He slowed, and paused and said, “Ten more.” Xen whimpered, and pulled at her hand. Jareth released her wrist. She clamped her hands back over her ears, though the the sound of the brush was not jarring or loud.
He didn’t count out loud, but Xen tracked each thunderous swing, punctuating it with another scream. The strokes were slow and deliberate. Harder, but she felt the relief of an end in sight. Six. Seven. Eight. The blinding pain washed over her, not quite receding before the next one came. Nine. Almost finished. And Ten. The pain lingered, but the fear and tension dissipated.
Xen stayed taut for a moment, waiting for reassurance that he was really finished. Jareth leaned sideways to set down the brush back on the dresser and stroked her back. She slowly relaxed into ragged breathing.
she remained in that indignant position for a minute or two, until she recovered enough to push up. Jareth helped her roll up against him. She winced as her still smarting bottom slid over the covers. Curled against his chest. He held her silently.
After some time, Jareth kissed her, and she let him slide out from under her. “I’ll be right back,” he told her gently, helping her lean against some pillows.