The Captive Princess Ch. 03

Literotic asexstories – The Captive Princess Ch. 03 by MCorey1317,MCorey1317
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, Penelope,” 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 fact, 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 through the eastern valleys. 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. In fact, 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. “Penelope, 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. Penny, 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 jester’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.

It did work, though. One sight of that wooden funnel with the slim, copper pipe attached to its spout and I was begging to be given another chance to finish my dinner using knife and fork.

“I am sorry,” she murmured as she eyed the wet lump of cheese that he had set aside. “I did not mean for that to happen … it was an accident, I swear.”

His voice was deep and reassuring as he replied, “Do not worry about it. We will try again.”

He reached for a tray, made another selection … once again, a cheese … and raised a wedge to her mouth. With a quick tilt of her head and a hesitant bite the thick substance was between her teeth. The rich, heavy texture clung to the roof of her mouth, the flavor was overpowering to her senses, and she had to fight to ignore the silly notion that the cheese was a toxin that would sicken her.

When she’d swallowed it all, she gratefully took a sip of watered-wine from the goblet her husband raised to her parched lips and then opened her mouth so that he might place upon her tongue a sliver of roast chicken he had wedged between two small pieces of dark, yeasty bread. The chicken was tender and bursting with seasoned juices, and as usual, she couldn’t understand why she so instinctively feared so many dishes that were not only good for her but which were also, in truth, of pleasant taste. She swallowed the chicken and bread and realized, to her immense relief, that the delicious taste of the food was doing much to dissipate her fear. The tensed muscles of her body loosened, she settled against her husband’s chest, and as the strangling, crippling anxiety faded, she could feel her husband relax as well.

“That’s much better,” he said as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You know how much I hate to see you so often troubled by baseless worries.”

She murmured a reply of some sort, but her hunger, now that she had acknowledged it, kept her attention fixed on the assortment of dishes. “Husband,” she said in a slow, measured, thoughtful manner after he had given her another long drink of watered-wine followed by two olives stuffed with some sort of thick spread, “I must ask you something.”

“Anything, my love,” he said as he cleaned the corners of her mouth with a napkin and then placed a slice of cured ham and a whiter, milkier cheese between two pieces of that same dark bread he had fed her earlier.

She turned her head so that she could catch his eye with a sidelong gaze. “You do know that you saved me, right?” When he paused mid-reach, his hands suspended above the tray, she smiled at the realization that she had surprised him. “I do not know where I would be in life if I had not found you, and I think that perhaps I am better off not knowing.”

He kissed her again on the top of her head, placed the food he’d prepared between her parted lips, and replied, “We saved each other. You saved me from a broken heart I thought would never mend, and I saved you from a home for which you were ill-suited and which had become a torment.”

She could enunciate no more than a soft coo in response, both due to the fluttering in her heart and the mouthful of food she was chewing, and she kept her arms in position while she scooted in the tub so that her entire back was pressed against him. With muffled words between swallows, she eventually added, “I know that I need to stay healthy, for many reasons.”

“You do,” was his only response.

The goblet again was raised to her lips and she cleared her throat with another sip of the light, red wine. Hints of berry danced on her tongue as she continued, “I will do better with my meals, I swear it.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said before he kissed the back of her neck again. “But if these troubles continue, you needn’t worry, because I have no intention of ever letting you go to bed with an empty, growling belly.”

She closed her eyes, felt a sense of peace come over her, and when she opened them again he had already raised the next bite to her mouth. The meal went on for quite some time, as she was a deliberate eater even when motivated. Her husband did rotate slices of fruit and sugar-frosted nuts into the offerings he provided, but he also ensured she ate well of the more substantive fare. When needed, he wiped her mouth clean with a napkin kept handy for just such a purpose, and he seemed to always know when to provide a throat-clearing sip of water or more of the wine.

The water of the tub steadily cooled but remained pleasantly hot as she ate. Affectionate pats of her belly, tender caresses of her sides and neck, and whispered, encouraging murmurs were provided to her throughout, and the contentment she felt as they settled into a rhythm was sublime. After she had been fed for many long minutes, she noticed for the first time a small dish covered by a silver lid tucked away at the far corner of one of the trays. She glanced at it questioningly, and as if in answer to her thoughts her husband angled himself around her body, stretched his arm, and plucked the lid away. She gasped in delight at the sight of a small mound of shiny, purple-red cherries piled on the plate.

My favorite! How wonderful!

Without even thinking, she reached a hand for the tantalizing, bright fruit. No sooner had her arm unfolded from behind her back and emerged from beneath the water of the tub that her husband’s fingers clamped on her wrist and held it still.

In a voice heavy with disappointment … too heavy, in fact, and she suspected that her husband was camouflaging his amusement at her childish display by feigning overly dramatic sadness … he mournfully intoned, “And you had been doing so well tonight, Penelope.”

She was fairly certain that he was not actually upset with her at all, but she nevertheless lowered her head and murmured an apology in the exaggerated manner she knew he found appealing. “I am sorry, my lord husband … I forgot only for a second. I will try harder to be good, I promise.”

A grin curled the corners of her mouth when in response to her fawning, obsequious tone she was rewarded by the sound of his breath quickening and the feel of his cock stirring against her buttocks.

He craned his head forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, then released her wrist so that she could return the arm to its folded position behind her back. With a raised hand he tapped her lips a few times, which meant that she was not to utter so much as a single word until he returned to her the privilege of speaking. It was a command he seldom gave, but when he did, he meant it. Most likely he wanted her focused on the delightful treat she was about to receive, but no matter the reason she would be remaining silent for the time being.

The cherries loomed large in her vision and she swallowed hard as she stared at them in eagerness. He proceeded to feed them to her one by one, twisting off each stem before doing so, and she treasured and savored every ripe, deliciously sweet bite that he placed in her mouth. After finishing each morsel, with pursed lips and an extended small, pink tongue she spat each pit into his waiting hand. At one point, after she wrinkled her nose and ceased chewing, he quickly surmised that one of the bunch had gone sour. The rotten cherry she spat into a spare cup he raised to her lips, and after he had set it aside he cleaned the corners of her mouth with a napkin and cleansed her palate first with water and then more wine. With the unpleasant incident behind them, he resumed placing the cherries one by one into her waiting mouth.

The entire experience was wondrous.

By the time the cherries were gone, her hunger actually was sated, and she eyed the remaining cheeses and meats with trepidation. Her husband patted her belly and then rubbed slow circles upon it with his fingers, kneading and pressing with gentle nudges while doing so. She doubted that he could actually tell from a touch when she had eaten well, as he so often claimed, but maybe he could. She wanted to tell him that now she really was full, honestly, but she was still forbidden from speaking. Instead, she settled into the warm water of the tub, leaned against his muscular chest, and waited.

After he’d finished checking the edges of her stomach, he tapped her lips, restored her voice, and said, “You’ve eaten enough for tonight and can put your hands down. ” She unfolded her arms, eased herself further into the water, and settled into the curve of his body while he proceeded to whisper in her ear, “Our factor in Gulltown was able to source a half-crate of cherries from a late fall harvest in the Riverlands … I had him on the lookout for the past month. That should be enough for quite a few desserts.”

She stiffened and opened her mouth in an expression of delight. “Oh, how splendid! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

He smiled and his eyes glittered in satisfaction at the sight of her so happy. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warned her. “We’ll see how well you behave the rest of the week.”

She closed her eyes, moaned in a manner that was more akin to a cat’s purr, and pressed against him. She would most certainly try extra hard if a reward of cherries was involved. She laid in his arms, her stomach contentedly full, and felt at peace. Well, not quite at peace, because a warmth and familiar need was steadily growing between her legs. Two days of teasing and denial had left her wanton, indeed. She kept her eyes closed, one side of her mouth curled into a smirk, and she trailed her hand beneath the water and towards her own crotch. She had no intention of ever reaching her destination, of course, but she was hoping to excite her husband towards renewed exertions on her behalf.

“What what do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a droll, amused tone.

“Just stretching,” she replied as she changed the course of her hand so that it rested upon his thigh.

“I think you were mocking me,” he informed her in a deep, ominous tone. “I think you wanted me to believe that you were about to do something that you know you are not allowed to do.”

She opened her eyes and looked up into his stern, dark gaze. “Maybe I was teasing you,” she admitted. “Just a bit.”

He kissed her on the forehead before he spoke next. “If you desire something, you need only ask. It does not mean that you shall receive it, but you should never be afraid to speak honestly with me.”

“Well then,” she announced in a tone far bolder than she was used to being capable of, “I am asking for your touch.” She stared him in the eye and her voice did not break as she clearly and plainly voiced her desire to him. “The last two nights have been dreadful, husband. If your goal was to ensure that your wife would be reduced to desperately pleading for your affection, then you have succeeded.”

He smiled, and his eyes shone like a torch with the love and joy he felt that she had felt self-assured enough to speak in so forthright a fashion.

“Soon,” was all he said by way of reply.

That’s not the answer I wanted.

She pursed her lips and affected an exaggerated pout.

He laughed at her expression, kissed her cheek, and explained, “Some maesters believe that hot water is not conducive to conceiving. We need your womb to be ready.”

“That does not sound particularly romantic,” she pointed out … though in truth, certain parts of her body were experiencing a rippling tingle in response to the matter-of-fact way her husband had discussed his intention to fuck her.

I know how to change his mind.

She reached with questing, mischievous fingers for the already half-erect length that dangled between his legs.

Stop that!” He laughed and she laughed with him. “I must save some seed for later. Since you are going to be so incorrigible, fold your arms back behind you.”

She immediately complied, and he held a glass of wine to her lips and had her take a long, deep swallow. The warmth continued to spread through her lower body and she knew that very soon she would be twitching with desire. An itch assaulted her nose, and with her arms unavailable her husband reached up to rub it away.

“You are in a receptive state of mind,” he observed.

She nodded. “Indeed, I feel very receptive.”

“You slid back into bad habits in regards to your meals today, and that troubles me.” He did not sound upset, merely worried. “I think perhaps that I have taken too much of your progress for granted. It has been some time since I’ve had you recite the first three rules, and tonight is a good time to remind you.”

“I understand,” she replied as she settled against him and extended her legs across the copper bottom of the tub. She loved the comforting repetition of moments like this.

His voice was sonorous as he began the well-practiced litany they had worked their way through so many times. “What is the first and most important rule?”

“I am not allowed to hurt myself,” she responded in a crisp, direct manner.

“Say it again.”

More loudly, she repeated, “I am not allowed to hurt myself.”

His voice grew thick with old pains. “And if you are afraid you aren’t strong enough to keep from breaking the first rule?”

“I am to stop whatever I am doing and find you, or if you cannot be found, Seneschal Harwin.”

He nodded and took a sip of wine himself. “And if you can’t find either of us?”

“I am to come to this chamber, bar the door to everyone except you or the senschal, and go to my corner and wait for you to arrive … as long as it takes,” she realized that her voice was beginning to take on a hastened urgency, and she forced herself to take a deep breath and slow down. “If it takes so long that I am no longer able to stand, I am to bring a chair to the rug and sit on it.”

“Very good,” he praised her in his deep rumbling voice. “What are you not allowed to so much as touch except when you are eating or at needlework and within the presence of others?”

“Knives and needles.”

His hands pressed in close along her sides. “Penelope, have you hidden anything sharp or pointed within your things?”

“No,” she assured him. “I haven’t for a very long time, and I never will again.”

He hugged her close. “Nevertheless, I will keep searching, from time to time, and you had better not.”

She twisted slightly to have a better look at him. “I won’t hurt myself, I swear it. You know that I am not the same as when you married me.”

“I know you are better, little one, and I am so very, very proud of you.”

She leaned her head against his chest and tried, and failed, to suppress unpleasant memories that drifted to the forefront of her mind. On the day of her wedding, which was to be a far smaller affair than was customary for a princess out of deference to her fear of crowds, she bore the wounds of a dozen self-inflicted injuries and was broken and half-starved to the point that her parents had privately informed her now-husband that if he wished, he would be permitted to break off the engagement with no repercussions or fault being found with him.

He had refused, thank the gods.

The Lord of the East had seen past her shyness and creeping terrors and had been resolved to have her as a wife. She did have a say in the matter … in fact, several suitors were presented, but he had been the only one to show her any kindness or understanding. In truth, she had not wished to wed at all, but her father had been adamant.

Early in their marriage, he had caught her injuring herself a few times. On the first such occasion, she spent a night alone in bed, cloth wrapped around the bloody wounds on her left thigh, while her husband sat in a chair by the hearth and brooded on his failures as a husband. The second time, with bandages fixed around her chest to protect the torn flesh beneath her armpits, she had wept and pled and promised that she would never hurt herself again if he would only come lie next to her. He rose from his seat, took her into his arms, and informed her in stern words that he expected her to keep that promise. She swore repeatedly, over and over again for long minutes, and he held her close so that she could fall asleep.

His voice snapped her out of her reverie.

“Recite the second rule,” he commanded.

She cleared her throat, guiltily eyed the trays of food that she had tried weasel her way out of eating despite her hunger, and replied, “I may not skip meals or purge myself of meals I have eaten.”

He gestured towards the feast arrayed in front of her. “I know that meats and cheeses and vegetables are not to your taste, but you need your strength.”

“You just watched me eat a very full meal!” she protested.

“Penny,” he reminded her, “I can’t be there at every meal to watch over your every bite.”

Shame welled up within her. “I know … I will do better.”

“And the third rule?”

Again the practiced words rolled off her tongue in a lilting, song-like manner. “I am not permitted to hide.

She had been an expert at hiding. In cabinets, in closets, in small, out of the way, shadowed places … men would search for her for hours and only thirst would drive her back into the light. Her husband had put an end to all of that mischief, as he had so much else. Her corner had been the compromise solution to provide her peace and quiet, although it had taken quite some time before her urge to conceal herself had subsided and been replaced by the familiar routine of standing still and calm with her face turned to the stone of their bedchamber.

“Good,” he announced as he hugged her against his chest. “And what helps you keep from hiding?”

The practiced words came to her without the need for conscious thought. “I walk the Nest every day, including the battlements and balconies, except that I stay far away from the edge of any high place that does not have a railing.”

“Excellent … make sure you remember that last part.”

As he spoke, his voice was thick with the pain of an old memory … of her, shortly after she had arrived at the Nest. He had informed her that he needed to journey elsewhere for a month and that she would need to stay in the keep by herself, and he had soon thereafter found her standing at the edge of a rocky cliff. She’d been weeping and trying to find the strength not to jump at the thought of being forced to remain alone in a strange, cold, unfamiliar place where she knew no one. He’d realized his error, promised her that he would take no such trip until she was ready, and convinced her back into her arms.

“How else do you keep from hiding?” he asked.

“I go to my appointments and my lessons,” she replied, “and I respond to people who talk to me. I do not run away or hide my eyes, and I do not seek out the castle’s abandoned spots.”

He kissed her cheek and ran a hand down her arm. “I am so proud of you. You have made friends these past few years, the maester and I are impressed with your writing, you laugh more easily and are not nearly so shy as once you were … you are coming into your own.”

She almost snorted derisively at his praise, but she caught herself just in time.

That was close … so close I can almost taste the onion I would have been gagged with on the morrow.

He did, however, notice her silence. “Penelope,” he scolded her, “I am speaking the truth. You have friends, real friends, who find your wit a source of amusement and your observations of interest.”

“Thank you,” she manged to reply. “It is not always easy for me to trust that people enjoy my company.”

“But it is getting easier, is it not?”

It is … though sometimes I long for the corner instead of conversation.

She nodded in reply.

Truly, it had grown easier, over time. It helped, of course, that her husband had taught her which corridors avoided the large common rooms, always arranged for her to be accompanied by guardsmen she found the least threatening, and that when she reached the solar, lounge, balcony, or patio he had assigned for her to use for knitting, sewing, writing, or merely sipping at wine and gossiping, she would find familiar furniture in their accustomed positions and company that would be neither too numerous nor include too many unfamiliar faces. Her husband’s family … her family, too, now … their advisors, the household knights and the landless gentry that lived in the Nest, all knew that she grew frightened and tongue-tied with crowds, strange surroundings, and people she did not know. She imagined that everyone that dwelt within the eastern valleys had learned to some extent of her vulnerable disposition.

They had worked their way through the three most important rules that governed her life … though there were dozens of others … and she could feel her husband relax against the copper of the tub. “I think you are past writing down these rules as a reminder, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ugh.

She furrowed her brow in distaste at the memory of repeatedly jotting down any number of the myriad strictures which governed her life whenever her husband felt she needed to be reminded of one or the other. “I have written them all down so many times,” she pointed out, and she was very careful to keep any high-pitched note of whining out of her voice. “Please, husband, no more.”

He laughed, patted her hand, and she noticed that he had made no promises on the topic.

“Let’s talk about tomorrow,” he announced. “I’ve prepared you over the past week for the reality that I must leave the Nest before you break fast, and there are …”

If her arms were not still folded behind her back, she would have reached down and grasped his legs with nervous fingers. “But you will return by dinner, right? You said you would.” There was a nervous edge to her voice, nothing like the hysterics her husband had to deal with early in their marriage whenever the needs of lordship took him elsewhere, but she still fretted and worried whenever he was gone for long.

“I will be back by dinner,” he assured her. “Now then, at breakfast, you will eat everything I have the kitchen set on your plate.” His voice grew dark and threatening. “Is that understood, wife?” He reached down and rubbed her stomach. “For all we know, I may put a baby in your belly tonight.”

Her body thrummed with desire at her husband’s words. “I will eat.”

His next words, however, tested her resolve. “Even the wedge of yellow cheese and the elk sausage.”

She wrinkled her nose and could not bring herself to promise.

“Penelope …” With the rumbling recitation of nothing except her name he managed to express a threat, a promise, and a pleading request.

“I promise I will eat the cheese and the sausage,” she assured him.

But maybe not all of them.

“Good,” he said happily as he raised his arm and put them on the rim of the tub. “You will go to your riding lesson, and I do not want to hear that you skipped it because of an upset stomach, or any other reason.”

“I will.” She’d feel the whip-marks on her behind every second that she sat the saddle, but it would be a warm, satisfying sort of pain.

She had been petrified of horses her entire life, and merely the thought of riding them had, in her youth, frightened her sufficiently that she would freeze, rooted in place, incapable of speech or movement. Her husband had eventually found a gentle, small palfrey … scarcely more than a pony … and had it brought to the Nest. He converted one of the largest of the lower caverns in into a makeshift, straw-covered paddock and held her on the saddle for an hour at a time while walking her in slow circles. After a week or so, she grew accustomed to the motion of the animal striding beneath her and reached the point where she was able to ride in unassisted circuits. Soon, he predicted, she’d be ready to join him on some of the easier trails in the passes below the castle. That prospect, of course, meant that she’d need to ride yet again ride the horrifying wooden lift up and down from the valley floor below. The lift petrified her, but she promised herself that she would speak nothing of her fear. Surely she could try to be brave … at least a little … to make her husband’s life easier?

He rumbled on, “And you will see to that incident of thieving among your ladies-in-waiting. Stealing, even of something as meaningless as perfume, is a serious matter. You need to dispense justice.”

“Cannot you do it?” she asked.

“Discipline of handmaidens is a lady’s responsibility,” reminded her, ” and I have made sure that Lady Ysilla will be standing next to you the entire time.” He chuckled for a moment. “She is threatening enough in countenance that she will ensure the budding young criminal in front of you remains suitably deferential. If the thief is contrite and offers restitution, she may buy a replacement bottle, apologize, and spend a month assisting the maester with the rookery instead of indulging in idle pleasures with you and the other ladies of your court after dinner. If she lies and refuses to accept responsibility, she can return to Blackoaks and explain herself to Lord Harwood.” He paused a moment and grinned. “Her attitude will determine how strictly she will be dealt with.” He stroked the underside of one of her small, pert breasts and she trilled in delight and squirmed against his body. “In much the same way you are treated.”

They both laughed, and she replied, “I will see to it.”

“That sounded positively ladylike,” he informed her, and pride dripped from his voice.

“Thank you.”

His words grew distant as he tried to remember the remaining details of her schedule. He had tried writing such things down on prior occasions, but she wanted … no, needed … to hear him guide her through the day. She had tried many times to convey to him how much it eased her worries to know every morning that her itinerary had been arranged and that she need only appear at that proper place at the appointed time. “You are to take your lunch on the balcony closest to the kitchens,” he finally continued. “It will be winter soon and you may as well enjoy these last days of fall while you can. Joining you will be the Landerly girl, the Velmore daughter, your ladies in waiting, and any sworn knights whose company your companions desire and whichever musicians you wish to hear.” He tapped her on the shoulder to make sure that she was paying attention to his next words. “Penny, I will most definitely check to ensure that you did not skip breakfast and lunch, and at lunch you are to drink no more than two goblets of the watered Arbor red and eat no more than one handful of the sugared walnuts that always seem to be provided at …”

“Could it be two handfuls?” she interrupted.

He laughed for a moment, then his voice grew harsh in that special way that always made her cunt twitch and her knees grow weak. “Very well, two handfuls, but only if you have eaten your breakfast and lunch. Is that clear?”

“Yes!” She eagerly replied as she imagined the sweet crunch of the walnuts between her teeth.

He rotated her in the tub so that she was looking at him, and as he did so she raised her bruised rear off the bottom of the tub. “Now, do you feel better about my being gone tomorrow?

“So much better,” she assured him. “Thank you. I know that I require so much more work than a wife should.”

He sighed, kissed her cheek, and shook his head. “Will this sort of nonsense from you never cease? You know how much I adore you. I could not imagine my life without you.”

She looked at him with sad, purple eyes. “You are so good to me.”

“After what you have been through, you deserve a lifetime of happiness, my love.” He sat up straighter in the tub, reached over the lip, and pulled close a bucket in which various cleaning supplies both mundane and exotic rested. “Now, before this water goes completely cold, let’s get you cleaned.”

She lowered her arms from behind her back and he proceeded to lather, scrub, and with soft towels wash the crevices and curves of her body until every trace of oil, grime, and dirt was gone. He positioned her as needed so that he could reach all of the difficult-to-reach spots, and predictably she moaned and gasped when he worked the soap with determined, sure caresses between her legs and near the rosebud of her arse. Her eyes fluttered, her sex throbbed with need, and she could not help but try to press her bottom against his hand in an effort to induce him to greater efforts. He chuckled at her brazen display, tilted her head up so he could give her a long lingering kiss, and resumed cleaning her.

When her skin shone pale and clean, with nary a hint of accumulated filth, he pinched her nostrils closed with his thumb and forefinger and lowered her head several times beneath the bathwater. Though she could not see it, she imagined that her silver-gold hair floated like a fine lace atop the surface. Her husband then used on her flowing locks a gentle, cleansing soap followed by a flower-scented, creamy substance that gave her plumage a lustrous shine. His fingers were strong, but not rough, as he made sure the substances were worked thoroughly into her hair and scalp, and she luxuriated in the sheer joy of the sensation. Once her hair was well-lathered he repeated the process of pinching her nose closed and lowering her into the tub. She kept her eyes shut and let her mind and body pulse in satisfaction as he rinsed her hair.

If only his hands could be upon me always, every second of the day …

In comparison, when he cleaned his own body, his movements were rough, abrupt, and perfunctory.

By the time he had finished the water had grown quite cool, and when an involuntary shiver ran up her spine, he noticed and immediately stood. Water dripped off his muscles, her eyes were immediately drawn to his half-erect cock, and he stared down in fondness at her crouching form. “Time to dry you off.”

She continued to sit in the tub until he had stepped out of the water, and then she raised her arms so that he could grab her sides, hoist her over the copper rim of the bath, and set her upon the stone floor of the bathing chamber. The surface on which they stood was slick with moisture, but at no point did she fear that he would lose his footing.

He guided her towards a soft, thick bath rug that had been set near a row of cabinets. She stepped onto the fabric and positioned herself with her legs spread apart at a practiced distance and her arms extended straight out to the sides. Her husband retrieved a towel from a nearby rack and dried her off with smooth, gentle strokes. When he was satisfied with his efforts he set the towel aside and picked up a hairbrush. Though he’d used the brush often for purposes other than the obvious, on that night he merely ran it through her hair until her plumage cascaded down her back like a shimmering silver-gold curtain. After he’d finished, he set aside the brush and bound her hair with a single length of ribbon woven of jet-black silk. With a wiggle of his fingers and a final flourish, he fixed the ribbon into place with a wide decorative bow tied at the nape of her neck.

He eyed a stout, thick door at the far end of the bathing chamber. “You have had much to drink … do you …?”

She understood what he meant, and in response, she blushed and nodded. He grabbed a towel, dipped it into a bowl of warm water, and guided her to the wooden door. The Nest did not want for locations ideal for privies.

Her husband opened the door, she hastened inside, and he closed it to give her one of the rare moments of privacy she had enjoyed the entire day. She sat back in a half-stoop and positioned herself over the opening that looked down upon the stark, snow-covered cliffs below. She had been dried, but she was also still nude and the evening air was growing cold. The freezing wind wafted upon her nether regions as she squatted, goosebumps rose on her bare skin, and after nature’s call had been heeded, she stood and used the small, wet towel she had been given to clean herself. The red stripes across her arse left by the tawse still ached sufficiently that she most definitely was reminded of their presence as she toweled off.

When she’d finished, she discarded the towel in a small linen basket set in the corner and opened the door to find her husband waiting. He’d slid on soft wool trousers but remained bare to the waist, and she found that she desperately wanted to run her hands along the muscles of his sides and reach her fingers down his pants so she could wrap them about his cock.

Later … hopefully.

“You must be cold, sweetling,” he murmured into her ear as he maneuvered her back into the bathing room. As the chill had begun to grow uncomfortable, she nodded in agreement. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Hanging from a hook set in the wall was a black, short-sleeved, nightgown woven of silk. She held her hands aloft so that he could more easily slide the fabric over her body, and once the silk was draped on her form he smoothed the silk along her skin. Her house’s roaring lion was embroidered in red thread on the chest of her gown … the ferocious aspect of her family’s sigil juxtaposed with her meek disposition was a regular source of amusement for them both. The garment had been tailored to the usual length of her wardrobe when they were alone in their quarters … meaning that the hem barely reached past the cheeks of her bottom and her bare, smooth sex would be exposed if she raised her arms any appreciable amount.

Next, he sat her on a well-padded dressing stool set to one side of the room and slid onto her legs thick, warm stockings that covered her from feet to upper thighs … the stockings reached so high, in fact, that the hem of her nightgown would brush against them as she walked. She quivered as his hands traced along the skin of her legs, and in response he chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“Soon,” he promised her.

For her arms, he fitted her with finely woven wool gloves that stretched from her fingertips almost to her armpits. Suede buckling straps fitted through small loops secured the gloves above her biceps and the stockings at the top of her thighs. Both the legwear and armwear were dyed a deep crimson, and it was not lost on her that her husband had chosen to dress her in the colors of her house.

He most definitely enjoys having a captive princess for a wife.

Smallclothes were not included in her sleepwear, of course, for she was no longer permitted them day or night unless she was in her riding leathers or her moonblood had arrived. Her husband had been delighted to discover that denying her sex the protection of both fabric and hair worked wondrously to distract her from harmful thoughts and ensure that she was kept primed and eager for his attention. So successful were these methods at keeping her wet and wanting that she had resigned herself to a lifetime of her crotch covertly nestling bare and exposed beneath her gowns and dresses.

He opened a small cabinet constructed of glossy, varnished ash mounted on the wall of the bathing chamber and removed two items hanging from the pegs, both of which had been crafted to exacting specifications by a renowned jeweler. The first item was a wide, thick leather collar reinforced with riveted strips of iron along the edges. Lining both the interior and exterior of the collar was soft black velvet upon which delicate patterns had been sewn with red thread, and given how the collar fit her neck with exacting tightness, she was grateful that her husband had been thoughtful enough to ensure that it was comfortable to wear for long stretches of time. The second object was a small, ornate lock crafted of steel cunningly wrought in the shape of a lion’s head. Two flecks of garnet glittered carnelian red in the eye sockets of the lock, and she often wondered just how much he had paid for such an intricate piece … to her frequent consternation, her husband never spared an expense when she was concerned.

She lifted the ribboned length of her hair and tilted her chin up so that he could wrap the collar around her neck, and the fierce expression of loving, protective possessiveness on his face while he did so nearly brought tears to her eyes. Once the velvet-lined leather encircled her throat, with deft fingers he closed the metal clasp set in the front and then looped the lock through the clasp. The snick of the dangling lock triggered a familiar thrill, and she could not help but reach up with a broad smile and caress the adornment fastened snug around her neck.

Though she normally only wore the collar in their chambers, whenever he dressed her in coats or gowns the fabric of which reached high enough to conceal its presence she knew that the thick, wide band would be secured around her neck until at least the following morning. Those occasions represented a licentious secret between herself and her husband that always resulted in her being particularly excited for his touch when night came. She preferred to never be without the collar, but her husband feared it would raise too many questions for his wife to be observed wearing jewelry suitable for a foreign pillow slave.

Her husband, seeing her contentment, leaned over to give her a long, energetic kiss, and his tongue brushing against hers while his mouth hungrily pressed upon her own made her extremely desirous of exchanging the bathing room for the bedchamber. She waited with barely contained anticipation on the stool while he finished kissing her, caressed the side of her face, and then swung open the door. He led her into the bedchamber, the air felt cool, crisp, and dry in comparison with the bathing chamber, and a shiver ran up her spine when a draft rustled between her legs.

She’d scarcely had time to gain her bearings before an insistent pat on her rump … a pat that reminded her that the slashing bruises across her rear remained tender and sensitive … sent her scurrying back to her corner. Within seconds she stood once again facing the stone with chin held high, legs straight and feet together, and wrists crossed behind her in the small of her back just above the curve of her bottom and just beneath the silver-gold, thick strand of hair her husband had secured in place with a ribbon. The collar was a comforting presence around her neck, the silk of the gown clung to her curves, the fabric of the gloves and stockings warmed her limbs, and she felt clean, well-groomed, and very eager as she settled in to wait.

She hoped he didn’t see her smile with amusement when she felt the damp spots left by prior activities seep into her stockings.