The Captive Princess Ch. 03

CHAPTER THREE

Bathed

She wasn't staring at stone walls, which was a refreshing change of pace, but having her husband's body kneeling and flexing and working off to the side while she had to keep her stare fixed straight ahead represented a frustration of a different kind. When he disappeared into their bathing room to clean himself, she resisted the temptation to move her hands from behind her head to rub the cheeks of her bottom, and she was very glad she had exhibited restraint when he returned in a matter of seconds. The chamber had a chill to it despite the blazing hearth, yet sweat dripped from her body both from the strain of her pose and from her growing excitement at being displayed in such a suggestive manner. A bead of moisture trailed down her oiled chest to drop from an erect nipple, and though she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, she knew that her entire body glistened with a damp sheen. When she realized that her husband's seed was leaking from her behind and landing upon the rug, her chest convulsed while she struggled to stifle a giggle.

He immediately stopped his disassembly of the bench to stare at her with an angry expression. "Stop that fussing and fidgeting, Penny," he warned her in a low, ominous tone, "or I will set this back up and put it to good use."

She smiled to herself ... she would in actuality like nothing more than for him to reassemble the bench and provide her with a repeat performance, but there were other pleasures to be had that evening. He had not asked her a question, so she stared silently ahead, tried to ignore the irritated look he had fixed on her, and kept her hands firmly interlocked behind her head. With silent resolve, she vowed to be better behaved.

Again he chastises me with nothing except a warning ... he must be in an exceptionally good mood tonight.

His movements were practiced and efficient, but the bench required several minutes to disassemble ... minutes which left her time to think. As she was not permitted to speak or move, it was easy for her mind to drift and her thoughts to wander. Given the experience she had just enjoyed, her thoughts turned to a question she often pondered: why did so many seem to fear a cock in the arse?

Once, she'd heard one of her handmaidens whisper of being used in such a manner by a rough-hewn hedge knight who had passed their way. The way the girl described the knight's treatment of her made it sound a terrible and loathsome thing, and she had longed to tell the girl differently, to explain to her that it did not need to be so, but she knew very well that her and her husband's pastimes were best kept private. She'd also on occasion hear guardsman joke about being buggered, usually as a proxy for some unpleasant occurrence of one sort or another. Then again, she supposed, it probably was a quite different experience for men to endure.

She'd asked her husband once, perhaps a year and a half ago, why did she so enjoy an act that most referred to with revulsion? He had shrugged and replied that some people prefer beef, some chicken, and we are as the gods have made us. Her immediate response had been: 'Why would the gods be so cruel as to make someone as useless as me?'

His throat had worked in silence for a while, and she knew his heart was breaking for her. He hadn't punished her, rather he'd put a chair in her corner and had her sit there until he'd cleared the halls of the Lord's Tower and barred all the doors. Once their privacy had been ensured, he'd stripped her nude and carried her in his arms through the empty halls of the Nest until they stood before the enormous bronze mirror hung at the bottom of the stairs leading up to their chambers.

When they reached the cold, polished marble stone of the landing he'd put her on all fours in front of the mirror and taken her right there, without preparation or tenderness, in a manner clearly intended to impart a lesson. The floor had been hard and rough on her knees and the palms of her hands, and her husband had not been gentle. He took his time, was very rigorous in his use of her body, and each second of their coupling he very tightly pulled her hair where it met her scalp and compelled her to stare at her own reflection. While she gazed into the mirror, he informed her of just how wrong she was to think so poorly of herself. With every lingering, deep thrust he would describe some beautiful part of her body or speak of some gentleness of spirit she'd demonstrated, and with each tightening of his hand on her side, stroke of his finger on her swaying breasts, or caress of the tender, throbbing bud between her legs he'd remind her that all men with eyes would agree that she had grown into a beautiful woman.

By the time they had both achieved release, even though her tears were falling freely onto the stone, he did not for one second loosen his grip on her hair or let her look away from the mirror. While she was still trembling from the intensity of her moment of bliss, he used his other hand to grab her throat to impart on her the serious nature of the moment. He then had her repeat back to him many of the splendid things he had said about her. On and on this went, until he was satisfied that she would remember what she had been taught. He was not done, though, for he next had her repeatedly assure him that she would never again voice such an untrue and unfair thing about herself. She promised she would not, which was not a lie because she intended to keep it, and he kept her in that position with strong, resolute hands until she'd said the words enough times, and in a sufficiently convincing fashion, that he believed her.

She did not know how long she crouched there on hands and knees staring at herself in the mirror, but when he lifted her back to her feet, she did so feeling like a different woman. Never had she felt so wanted, so beautiful, so worthy of receiving love. Her husband's methods that night had worked wonders, for her self-esteem seemed permanently improved. She'd enjoyed the experience so much that she'd asked on her next name-day if they might repeat it, just for pleasure, and he'd obliged her ... as he had on a few other occasions at her request. Her parents and all of her endless series of tutors, instructors, and ladies-in-waiting had tried to instill a sense of pride in her, but her husband had succeeded where they had failed.

When her husband had finished packing the bench back into its sturdy wooden cabinet, he approached with heavy, deliberate footfalls and stared down at her. Despite his nearness, she kept her eyes focused straight ahead while he looked her over with a careful eye. She suspected that he was searching for deficiencies in her posture, but her chin was up, her back straight, her ankles crossed, and her hands were together at the back of her head while her elbows were raised aloft ... every part of her kneeling, naked form was where it was supposed to be.

After he had satisfied himself as to her body's positioning, he crouched next to her and smiled. His manhood swayed as he moved and it was difficult to resist the temptation to dart her eyes to catch a better glimpse of it. He lasciviously traced a finger along the seam of her dripping sex, and the unexpected, teasing touch almost caused her to break position. She shivered, he clucked his tongue in an admonishing fashion, and she did her best to hold still while he trailed his moistened finger up her stomach, swirled it for a moment around a nipple, and then raised his hand to her mouth. She parted her lips, he inserted his finger between them, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked away the coppery tang of her own juices along with the honey-sweet, fragrant oil he had applied to her body.

When his finger was clean, he pulled it with a popping sound out of her mouth and proceeded to run his hand down her neck and across her chest until his fingers cupped one of her breasts. He leaned forward, kissed her, and the feel of his lips on hers stoked to a fever pitch the fire that had been rebuilding in her sex. She trembled with renewed desire and clenched her fingers against the back of her head as their tongues brushed against each other.

Eventually, he broke off the kiss, and she licked her lips and waited to see what he would ask of her next. Her knees and back were beginning to ache, her legs shook from the strain, and while the discomfort was tolerable for now, soon ... if she was not released from this pose ... she would begin to really hurt. As always, however, she had faith that he would not allow her to helplessly suffer.

"Do you have any idea what the sight of you like this does to me, little one?" he asked in a throaty whisper as he stared at her with a hungry, appreciative gaze.

He had asked her a question, which meant that she could speak despite having been placed in the corner. "I can only hope that I please my lord husband," she said with a wry smirk and a dry edge to her voice.

He laughed, looked her over for a while longer in a manner she likened to a predator sizing up its next meal, and then reached down and patted the trembling, taut muscles of her red-striped behind. "This must be getting difficult for you by now."

The aching in her back and knees was advancing to pain and she very much wanted to tell him that yes, she needed his mercy, but since he hadn't asked her a question she could do nothing except continue to silently kneel. The oil and sweat clung to her quivering body while she stared straight ahead and hoped that he would rescue her.

My husband will not let this become a torture for me, I know he won't.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he latched his arms under her shoulders and with tender words said, "Alright, precious. Let's get you up from there and into the bath."

"Thank you, my love," she murmured in appreciation as he scooped her aloft and cradled her once again in his arms. The aches that had been building in her legs and back vanished and she marveled yet again at his ability to discern when some devilish demand he'd made of her was on the verge of transforming from exciting to excruciating.

She could not help but wriggle her toes in glee as he carried her to the thick, oak door that led into their bathing chamber. Her rump and arse were sore, her back was hurting, and she was covered in sweat and oil and excretions. A hot bath sounded perfect. Her husband reached out with a foot and kicked the door open, she enjoyed the feel of the muscles of his abdomen bulging and twisting as he did so, and then he carried her into the room. She squealed when she saw the enormous, copper tub filled with steaming water and then squealed again when her husband tickled her lash-marked bottom.

"I have a surprise for you," he announced.

With a worried snort, she replied, "I think I see it."

Set along the far side of the tub were a row of neatly arranged wooden trays perched on brass stands, on each of the trays sat an assortment of goblets, pitchers, and plates both covered and uncovered on which a wide variety of food had been set. Her husband carried her to the tub, stepped into it, and then lowered her into the water. Heat had always been a comfort to her, but she winced and bit back a scream when the hot water blistered against her punished bottom and well-reamed arsehole. Soon, thankfully, the heat camouflaged her pains and enveloped her in a comforting embrace. The water must have been near-boiling when the tub was filled as it remained near-scalding hot. This was exactly the temperature she preferred, in truth, or even hotter, but she knew her husband found it uncomfortably warm.

She didn't mind that he bear a little discomfort every once in a while.

When she had seen the food, her instinctive reaction, sadly enough, had been worry. Worried that the dishes might be unpalatable, worried that ugly, horrid-smelling cheeses represented poisons that would kill her ... an old fear from childhood that still often troubled her .... and worry that the roasted meats were too strongly flavored for her to eat without feeling nauseated.

There were, indeed, meats and cheeses a-plenty, but there were also slices of ripe apples and pears, clusters of the slightly sour blue-green berries that grew on the slopes of the canyons, and when she saw the small dish of almonds heavily crusted in dark crystals of sugared syrup her mouth watered and her gut twisted with hunger pangs.

I'm starving.

Given how ravenous she felt, she tried to avert her eyes from the dishes the taste of which she did not like ... but there were too many of them. Too many of them, and one dish had wedges of the thick yellow cheese that surely would kill her if she ate it, and ... and ...

By then it was too late for her to possibly eat, for her fears were running wild and had seized hold of her. Worry paralyzed her muscles, she could barely swallow she was so frightened, and despite the hollow aching of her empty stomach, she found herself frozen with dread at the preposterous notion that the unpalatable cheeses and meats represented a poison that would sicken her.

I really do need to eat ...

Her husband settled against the copper of the tub near enough that he could reach the trays of food with one of his arms, and with his other arm, he pulled her close and settled her between his legs so that she could lean back against him. "Penny, I know you are hungry."

She tried to reply, but she couldn't. If she reached for the fruits, or the candied almonds, or the delicious looking slices of frosted pumpkin cake set near to her on the leftmost tray, then her husband would know that she was hungry ... and if he knew she was hungry, he would make her eat the cheeses and the meats and the rest. It was safer to pretend to be full.

"If you need help with a first selection," he announced, "you can start with a piece of cheese."

It was the worst thing he could have said.

The exertions of the evening had been strenuous, she was so famished that she felt light-headed, but she could not bring herself to reach for the food. "I am still full from dinner," she said with quavering, hesitant words. As soon as the sentence had left her mouth regret filled her, not only because she had lied to her husband, but because there were a number of delicious selections set in front of her and she was so very hungry. She tried to force the truth from her lips, to apologize for having tried to mislead him, but it was as though her tongue and throat had gone numb. Fruit-scented, aromatic steam rose from the tub and misted the room, her husband was pressing in close against her, and to her horror she realized that she could not bring herself to eat.

"Penny, you cannot live on fruits, candied nuts, and desserts." His voice was kind and soothing as he leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "The entire keep ate this same food, including me. Every dish is safe, and you need not worry about becoming ill."

"It's not that!" Her empty stomach twisted as another lie left her lips. "It's only that I have already eaten so much!"

Water sloshed in the tub as he ducked his arm beneath the water and reached around her waist. She knew what he was doing, and out of long habit she shifted her arms so that he could rub and prod at her belly ... checking the edges of her stomach to see how well she had eaten, was how he often phrased it.

When he spoke next, he still did not sound angry with her, but rather sympathetic to her struggles. "I happen to be aware of the fact that, other than a single lemon tart smaller than the palm of your hand and a thin slice of bread smeared with blackberry jam, you hardly touched your meal tonight. His hand moved beneath the surface of the water so he could tap his fingers on her stomach, just above the belly button. "You ate a few small nibbles of your roasted potatoes, had perhaps two bites of the stewed cabbage, and if you think I did not notice that you cut your venison into pieces but put none of the pieces into your mouth, you are gravely mistaken. Wife, you were even more fastidious at breakfast and lunch. If I had not been endlessly occupied with other matters today, I would have seen to your needs earlier." He gestured at the food. "Instead, I will see to them now."

Yet more fictions left her lips as she exclaimed, "I really do not need another meal!" She felt horrible shame as she spoke, but the cheeses glowed a vile, evil yellow in the candlelight of the room and she could not help herself. Her aversion to food was not usually so overwhelming, but at the moment it waxed strong enough that she lacked the willpower to overcome it on her own.

Husband, please, I need your help ...

He sighed in weary resignation, hugged her close, and she knew that he could tell that her entire body was stiff with fear. "You are a beautiful and wondrous creature, and because you are having an especially difficult time tonight I will overlook the falsehoods of the last few minutes. I know that panic is forcing these lies from your lips." He kissed the back of her head. "That being said, wife, if you will not take your meals of your own volition then you will be fed the way that we used to do it." He patted her shoulders. "Arms."

The serpentine, baseless terror that was strangling her thoughts tried to make her dive beneath the hot water to escape the platters of food, but she had been trained for years to accept that such efforts were entirely pointless. Her husband would ignore her obstinance, ensure that she ate, and the fact that he knew her needs so well brought her immense comfort.

Everything is always so much easier when he leaves me with no other options.

With smooth, well-practiced movements she folded her arms behind her and grasped each elbow with the opposite hand. He picked up a slice of cheese ... of course he would start with the cheese ... lifted it near her mouth, and waited expectantly for her to part her lips. No ropes or chains bound her, her husband threatened her with no punishment and had not even raised his voice, yet nevertheless, she felt very much as though she was a snared, netted creature. She would sit in the tub, keep her arms behind her back, and remain docile, compliant, and cooperative while her husband parceled food into her mouth in a manner befitting a small child. Since she had no choice in the matter, she might as well eat, and she silently thanked whichever gods might be listening that he cared enough to treat her in such a way.

When will these delusions that my meals are tainted cease to trouble me? My husband should not have to worry that I will use my fingers to void the contents of my stomach or go days without eating.

Despite her conscious awareness that the food would not sicken her, she nevertheless felt a welling of revulsion when the pungent smell of the cheese assaulted her nostrils. In an effort to please her husband, she tried to bite off a small portion, but she ended up flinching at the strong flavor. The bite dropped with a wet plop into the tub.

He fished the waterlogged hunk of cheese out of the tub, set it aside, and in a warm, but also frustrated, tone said, "Penny, you are going to have at least one proper meal today. Do I need to get a funnel and tube?"

That isn't funny.

Never would he actually use horrid implements of that sort on her, of course, but he had brandished such items in the past in an effort to coax more enthusiasm from her during mealtime. The strategy had worked to great effect and it had taken her a few weeks to realize that he had engaged in a mummer's farce intended to frighten her into cooperating. She confronted him with her suspicions, he had admitted the truth, and she had been rather cross at being tricked.