The Captive Princess Ch. 01

He sighed in weary resignation. "Must you always pretend not to remember that the kitchen serves you what I tell them to serve you? In any event, those are minor issues that we will address later tonight."

She hadn't really expected him to add any more whip-strikes to her tally due to unfinished meals, but she was relieved nonetheless. She reveled in watching the red lines he'd placed on her body vanish over time and enjoyed even more the focused, overwhelming sensation of being cropped, but ten strokes would be plenty. There was such a concept as too much of a good thing.

"Now for your reward," he announced in a loud, cheery tone. He kissed her belly again and her legs buckled at the thought that he would soon be tonguing and licking her sex. Her swollen, aching bud badly needed release after two nights of being worked into a frenzy and then denied at the last moment. His lips traced patterns on the skin of her hips as he kissed his way downwards. "Can you not control your desires any better than this, sweetling?" he asked during a moment's pause while he caressed one of her shaking legs.

"You've been teasing me this evening as much as you have been shaving me, and the last two nights have been dreadful." Whining was not allowed, but her husband needed to understand how difficult he had made things for her. "Oh, husband, you were so merciless with me, please do not leave me waiting much longer."

He caressed her sex again, she keened as a knife's edge of need rasped over the edges of her body, and then said, "You know that I love for you to express what you desire and that you need never be ashamed to do so."

"I know," she gibbered, "but please ... hurry."

She heard him reach and grab something from the table. "Open your mouth," he instructed her.

Her jaws clicked open.

"Now stick out your tongue."

Her delicate pink tongue immediately extended from between her lips.

She recognized the smooth wood of the tawse's handle as he placed it between her lips. He'd be using the divided strands of leather on the end of the implement on her later, she had little doubt, but her husband had a different sort of torment in mind for now.

"Hold that in your mouth," he ordered.

She closed her lips around the wood, and because her tongue was protruding from her mouth she could not clamp down with her teeth or relax her jaw without dropping the tawse ... it was a twisted, mischievous task that he had set her to.

He released his hand from tawse's handle and needlessly said, "Do not drop that, Penelope."

With her tongue pinned by the wood between her teeth, she could not say a word in reply ... not without letting go of the tawse.

Her husband put a hand on her stomach, traced a slow circle in the sweat accumulating in the stretched hollow above her hips, and nudged his fingers downward while he blew air upon her skin. Her throat convulsed and she shook in her fetters when his lips and fingers reached the cleft of her sex. A whimper left her lips and she bucked her hips when his fingers with delicate movements parted her sex so that he could run a probing tongue along the nub that poked from beneath its hood. A moan escaped her throat and she fought to keep the tawse in her mouth as waves of pleasure assaulted her.

He stopped, which led to a whining plea escaping her throat, and whispered, "Next time, be honest with me and you won't have to go days without experiencing this."

She nodded, almost dropping the whip lodged between her teeth as she did so, and when he resumed his ministrations she nearly cried. He knew every fold of her sex, every soft, quivering, velvety crease, and most especially he knew exactly how to manipulate the throbbing little nub of need that poked outwards just above her sheath. Oh, gods, he could play her body like an instrument in any way that he wished ... he could overload her senses and push her to release within a minute, or he could make her linger just on the edge until the teasing threatened to drive her mad ... like he had done several times the prior night. Her husband had taught her the pleasures of the bedchamber, which had been entirely unknown to her before they were wed, and then used her yearning desire to shackle not just her body but her mind as well, until her thoughts were as restrained as her limbs so often were.

Her eyes rolled back in her head beneath the blindfold as his tongue probed deeper and his fingers worked to caress the edges of her sex. The chains rattled, her body strained and flexed, and her husband moved his head closer so that he would have a better angle with which to work. With a deft inhalation, he nimbly trapped her bud between his lips and began rasping it with a swirling tongue. A high-pitched moan somehow managed to escape her clenched teeth, the muscles and walls of her sex tightened as they gathered for release, and the tawse dropped from her mouth as a torrent of moans escaped her throat. Her fettered hands clawed feebly at the air and she felt her entire lower body grow stiff as her tension grew unbearable. He flexed his tongue against the tender spot of her body he'd trapped between his lips, explored her depths with two fingers, and then curled those fingers upwards and rubbed against her inner wall.

That pushed her over the edge.

The moment of joy, when it came, was overwhelming. Each such experience was different, each one wondrous and affirming, and days of boiling tension rushed out of her body in a blissful cascade that was as agonizing as it was pleasurable. She drifted in their bedchamber as the sensations rushed over her, and her entire body stiffened and spasmed as the intoxicating bliss of the release swept her away to somewhere else. Her back arched, she tried and failed to keep from howling with relief, and she was entirely unsure of how long she stayed like that before her senses began to return.

Eventually, she realized that she was hanging in the chains with nerveless legs and a dangling head that she lacked the strength to raise. A euphoric sense of peace settled over her, and she only wished that she could bottle such feelings and drink of them when she had need. She heard her husband use a cloth for some purpose, likely to wash his mouth, then listened to him pour and drink a goblet of some liquid ... probably something poured from one of the pitchers of wine he'd set out earlier in the evening.

"Do you feel better?" he eventually asked.

Her only reply was a wheezing exhalation of nonsense syllables, but her husband seemed to understand her meaning as he chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"Now then," he announced as she heard him pick up the tawse and set it on the table. "That's ten strokes for touching yourself without permission and two more for dropping from your mouth what you were supposed to be holding. That wooden handle struck me on the top of the head, wife, and I did not care for the experience."

I could not help it!

The ability to speak had returned to her to a sufficient extent for her to voice the only acceptable reply. "I understand. Thank you, my lord husband." That was a goodly amount of lashings to receive, and she would feel the burning sting of them for days, but she had earned them.

With adroit movements, he re-oiled her stimulated and exquisitely sensitive, shaved sex until her skin once again gleamed beneath the soft candlelight. After he'd finished applying the substance to the smooth skin of her cleft, he moved to her rear and proceeded to work the fragrant, slippery substance between her rear cheeks. This was a very good sign, in her view, that tonight they might enjoy those rare ... all-too-rare ... occasions when he would make use of her bottom. He did not withhold lovemaking of that sort out of caprice or lack of interest, but rather out of concern for her health. Her husband had often warned her that enjoying each other's company in that particular way too often would injure her, and he never wanted to see her injured. Oh, he hurt her often, of course, in the ways she enjoyed and which quieted her wicked impulses, but he never injured her.

When he had finished, he unchained first her feet, then her hands, and finally removed the blindfold so that she would not stumble and trip about the room. She blinked at the harshness of the light, and her husband gathered her trembling form into his arms and showered her with light, brushing kisses on lips, cheeks, and forehead until he was satisfied that she was sufficiently composed to continue. He then had her drink half a goblet of wine of a dry, white variety that tasted faintly of charred grapes, she politely reminded him that she preferred sweet reds, and he apologized, set the wine aside, and had her take two sips of water poured into a second goblet from a silver pitcher.

The manacles fixed about her ankles and wrists remained in place and she knew he would have use for them in the immediate future. After she had drank, with a kiss on the top of her head and a gentle nudge, he directed her towards the corner of the room opposite the balcony doors. With cheerful steps she scampered to the soft, thick rug that ensured she never had to stand or kneel on bare stone.