Butterfly

"How displeasing," an only recently familiar voice said from the doorway.

Looking up, unpleasantly surprised, she pulled the head away from her thighs with her fingers in the straight, ruddy hair. "What, my lord, is displeasing?" she questioned, as if asking how his breakfast had treated him.

"The base whispers of servants are not how I prefer to learn of my lady's activities," he said, still from the doorway, fresh from a ride in the fields.

"Ah," she answered, her chin high as she stood away from the cushioned wall. She pushed the kneeling figure aside, smoothing down the skirt of her gown. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?" his face and tone calm, his eyes shifting from her face to the hands on her gown, then returning.

Greer trembled on the ground, he could not believe his ears. With every tense word, his heart rate increased to an ever more horrified speed. He had only seen the new Lord in passing and, of course, at the mass re-dedication of the household. He felt the intense glare of the Lord on every nerve ending, each hair standing straight, even though the look was directed at his Lady.

"Finally, I have intrigued you enough to capture your attention," she smiled incredulously, checking her hair for signs of disturbance.

Greer had, himself, silently wondered why his services to his Lady were still required after her marriage. He had quieted his curiosity by reminding himself that the new Lord has been quite occupied with matters of state.

"My attention? I was not aware that it was necessary; perhaps you have been too demure."

"I do not require attentions borne of artifice," she said quickly, through the flashing white of her teeth, "I have servants for that."

Her words struck Greer like a whip, cutting deep right through his flesh, into his core. His feelings, his desire to please his Lady, were true and deeply rooted. There was no artifice, only the hopes that he might make her smile or, what he sought most fervently, merit her touch. He crawled away from both of them, hoping not to draw their attentions.

"Such a selfish child," he said, his turn to smile to his lady bride, only a few years his junior.

Her voice was low, hissing through her teeth, "You dare to call me names in my father's house?"

His grin grew wide. Greer could tell by the shift in his Lady's stance that she was infuriated. The muscles in Greer's back tensed instinctively, ready for her blows. Instead, Greer's ears were hit by the smooth calm of the Lord's voice.

"This is certainly the place of your father's reign," he said kindly, as if to a confused child, "but no longer his house. The castle, the land, and the people around and in it, are mine now."

This time, it was her eyes that shone, her chin high, as she replied, "Hardly more than a whiff on the breeze. Ask the peasants who their lord is. See who they name. See if they even know your banner."

The Lord moved in a blink of Greer's eyes across the room, one moment standing just inside the doorway, the next towering over his Lady, standing so close that his legs indented her full skirt.

"Say it again, my lady," his voice low, quiet. She glanced down to the hand resting on her upper arm, the touch heavy.

"These are the lands of my blood. Taken. Earned. Kept. With the marriage, you own the right to mingle your blood with ours, but this is not your place," she looked up at him, her nostrils flaring with pride.

His other arm found her waist through the thick cloth of her dress, playing down to the swell of her hips, "Yes, a child would clear any confusion," his voice trailing away.

The hair on the back of her neck raised. He had not touched her like this, not even at their first coupling. In reality, he had barely touched her at all, even with her body naked before him. He had taken her wedding gift, her virgin blood, quickly, then wiped it away and returned to his new chamber. She had cried in anger, then steeled herself against further injury, resigning herself to finding pleasure where she could command it. She vaguely heard him saying something about the lands and peoples through her thoughts.

She was jolted back to the present by a scraping sound and a tug at her back. "...but the ownership of those is not what is being discussed here, is it?"

For the first time since he had appeared in the doorway, she had no quick retort for him. She gasped as she watched her complicated garments fall oddly away from her chest, still attached to her arms by the sleeves.

"Is it, my lady?" He raised her chin with his hand, his eyes capturing hers.

"Is what, my lord?" She searched her mind, suddenly forgetting most of their conversation, as the corner of her eye caught the bright gleam of his usually decorative dagger moving to cut away her sleeves.

"Perhaps I should not have relied on ceremony and tradition to prove my capabilities to you," he said almost regretfully, tossing aside the now useless bits of fabric.

One hit Greer in the face, but he knew better than to react vocally. He ever so cautiously picked up the torn cloth that used to be part of the shoulder of her dress, bringing it to his chest.

"I hardly know you," she blurted out, feeling foolish immediately. Her cheeks burned with her exposure: the secret thought spoken hastily, and the strange way she was now clothed, and yet not.

"How could you? Always flitting about like a butterfly, pretty, but never still enough to observe."

She lowered her face away from his gaze as her heart began to seem heavy in her chest. She had no words to explain her behavior; she had always been occupied, prided herself on never letting an idle moment go by. Now though, her mind raced to think of reasons why it was positive. His hand traced quickly from her back, where it had been working at her skirt, to raise her chin. Her skin burned at his touch.

"Good. Easier to learn about me when you are not constantly seeking to counter my statements." An ever-so-small grin moved her graceful lips as she looked up at him again. She was startled again as the fabric of her skirt fell away, leaving her with only the basic underpinnings of her clothing.

Greer was startled too. He had never seen his Lady so near to nakedness. She had not allowed him to see her even as he serviced her. She was more beautiful than he had imagined in his guilty mind.

She raised her hand to touch his cheek, but he caught her arm firmly at the wrist, "Assuming what I want? Are you incapable of learning?"

Her anger boiled up in her again, her eyes flashing, she started to turn, to leave the room, but his grip on her only grew tighter. "Do stay, my lady." His voice was melodic and warm, but she knew there was a taunting lilt to it.

"What do-"

"Quiet."

"I will not suffer this-"

This time it was his hand over her mouth that interrupted her speech, his eyes locked with hers, "Oh, I think you need to suffer, butterfly, to bring your mind peace."

He turned her with his other hand, bringing her back to his chest. With a quick shift, he covered her mouth with his forearm, allowing no time for her to speak. She felt his warm skin through his clothing as he moved behind her. She inhaled deeply, then berated herself for enjoying his touch. He had treated her so poorly. Another quick shift, and a strip of her ruined dress was between her lips, tied tightly under her hair.

Her hands flew up to tear the fabric away, but he caught her upper arms, pinning them to her sides, in time to prevent her interference. She squirmed under his grip and bent at the knees in an effort to make the height difference uncomfortable for him. Elation flooded her as she felt his grip falter for a moment and she started to tear away. Again he stopped her, his hands at the base of her neck, gripping, pinching the flesh and tendons of her shoulder between his widely spread fingers.

"Do stay, pretty one," he said in a kind voice to her ear as he knelt briefly behind her, deftly grabbing her fighting, delicate hands, holding them tightly at the wrists. He raised her arms above her head, then held them both in one hand to free his other to tie another strip of the fabric around her wrists. All the while, she squirmed and grunted, her breath heavy, her skin hot from embarrassment and effort, but he was calm, undeterred by her struggles.

He stood to his full height behind her wrapping an arm around her upper body to trap her arms. The other capturing her hands again. He released her upper arms to tie another strip of the fabric around her wrists. Kneeling again, he lifted her by the waist, and carried her to the end of the intricately carved bed with its grand posts to hold the heavy decorations. With one last handy strip of the fabric, he connected her wrists to a post, facing her away from him, towards the headboard.

He was absent from her for a few moments, but she heard the dress ripping again. Her mind raced, her emotions jerked from anger to anxiety to fear to want. 'Want?' She was startled to recognize the heat between her legs, as she felt the cool wood of the post against her skin. She tried to deny it to herself, that it must be from the early service of, 'Of who? Oh, I'm sure he has a name.' The poorly constructed lie did not last into the next moment and she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, trying to push away the want.

Nevertheless, her whole body jumped when his fingertips grazed her skin as he tied a thicker roll of the dress skirt around her waist, and the post, securing her to it tightly. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, then berated herself again, trying to focus on the ill treatment. Instead, her body became very aware of the wood against her mound, parting those tender lips slightly.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the swish in the air the second before the leather striped across the soft skin of her back. She opened her mouth to cry out, but choked on the sound, the gag performing its job dutifully.

Greer was horrified. His Lady, his life, was being hurt. He knew all the way to his core that there was nothing he could do. If it were anyone but the Lord, he could run to the guards. Could he, though? His legs felt frozen and rubbery all at once. He felt the second strike to Her, the wind caused by the swift belt nearly bowling him over with shock. Somehow though, he urged himself to move to the corner, then out the servant's corridor. He would wait here, summon help if her life was in danger. He found himself, a moment later, hurrying away from the scene entirely. It was too much for him to bear.

She clenched her teeth, determined not to make a sound. Yet, after the fourth welt was in place on her skin, she could not help herself. She grunted, her chest heaving against the post, pushing her breasts apart, pushing into her sex. He paused in his action after two more; she could hear his skin on the leather and his steps as he moved closer to her. A smaller piece of it now peppered her with sharp hits, starting at her hip and moving upward. She wanted to scream when it overlaid the angry red skin of the earlier whips, instead, she cried, the pain more intense than anything she had felt in her life. Her body shook with trembles, the tears flowing freely, as the leather made the journey back down to her hips, her back on fire with pain and heat and bruising.

Through her sobs, she heard the buckle, of what she now knew as his belt, tumble onto the ground, felt the heat of his body warm her bare legs, but cool against her back. The rustle of cloth behind her sent her into dizzying state, only to be drawn out of it by the scratch of the cloth against her beaten skin and she whimpered softly from her throat. 'What more?' her mind screamed to her and she sobbed heavily.

What happened next surprised her completely: the feel of soft kisses on the welts and bruises under her shoulder, moving down. She jumped at each one, pressing the wood against her, heightening the intensity of the touch of his lips against the tenderness of her back. As he neared her hips, she heard him inhale deeply. He stopped, resting a cool cheek against the small of her back, his breath slow. His kisses traced around the gentle concavity as he reached around, cutting away the bond at her waist, tearing the fabric again with the same knife.

He stood, the skin of his bare chest gliding pleasantly against her bottom, then abrasively on her back. He wrapped his arms around her below her waist, pulling himself to her. She gasped as she noticed his arousal. The whipped skin was so sensitive that she thought she could discern the head from the shaft through his clothes. His hands moved slowly down her soft belly and past it. She moaned and whimpered in the same breath, as his fingers found the true source of her heat, instantly slick with the wetness of her.

"It was my intention that I would teach you respect for me," he said above her ear, his voice deeper with want, as his fingers pressed onto her most tender spot. "I had only hoped for this," punctuating and explaining his sentiment by letting his fingers dance in her moisture.

His touch sent thrills through her like she had never known. She had taught many servants how to please her the best she could muster, but never this. Never had fingers explored her so thoroughly, pleased her to the point of breaking, then relented, exploring her softly, only to build up again. She felt her hips move towards him on their own, the swell of her sharing some of the pleasant torment with him. She felt her body tighten, knew a finish was soon.

It was as if he knew. He had to have known. His fingers moved away from her, cupping her sex entirely in his hand before tracing slowly up her side, the wet of them growing cool as he reached her inner arm. She was trembling, so near to release, but not moving towards it any longer. She felt herself begin to sob again.

He untied her from the post, then freed her hands, guiding her arms, weak from the stretch, down to her sides. He lifted her, one arm at her midback, making her flinch, the other in the crook of her knees. He walked them to the side of the bed, then laid her down carefully. Even so, the embroidery of the blanket scratched into her skin and she winced.

He rid himself of the rest of his clothes under her watchful eyes. She studied him intently, her eyes darting and lingering. She had not seen him naked until now and oh, it was worth the wait. The sight of him, full and rigid with want for her. For her. The thought made her skin raise in goosebumps.

He moved over her smoothly, as the last article was still crumpling to the floor and into her in the same motion. His presence was so deep that it seemed to reach to her chest, pushing the air out of her. She inhaled in steps through her nose. The feel of him filling her, the sharp and dull pain from her back, the desire of her body pushing away all else, it was all so much that she found it difficult to even keep her eyes open, if only to block out one source of stimulation.

He pulled back slowly, inhaling deeply, then plunged into her deeply again. She grasped at the bed covering, her nails digging into it, needing something, anything, to hold onto, the pleasure of him and the pain of the welts shattering her resolve. He paused inside her, supported himself on one arm, found her hand with his, guiding it above her head, then the other. His fingers stayed extended, keeping his weight from her hands. Her fingers dug between his as he moved within her, but the comfort, the security he offered was enough to bring the pleasure to focus. Her grip around him tightened again and again, but he kept his rhythm, gliding out and plunging into her.

She felt him pulse inside her, and found herself thrusting up towards him with her hips instinctively. He picked up force, but not speed, as his face grew red with concentration, drawing loud groans from her throat. The pain ramped up with the pleasure, and she so wanted release, but she no longer knew how to let go, her body tense, caught on the edge of it. His force caused their flesh to slap together, a noise reminiscent of the sound of the belt. His face contorted above hers a second before she felt his finish fill her. That was what she had needed, to please him before her pleasure, and her back arched under him as she tightened and burst around him.

He stayed within her until the shuddering of her body calmed, then brought himself slowly out of her, sending another wave through her. He unclasped one hand from hers to lay next to her, pulling her to her side with the other, easing her back off the bed. They studied each other for a few moments, holding hands. He gently let go of the hand as well, reaching to her face, brushing away stray hairs.

"Next time, butterfly, you will learn how to speak to me properly," he said in an even yet affectionate tone, his face still ruddy from their pleasure, as he removed her gag. She had completely forgotten it was there. She had not had anything to say.