I can’t stop myself from flinching. “What?”

“Kiss the rod. As a sign that you accept your punishment. Like a good child. Kiss the rod.”

I look at him blankly for a moment as if I wonder if I can disobey him. He returns my gaze, completely calm. Only his scarlet color and his rapid breathing reveal that he is aroused. He holds the whip a little closer to my lips. “Go on,” he says.

I purse my lips. He puts the leather plaited thong to my mouth. I kiss it. He puts the thicker leather stem to my face. I kiss it. He puts his clenched hand holding the handle before my mouth, and I kiss his fat fingers too. Then without changing his expression he raises the whip behind me, and brings it down hard on my buttocks.

I cry out and flinch away, but he has tight hold of my upper arm and he strikes me again. Three times I hear the whistle and then feel the blow as it comes down and the pain is quite terrible. There are burning tears in my eyes as he brings the whip to my face again and whispers: “Kiss it, Kateryn, and say that you have learned wifely obedience.”

There is blood in my mouth from where I have bitten my lip. It tastes like poison. I can feel the hot tears pouring down my cheeks and I cannot choke down a little sob. He waggles the stick in front of me and I kiss it, as he orders. “Say it,” he reminds me.

“I have learned wifely obedience,” I repeat.

“Say thank you, my lord husband.”

“Thank you, my lord husband.”

He is quiet. I take a choking breath. I can feel my chest heave with my sobs. I assume my punishment is finished and I pull down my gown. My buttocks are stinging raw and I am afraid they are bleeding, and my white linen shift will be stained.

“One other thing,” he says silkily, still holding me on my hands and knees. I wait.

He pushes back the covers of his bed and I see, like a monstrous erection, he is wearing the ivory silk codpiece from the portrait strapped on his fat naked belly. It is a grotesque sight, huge on his rotting belly, pointing upwards out of the sheets, embroidered with silver thread and stitched with pearls.

“Kiss this too,” he says.

My will is broken indeed. I rub the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and I feel the snot from my nose spread over my face. This, too, I will do for my own safety.

He puts his hand on it and he caresses it as if it can give him pleasure. He giggles. “You have to,” he says simply.