hear—including a husband who sighed with relief as he understood the premise behind these rich sounds. “Thank God!” his spoken response.
The sound of the fierce knight’s hand upon the impertinent ass of Mountbane’s noble wife was sweet on Sir Tristan’s ears. He pelted the fleshy orbs with an enthusiastic cadence of strikes, which covered the skin all about her backside until the once fair thing was glowing like a wild rose of summer. The more he struck, the more the hue deepened, and the more the lady bellowed her harangue. It would seem this was a game to see who could hold out the longest. With Sir Tristan being the steadier of the two, the exhausted wife found her zeal for protest finally withered. Not to mention that the rising pain was becoming so acute that it would be difficult to withstand much more.
“Oh, my lord, please!” she wailed mournfully at last—her voice quite different than it had been before.
“Please what? Please stop? Please quit your knavish, boorishness? Is that what you’d say?”
“No, I am succumbed.”
“Are you now? Or are you just too weary now to fight?”
“I am sir, but…”
“But you’re still a petulant harpy.” He struck again with a significant fervor. Her sweltering ass could hardly take another strike.
“No, sir!” she wailed again. “I concede. I promise, sir. Oh, my, please stop!” She sounded dreadfully wounded.
Though he gave her a few parting smacks on the centers of her swollen bottom cheeks, he finally stopped.
One intense moment led to another. At first it was the warmth invading her crotch that was so dangerous, then his warm palm laid on her steamy behind. Then, because the tension was more than either could handle, Sir Tristan pushed her off his lap and he rose to his feet as Lady Charlotte did. Even standing, the two found themselves dangerously close to declaring something both of them feared.
They stood with chests nearly beating as one for several seconds looking steamily into each other’s eyes. Then Sir Tristan backed away. “Don’t,” he said aloud. His soft voice changed as he returned gratefully to his anger. “I told you once to watch your shrewishness,” he said, pointing an accusing finger her way. “I’d suggest you believe me next time you’re tempted to squall like a belligerent child. You’ve been a reasonable wife for three years…”
“Reasonable! I’ve been more than a reasonable wife for three years,” she shot out.
“Ah, shall I start again—with my leather this time?” he wondered as he grabbed hold of his belt for emphasis.
“No, no, sir,” she assured him. “And I am sorry.”
“You have some excuse for your bad behavior?”
“It is my time of the month?”
“Oh? And other than that?”
“My husband is an ass,” she made the accusation calmly.
“We all know that; but for what reason would a slave risk herself with such outbursts?”
“I’ve held my tongue too long.”
“You hold your tongue as long as you live in Ilusia, milady,” he reminded her as she remained in his fixed gaze.
“Even Mountbane does not expect that.”
“But I do.”
“Ooo, you are as contemptible as he.”
“More, milady. I’m going to lock you in here for the night!”
“Oh, you cannot!”
“Indeed, I can.”
“My husband wants me tied in my own bed!” she reminded him.
“Then he can put you there,” Tristan announced
Perfectly pleased with himself, the nobleman left the shocked Lady Charlotte to stew inside the tiny chamber with just the chair and a simple and very uncomfortable bed.
As he locked the door behind him, she was pounding on the thick wood. “You repulsive boar! Vicious oaf! Loathsome villain!” Her pounding got her nothing but a very sore fist.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte meandered her way through the castle gardens, which were now drearily brown from the stark turns of winter. With the season receding, the thought of spring might come to mind if one had a
The sound of the fierce knight’s hand upon the impertinent ass of Mountbane’s noble wife was sweet on Sir Tristan’s ears. He pelted the fleshy orbs with an enthusiastic cadence of strikes, which covered the skin all about her backside until the once fair thing was glowing like a wild rose of summer. The more he struck, the more the hue deepened, and the more the lady bellowed her harangue. It would seem this was a game to see who could hold out the longest. With Sir Tristan being the steadier of the two, the exhausted wife found her zeal for protest finally withered. Not to mention that the rising pain was becoming so acute that it would be difficult to withstand much more.
“Oh, my lord, please!” she wailed mournfully at last—her voice quite different than it had been before.
“Please what? Please stop? Please quit your knavish, boorishness? Is that what you’d say?”
“No, I am succumbed.”
“Are you now? Or are you just too weary now to fight?”
“I am sir, but…”
“But you’re still a petulant harpy.” He struck again with a significant fervor. Her sweltering ass could hardly take another strike.
“No, sir!” she wailed again. “I concede. I promise, sir. Oh, my, please stop!” She sounded dreadfully wounded.
Though he gave her a few parting smacks on the centers of her swollen bottom cheeks, he finally stopped.
One intense moment led to another. At first it was the warmth invading her crotch that was so dangerous, then his warm palm laid on her steamy behind. Then, because the tension was more than either could handle, Sir Tristan pushed her off his lap and he rose to his feet as Lady Charlotte did. Even standing, the two found themselves dangerously close to declaring something both of them feared.
They stood with chests nearly beating as one for several seconds looking steamily into each other’s eyes. Then Sir Tristan backed away. “Don’t,” he said aloud. His soft voice changed as he returned gratefully to his anger. “I told you once to watch your shrewishness,” he said, pointing an accusing finger her way. “I’d suggest you believe me next time you’re tempted to squall like a belligerent child. You’ve been a reasonable wife for three years…”
“Reasonable! I’ve been more than a reasonable wife for three years,” she shot out.
“Ah, shall I start again—with my leather this time?” he wondered as he grabbed hold of his belt for emphasis.
“No, no, sir,” she assured him. “And I am sorry.”
“You have some excuse for your bad behavior?”
“It is my time of the month?”
“Oh? And other than that?”
“My husband is an ass,” she made the accusation calmly.
“We all know that; but for what reason would a slave risk herself with such outbursts?”
“I’ve held my tongue too long.”
“You hold your tongue as long as you live in Ilusia, milady,” he reminded her as she remained in his fixed gaze.
“Even Mountbane does not expect that.”
“But I do.”
“Ooo, you are as contemptible as he.”
“More, milady. I’m going to lock you in here for the night!”
“Oh, you cannot!”
“Indeed, I can.”
“My husband wants me tied in my own bed!” she reminded him.
“Then he can put you there,” Tristan announced
Perfectly pleased with himself, the nobleman left the shocked Lady Charlotte to stew inside the tiny chamber with just the chair and a simple and very uncomfortable bed.
As he locked the door behind him, she was pounding on the thick wood. “You repulsive boar! Vicious oaf! Loathsome villain!” Her pounding got her nothing but a very sore fist.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte meandered her way through the castle gardens, which were now drearily brown from the stark turns of winter. With the season receding, the thought of spring might come to mind if one had a
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