Her Noble Lords

by Ashe Barker

  “Turn around and bend forward.”

  “Sir?”

  Piers reiterates his command, though this time with just a swirl of his upturned finger. I obey, cursing my stupidity for provoking this, whatever it is they intend now.

  I shriek as Piers takes hold of the portion of ginger root still protruding from my body and twists it inside me. The rubbing against my sore inner walls is unbearable. I lurch forward, dragging the root from his fingers.

  “Hold her.”

  Ralf does not even require the curt instruction to spur him into action. He moves around the bed to take hold of my shoulders and ease me back up again, my bottom presented for further torment. This time I am braced against him as Piers takes hold of the root, withdraws it an inch or two, then shoves it back in again. He repeats the action twice more as I sob and beg him to stop.

  He does and I gasp my gratitude.

  “So, Linnet, your clothes?”

  “Yes,” I murmur. “I will come downstairs.”

  Ralf is quick to release my hands, then they both help me into my clothes. Ralf takes a few additional moments to wipe my face with a damp flannel. I resolve to do all in my power not to cry again. I would be mortified if the household were to learn the details of my punishment.

  “I will carry you downstairs, in view of your injured ankle.” Piers does not wait for my response, merely lifts me in his arms and marches to the door.

  The meal is absolute agony for me. The pressure of the hard oak bench against the plug of ginger causes a vicious burning sensation every time I move. I manage not to make any sound but I am aware of more than a few curious glances directed my way as I grimace and writhe in my place. Ralf and Piers tuck into their food with a gusto bordering on callous whilst I pick at the morsels on my trencher, longing for this horrible interlude to be over.

  At last, it is. As Ralf promised, the intensity of the burning eases after a while, less than an hour perhaps. I am uncomfortable but can manage to sit still and swallow a few mouthfuls of pigeon pie. This change does not go unnoticed.

  Ralf leans in and murmurs into my ear, “Shall we return to our bedchamber, my lady? I believe you are looking tired.”

  “I… I would appreciate that, my lord,” I whisper in response, desperately hoping they will not elect to insert another length of fresh ginger. I could not bear to undergo the whole process again.

  “I trust you will soon be feeling better, my lady. Ralf will attend to your comfort I am sure and I will see you later in the day.” Piers is deep in conversation with our castle bailiff but interrupts his discussion of crop yields and tithes due. He turns to bestow on me a polite smile and offers a brief nod to his brother. It never fails to astound me how well these two communicate with hardly a word exchanged.

  Ralf carries me back up to our chamber and deposits me on the bed. I start to unfasten the ties holding my tunic in place.

  “That will not be necessary, Linnet. If you would kneel up, lean forward, and raise your skirts for me that will suffice.”

  I am not sure which is the most humiliating—to be made to strip, or merely to bare my backside for whatever comes next—not that my view on the matter will be of any interest to a husband bent on discipline. I shuffle around on the bed to obey Ralf’s command, then wait, my buttocks exposed, as he examines my sore rear hole. He takes hold of the end of the root and draws it slowly from my body as I quiver in relief. Even though the acute discomfort is passed, the movement of the ginger inside me reignites the burning somewhat.

  “So, Linnet, how will you safeguard our property next time you are called upon to take command of Egremont?” Ralf caresses the globes of my bottom as he asks the question and it is clear I am not expected to cover myself quite yet.

  “I will ensure the drawbridge remains shut tight and that only essential traffic be permitted to enter or leave. The postern gate will be guarded at all times, lookouts posted on our battlements to ensure we have sight in all directions.”

  “Excellent, Linnet. We will make a military defence strategist of you yet. Spread your thighs for me, please.”

  “Sir?” Even as I seek further clarification I am opening my legs.

  My reward is a long, slow stroke of Ralf’s hand across my quim and clitoris. I may be apprehensive, wracked by embarrassment but the wet sound emanating from my nether regions tells its own tale.

  “Ah, my sweet countess. I suspect you are in dire need.”

  “Yes, sir. I have longed for your return. You and Sir Piers.”

  “Aye, I know. And now that we are here and the unpleasant business of your punishment is behind us, I believe you should have your reward.” He punctuates his statement by inserting two, then three fingers deep into my quim. My inner walls grip him fiercely as I start to convulse around his hand.

  “We have been away for two weeks and there is much pressing business we have to deal with. Piers will attend to the affairs of Egremont and I will attend to you. Later, when his duties allow, you will present yourself on your knees before my brother and be pleased to allow him to use you as he sees fit.”

  “Yes, my lord. Of course.”

  “Meanwhile, here and now, I intend to fuck you until you struggle to recall your own name, let alone mine.”

  Oh, yes! “Thank you, sir.”

  Ralf chuckles and withdraws his fingers. He stands and unfastens his breeches, then shifts into position behind me.

  “This will be hard and fast, Linnet. If you are unable to find your release I will aid you afterwards.”

  Again I start to thank him but the words are lost in a startled yelp as his solid cock surges into my quim, filling me to the hilt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Little maid, wake up.”

  I mutter something and roll onto my side.

  My actions are met by a deep, rich chuckle which does something warm and delicious to my lower abdomen. A hand sweeps my tangled hair from my face. “Linnet, it is time to eat. Do you want to come down to the hall or shall I have one of your maids bring a tray up?”

  Eat? But we only just finished our noontime meal. I wriggle further down under the warm blanket which covers me and attempt to draw the bedding over my head.

  “Am I to assume our punishment has ruined your appetite for the day? I will leave you in peace then.”

  The bed shifts as my tormentor moves away and I am suddenly seized by a sense of loss. I open my eyes to see Piers heading for the door.

  “Sir? My lord, please do not leave.”

  He turns, a smile on his features. “Ah, so you are awake after all.”

  I sit up, only now realising I am fully dressed. I recall the events of earlier in the day, which culminated in one of my husbands fucking me quite thoroughly on this very bed, though without the unnecessary formality of undressing me first. Ralf just lifted my skirts, removed the ginger from my arse, and rammed his cock into my quim. It was quite delightful, once the horrid ginger was dispensed with.

  “My apologies, sir. I should have been ready for you. It is late, you say?”

  Piers returns to perch on the edge of the bed. “Ready, little maid? And what would that happy state consist of, pray?”

  “Ralf said that you were occupied earlier but that when you were free I should be on my knees before you and welcome anything you choose to do to me.”

  “Ah, how nice. And here I am, a man of leisure at last. But you fell asleep instead?”

  I start to clamber from the bed, intent upon rectifying matters at once. Piers stops me by the simple expedient of pressing my shoulders back against my pillows and kissing me soundly. I part my lips, loving the sensation of intimacy as his tongue tangles around mine. I tunnel my fingers through his blond curls, my relief that all is now well between us near to overwhelming.

  Piers stretches out alongside me on the bed and at first seems disinclined to progress beyond kissing me. I have no complaints, the kiss is wonderful but I am pleas
ed when he contrives to loosen the ties on my tunic and slip it off one shoulder. At once, I long to be naked and his.

  “Sir, I will undress.”

  “But you are tired, little maid. My needs are pressing but not so urgent that I would disturb your rest.”

  “Oh.” I am tired, he is right. But I am disappointed too and uncertain of how to regard his consideration. Piers’ tone is soft, his words kind but I am seized by a sense of rejection even so.

  With Ralf, I am certain, always. He loves me. Piers is more reserved, stern and whilst he is affectionate enough there is a distance between us. He does not need me in the way Ralf does. He does not need me now, despite having been separated from me for a fortnight. Despite my clothing loosening under his hand, he is prepared to stand up and walk away, to leave me to sleep.

  “Sir, please…”

  “What is it, little maid?”

  “It is your choice, of course, sir, I understand that. But…”

  He stays nothing, just waits, his fingers cupping my cheek.

  “But, I wish you would not say no to me today.” There, it is out. My neediness, my demands, my almost-pleading to be fucked.

  He grins at me, his dark eyes twinkling. “Little maid, when can I ever say no to you? You hold the pair of us, Ralf and I, in the palm of your delicate little hand.”

  I frown, perplexed by his words. It had not seemed so to me, especially earlier. Even so, he has said it and I press my advantage now.

  “Then you will stay with me? You will wait while I undress and kneel at your feet?”

  He pauses for a moment, holds my gaze. Then, “Linnet, do I look to you to be a complete half-wit, a man with no sense at all? For I would be that and worse if I did not accept such a tempting offer. Out of that bed, now and get on with it afore my cockstand bursts from the front of my breeches.”

  With a delighted giggle I am out of bed and tugging my clothes off. I forget momentarily about my injury, only to have Piers catch me around the waist as I almost stumble. “Steady, girl. My brother will not forgive me if I cause further damage, especially in your delicate condition.”

  I take a little more care but moments later I am naked and kneeling beside the bed. Piers sits on the side of it and beckons me forward to take my position between his powerful, outstretched legs.

  “So, you are on your knees and gloriously naked. What next, little maid?”

  “May I…?” I gesture to his erection which bulges the front of his clothing.

  “You may.” He leans back on his elbows and closes his eyes. I take this as my signal to proceed as I please.

  I untie the drawstring holding his breeches in place and open the front to allow his straining cock the freedom it so clearly desires. His manhood springs free, pointing straight up. I take it between both my hands and caress it with a reverence I normally reserve for my rosary. He lets out a low groan, a sighing deep in his throat but makes no move to hurry me along or to direct my actions.

  I shuffle a little closer and lean forward to draw the tip of my tongue across the head. His sweet, clear juices are already flowing, weeping from the slit at the end. I lap at the droplets, play at cleaning him off only to have the moisture return two and threefold.

  The huge cock leaps in my hands and Piers starts to thrust his hips upwards. I part my jaws as wide as I am able and take the head into my mouth.

  Piers’ fingers are in my hair now. He grips a fistful of my tresses and holds my head still as he pumps his cock in and out of my mouth. Each stroke presses deeper, further into my throat. I breathe through my nose, managing to suppress the urge to gag. His cock twitches again and he utters some obscenity I cannot quite catch but I know his release is close. I hollow my cheeks to suck, at the same time cupping his heavy balls. It is enough. His grip tightens in my hair to the point of pain though I care not for that and his balls contract in my hands as they force the ribbons of semen up through his penis to erupt into my mouth.

  Now I do gag but only for the few brief moments it takes to swallow and clear my throat. The fountain of his seed continues, filling my mouth again and again. Each time I swallow it, all of it, relishing the tangy sweetness of his essence, so similar to Ralf but all Piers’ own.

  Afterwards we lay together on the bed, me still nude, Piers fully dressed. It is so often thus between us but I no longer mind. I curl up against his side, my cheek pillowed on his chest. His palm rests casually on my buttock, for once not smarting from a spanking, whether delivered in play or punishment. I prop my chin on my hand.

  “Sir, will you not spank me again, as long as I am pregnant?”

  He kisses the top of my head. “No, we will not, I think.”

  “Oh.” I digest that for a few moments, then, “I will miss it.”

  “You will not be alone, little maid. Is this because you hated the figging?”

  “Figging?”

  “The ginger. It is called figging.”

  “Oh. I have not heard that word before. So, this… figging… is commonplace here at Egremont?”

  “I would not say that exactly. I suspect it will become more usual though, if you turn out to be the fecund little creature I am starting to suspect you are. It is an effective form of discipline which will not endanger an unborn child.”

  “I agree it is effective. I am very sorry, sir, for my carelessness whilst you were away. I just did not think.”

  “The matter is done with. You have learnt a hard lesson but we need not speak of it again.”

  I fall silent for several moments, alone with my thoughts. Then something occurs to me, questions I wonder if I should ask. Would it be indelicate? Rude even?

  “I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head from here. What is it, little maid?”

  Two questions. I start with the easiest one.

  “Why do you always call me that? Little maid? I am not a maid, not in any sense of the word. Not any longer. And I am not unusually small.”

  “You always seem small to me and fragile. The name seemed to suit you, at first and it has stuck. Does it displease you?”

  I think about that and realise it does not. My response picks up on the rest of his comment. “But if I am so fragile, why are you always so ready to spank me, or take a switch to my bottom? Well, at least you were, before…”

  “Matters of disciplining our wife do seem to usually fall to me. But, I would never harm you. You must know that.”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I, I trust you.”

  “I know you do and I am glad of it. Was that all?”

  “No, sir, there was one other matter puzzling me but I am uncertain if I can ask you or Ralf.”

  He rolls over to pin me to the bed, his expression serious. “I will punish you for your misdeeds, Linnet but not for your words and neither will Ralf. You may say what you will to us, without fear of retribution.”

  “I see. But, it was not really that. I just…” I decide the best course is just to say it. “When I was a child working here in the kitchens, the old earl used to often come down there in search of ginger. My grandmother would give it to him. I wondered, sometimes but never would have…” I stop, mortified as the implications of my words hit me. If I, a mere child, was aware when the lord of the keep sought out a finger of ginger, so would all the current servants know of my punishment.

  “Oh, sweet Lord, am I to have no secrets?”

  Piers laughs out loud. “Ah, yes, my mother was a lovely woman, all thought so who knew her. Her children loved her, my father adored her. But ‘tis true she led him a dance much of the time and I daresay he had to resort to whatever measures were at his disposal to maintain any semblance of control. And yes, Mrs. Murching will be aware of our needs earlier today, as may others in her domain. Perhaps you will think on that, next time you contemplate disobedience, little maid.”

  I grimace and nod. I am sure I will.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A messenger is here from
the king’s court in London. His arrival has caused much consternation in Egremont. Since the man’s escort clattered across our drawbridge Ralf and Piers have spent much time closeted with him in the solar, accompanied by the castle bailiff and the captain of the guard.

  I am terrified, convinced this is the summons I have dreaded for months. Are my men to be required to join the king in the Holy Land, to lay down their lives on foreign soil whilst I wait here, my heart in my mouth every time a courier appears over our horizon?

  They have not instructed me to leave them alone, but I hesitate to intrude, to disturb their earnest discussions. At last, I can bear the uncertainty no longer. I tap on the door to the solar and await an invitation to go inside.

  It is Piers’ voice which bids me enter. I do so, closing the doors behind me. I drop a curtsy, and given the company direct my words to Ralf.

  “My lord, I wonder if I may be of any assistance.”

  He smiles at me and extends his hand. I rush across the chamber to take his hand and kiss it. He strokes my hair.

  “Linnet, this is William Marshall, an emissary from Queen Eleanor, mother to our noble liege lord.”

  I bow my head. “I trust all is well for your comfort, my lord.”

  The elderly man inclines his head, but is clearly ready to continue their deliberations as soon as my doting husband sees fit to dismiss me.

  Ralf does not do so. Instead, he continues to explain. “The king has been taken captive by Duke Leopold of Austria. A crippling ransom is demanded, a hundred and fifty thousand marks. It will ruin England.”

  “I see, my lord. Is a force to be assembled to attempt a rescue, then?” It is unthinkable that our king be allowed to remain in hostile enemy hands, and England at the mercy of his brother, John.

  Ralf shakes his head. “No, Linnet. We will raise the ransom, somehow. All the noble houses must contribute, and we are just considering how Egremont will raise our share.”

  “I see.” At my husband’s signal I take a seat at the table beside him. The men resume their conversation and soon my presence is forgotten.