's sake I need to pull myself together.

"You weren't," I whisper. "You weren't too harsh, love."

She runs her fingers through my hair, and I lean towards her hand, wanting more of her touch.

Bella notices my movement, and her caresses increase in confidence. She guides me into a standing position, pausing when I whimper at the way movement reignights the pain.

Finally, we're both stood up, though I'm leaning onto Bella's shoulder, with my face hidden against the side of her neck, breathing her in.

She holds me tight and leans down to kiss my neck.

"Are you alright?" She asks.

I think about this. I am safe and loved and held, so, yes, I am basically alright. But, I also feel utterly crushed by her punishment, I'm finding it hard to even imagine looking her in the eye ever again. I am sore and very very sorry.

"Not really," I admit.

Bella sighs, I know that she feels guilty, and my pathetic behaviour is making that worse. I need to do something better, be better, I need to start giving her back some of the support she's given me.

"I am sorry " I say, then I carry on quickly, before Bella thinks that I've started to babble again, "I made a series of poor choices and forced you to punish me. I regret what I did, and that's the point of punishment. So, I'm not alright, I have a lesson to learn. But, I will be alright, because you're here and you love me enough to give me what I need, even when it's not what either of us really want."

"You need to get dressed," she says softly.

I ought to be embarrassed, to be half dressed, clinging to my wife, afraid to look her in the eye. But my fear of pulling up my clothes is stronger than that embarrassment. I just hide against her neck and hope she'll forget about it.

"Edward," she prompts, "you have to get dressed. Do you want me to help you?"

That tiny touch of seriousness when she says my name makes me whimper again. I don't want her to be angry with me, not now. I need her love so much.

"S'ok," I mumble, "I can do it."

It would be nice to have her help, her tiny hands sliding over my hips, her deft fingers fastening my flies. But, I am not a child, and I really do have to dress myself.

As I tug up the rough fabric, I try to remember that all my injuries are self inflicted, but that doesn't stop me cringing. Maybe it makes it worse. All this pain, and it's all my own damn fault.