The Princess and the Huntsman by Patricia Green

the same time, Brandywyn could feel his cod growing beneath her belly. It was much bigger than his finger. Perhaps it would hurt. But that might be a hurt as sweetly poignant as the spanks on her nether lips had been. She did not know, and soon was beyond caring as his pace picked up, his finger delving deeper and faster.
    “Aye,” she whispered. “Take me.”
    Now it was Tom’s turn to make a small gasp. “You know not what you ask, Brandywyn.”
    “I think I know. Show me. Teach me.”
    “I thought you hated me,” he pointed out.
    Indeed, she had hated him. That was changing, and she could not hate him for what he was doing to her body. It was too compelling, too powerful to resist. Her bottom felt full, empty, full, empty, tight, and then open. There was more to this, and she wanted it.
    “I hate you no more, Tom. I… do not understand how I feel. But your touch brings strange sensation, and I like that well enough.”
    Tom withdrew his finger slowly and stopped his light restraint on her legs, wiping his hand on a torn rag nearby. “Do you stand before me and remove your bodice and skirt. We will explore this thing, since you have a desire for it, and I have a need.”
    Brandywyn did not hesitate; she shucked her bodice and skirt and stood in her borrowed shirt, Tom’s shirt, wondering what to do with her hands. She knew her nipples were poking the fabric of the shirt, she could feel them so sensitive where they touched the cambric.
    Tom rose and moved her gently to the bed, where she sat down gingerly. Her bottom cheeks were tender and her bung felt funny. It all gave her a tickle in her middle that needed to be satisfied.
    Loosening his codpiece and opening his trunk hose, Tom’s phallus was revealed. It was thick and hard, though the skin looked smooth and marbled with veins. “Kneel on the bed, sweeting, on hands and knees. We will make this sweet beast like mating horses, but yet, you will remain a virgin.”
    Swallowing hard past the lump of trepidation in her throat, Brandywyn put herself in position on the bed. Her bum stuck out and she realized it was going to be the target for his arrow. Tom lifted her shirt, and it was a relief to have the scratchy fabric removed from her sore bottom. She gasped, feeling something slippery rubbing over her bottom hole. “What?”
    “‘Tis butter, sweeting. I would do you no harm that can be avoided.”
    “Oh…”
    “Relax,” he reminded her, pressing the head of his cock against her virgin rosette. “Do not fight it, Brandywyn. This will be a pleasure for both of us.”
    Slowly, he poked, pressuring her bung to cautiously open to him. He was patient, and for that Brandywyn was grateful. She could only imagine how violated she would feel if he stuck her quickly and with force. But he did not. After a minute of steady pressure, the head of his cock popped in. Brandywyn tensed instinctively.
    “No,” he reminded her. “Relax. Relax, love.”
    Tom rubbed her back, her hips, his hands gliding over her skin like gentle rain, and soon Brandywyn relaxed with his phallus barely past the entrance. He pressed again and the slippery butter did its job. Soon he was deeply seated and Brandywyn’s excitement was growing.
    “More,” she breathed. “Show me more. My belly soars like a thousand blackbirds.”
    He chuckled and began to withdraw, but Brandywyn whimpered. “Please do not go, Tom. Please. This cannot be all.”
    “Nay, ‘tis not all by far. But to have the rest, I must withdraw a bit. I shall soon return.” He slid out halfway, and then pushed back in. “See?”
    The pressure was so wonderful, the stretch as invigorating as the first stretch along her body upon waking in the morning. Brandywyn pressed back against his pelvis and he slid deeper.
    “Ho, now she’s got a taste for it, she makes demands upon this poor huntsman.”
    “Please, Tom, tease me not.”
    “Nay.” He pumped in and out a few times, not too fast, but at a pace she could