by Renee Rose
He continued with no sign of stopping, and soon she started to grow agitated. She wrapped her lower legs behind his back to keep herself from kicking, fearing she might kick him in the face in the position she was in. Even as her agitation grew, the level of intensity with which he was striking her increased. Her whimpers grew louder, and her bottom started bobbing, trying in vain to dodge the blows. She felt the urge to beg and plead welling up in her. She pushed it firmly back down and let herself cry instead. She clutched at his lower legs with her fingers digging in and started to sob softly. Still, he didn't stop.
He began to slap just one side—the same place over and over again until her hips were writhing frantically under the cruel bite. He then moved his target and slapped up and down that thigh several times before moving to give the other side the same tortuous treatment. The anticipation of knowing what was to come made it worse, but because it was her left side he couldn't strike her quite as hard in the position she was in. Still, it smarted terribly.
The spanking suddenly stopped, and she felt his lips pressed to her hot cheek, the scratch of his stubble feeling rough against her chaffed skin. He rubbed her bottom for a few moments. Her pussy was dripping wet, so hungry for his touch. She feared he'd make her wait all night for her pleasure, but he was not so cruel. She felt a finger dip into her honeyed moisture, but then it withdrew too soon. The moistened finger pressed into her arsehole, and she moaned and pushed back to allow entry. It felt too large and too rough and she had to fight hard not to tighten against it.
“Ow… ah… Ferrum,” she gasped.
“Yes, my little flower,” he rumbled in a low voice, and she felt a second finger pressing into her sex. That gave her everything she needed, and she followed its movement. He was using a thumb in each hole, if she was feeling it right. The palm of his hand cupped her mound and gave her delicious feedback on her nub of pleasure. He worked the thumbs simultaneously together, stroking in and out, then alternating first one, then the other, which she preferred. Tension coiled up in her, wrapped tighter and tighter as she spread her legs wider, pushing back at him eagerly, rocking her hips to meet each thumb as it alternately pushed into her. She started making a soft, keening cry as the need became almost painful, and then she tumbled over the edge of the cliff, bucking against him, biting her lip to keep from howling as the pleasure rolled through her in delicious waves. Spent, she collapsed limply on his legs as he slid his thumbs slowly out of her.
He parted his legs, depositing her torso on the bedroll and rolling her onto her back before grasping her thighs and pulling her hips up close to his own. Her body felt as though it were made of custard, and she couldn't do anything but stare at him with a stupid little smile on her face. He bent her knees up so she lay with her sex fully presented to him. He turned to one of the bent knees and slapped her inner thigh. The zing of pain registered and started to pull her out of her post-climactic languor. He slapped it again. Then again, traveling down from the knee toward her parted sex.
Her breath quickened, and she began to tremble with the combined pleasure and pain sensations swirling through her body. He turned to the other leg and gave that inner thigh the same treatment, slapping hard down it. He patted her sex a few times, but his wrist was at a bad angle to slap it with any force. He picked up her ankles and crossed them, holding them in one of his large hands and lifting them back over her head. He moved onto his knees and brought his big palm down squarely on her sex.
“Ack!” she shrieked, a bit of fear sharpening all her senses.
“Ack?” he asked conversationally.
He spanked her sex again three times in rapid succession. She jumped and tried to squirm out of Ferrum's grasp with every smack.
“Mine,” he growled and spanked it again and again. She whimpered and kicked.
“Ferrum,” she gasped.
“Aye?” He paused the spanking.
“Please don't be mad at me,” she said in a tiny voice.
He brought her upturned foot to his mouth and bit it. “Nay, little flower. I'm not mad at you. I'm just teaching you who you belong to.” Then he sat back and cradled her foot, looking serious. “You really are mine now?”
She met his eyes and nodded solemnly.
“No more thoughts of escape?”
She shook her head. “Nay… I'm here to stay. With you.”
Ferrum's eyes glittered as he held her gaze, a satisfied smile on his face. “Then I'll be having my way with you now.”
She smiled back. “I thought that's what you were doing.”
He shook his head. “That was just a warm-up. I meant it when I said I'd spank you all night.”
A thrill of fear and excitement ran through her, because she had imagined he was almost through with his deliberate torture of her sensitive parts. He used her legs to spin her around on her back so her head faced him and then he shed his clothes and crawled over her to put his cock into her mouth. He had the control in this position, and he moved in and out of her as he pleased, using her mouth as he might have used her sex, thrusting deeply so that she had to relax her throat not to gag. She used one hand to massage his balls and the other to grip the base of his cock, closing her lips firmly. He pulled out before he came, and he spilled his seed on her breasts. She smiled and rubbed it over her sensitive nipples until he knocked her hands away. “Mine,” he insisted and pinched them.
“Aye, Ferrum—yours,” she gasped, arching into his hands.
“Go and fetch my sword belt,” he said.
Her belly flipped. She peered at him, but was reassured again that he didn't appear angry. For the briefest of moments she considered arguing, but that would ruin the pleasure of wanton submission she was feeling. Because Ferrum's measured infliction of both pain and pleasure had left her reveling in the feeling of being completely owned, completely possessed. For the first time in her life, someone wanted her—all of her, not just what she offered when she flipped up her skirts and bent over behind the tavern.
She obeyed him, her palms already beginning to sweat at the thought of the pain he could mete out with his belt. When she brought it to him, he pulled her down into his lap and looked into her eyes, burning a hole into her soul with the intensity of his gaze. He lifted her head to his and possessed her mouth roughly, his lips covering hers with a bruising contact, his tongue thrusting aggressively into her mouth. She made a little mewling sound and clung to his shoulders, until he pulled abruptly away, and she gave a soft sigh. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You are so beautiful,” he said.
She lay back, weak-limbed in his arms and stared up at her fierce knight. “So are you,” she murmured.
He seemed disturbed by that and abruptly flipped her over. She held her breath and did not wait long for the first crack of his worn leather belt. The intense sting was almost welcome in the state she was in—her perception of pain and pleasure already so blurred from their previous activities. She also welcomed it as the chance to clear the slate with Ferrum—to pay her dues, as it were, for hurting him. He brought the belt down again and again, and she hissed and whimpered under its burn.
“Mine. Mine. Mine.” Ferrum said with each stroke, while she gasped and flinched. He strapped up her bottom and back down and then caught her on the back of the legs. She pressed her knuckles into her mouth to keep from screaming. He struck her there again, and she panicked, struggling uselessly against his firm hold. “It hurts a fair bit more on the backs of your legs, doesn't it?” Ferrum asked musingly.
“Ferrum,” she choked. “You're spanking so hard.”
“I know, little flower,” he said tenderly, stroking up and down the long curve of her back with his huge palm. “I plan to spank you to tears tonight.” He began to strap her again with the belt, so hard she knew she'd have difficulty sitting the next day.
Knowing he desired her tears—that he needed this—helped her let go of any push to be strong. She welcomed each welting bite of his belt until she broke down and wept, relea
sing her guilt and responsibility with her sobs. He lifted her and carried her to the bedding, tucking the woolen blanket around her, lying down next to her. His hand rubbed her blistered bottom, and he murmured comforting words in her ear. And though she could not seem to attend to their meaning, she felt the tenderness in them. She pressed her face into his chest and cried until there were no more tears to be cried, feeling loved and cared for. Feeling as if she were exactly where she belonged—in the safety and comfort of Ferrum's strong arms, cleansed of her sins, knowing the strength of his passion for her.
Chapter 7
Holding and comforting Dani that night, Ferrum felt guilty he'd pushed her so hard, though it had been his intention to spank her to tears. But the following morning she was as happy and chirpy as a little bird, seemingly cleansed of it, and she stayed close by his side all day, as if she craved his nearness and touch. That night she even perched on his knee in front of all the men, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his scarred ear. She leaned the side of her head against his and stared into the fire, and he felt her mood subtly shift to a quiet listening. He had come to recognize when she was visited by the Sight.
“Your home is in danger,” she said gravely.
“My home?”
“Aye, the place where you and Prince Phillip were raised. King Benton is there. Or will be there.”
Umbria. They were headed there already, but this was bad news. He stood up, regretfully sliding his beautiful wife off his lap, to tell Phillip.
“We'll leave before first light at full speed,” Phillip ordered.
He nodded and walked the camp, ordering the men to pack and ready the camp for a quick departure in the morning. They rode out before dawn and stopped only when it was clear the horses needed rest. When they reached the crest of the hilltop overlooking Umbria, Phillip cursed. A battle was underway, with hundreds of soldiers swarming outside the castle walls. “May the devil take Benton!” Phillip hissed. The curtain wall had already been breached, and the soldiers were pouring into the bailey.
Ferrum pulled his horse quickly to the edge of the woods, making a sharp gesture for Dani to follow. “You stay here and wait for me. Don't leave unless you've been seen and must flee. If that happens, go back to the place we rested the horses last. Understand?”
“Aye. Godspeed, Ferrum,” she choked. He shook his head. “No fears for me, little flower. I'll be back for you,” he promised.
Phillip was already making a keening war cry, and he spun his destrier to join the men, kicking him into a gallop as they charged down the hill. They took Benton's soldiers by surprise, dividing their focus between their men and Umbria's, who were shooting arrows from the castle towers. It was not long before they'd cut down most of the forces still outside the walls and routed them inside where the greater battle was being waged.
They plunged inside, Phillip at the lead. There was mass confusion within—it was hard to tell which soldiers were Benton's and which were Umbria's. Ferrum rode his horse in as far as possible, cutting down men only when he was sure they were Benton's. It seemed at first the Duke's men were fighting against them, but then William, their foster brother and the Duke's natural son saw him from across the Great Hall. He lifted his sword in fierce greeting.
“The Red Fox has arrived!” William roared. A shout of approval went up from the Umbrian men, their battle cries growing fiercer with triumph. That seemed to clear up some of the confusion, and they began to press forward with the battle in the courtyard.
“Benton!” Phillip bellowed, turning his destrier in a circle. “Show your face to me!”
Ferrum fought his way forward and caught glimpses of the Duke, his beloved foster father. He saw some of the King's soldiers breaching the castle doors, and he kicked his horse forward, riding it inside with the surge of invaders. He struck down men with a sword in one hand and an ax in the other, aiming for the kill with every swing. It was a rhythm—a zone. Time slowed, all moves were perfectly precise. The truth was, he loved battle—it was what he was born and raised for.
“Retreat!” The call came from the courtyard, and he swung his horse around, assuming Benton was out there and not wanting him to escape. But another surge of Benton's men surrounded him—soldiers who had heard the call for retreat and were trying to exit now. He worked steadily, blocking their blows and swinging his own, taking them down, one by one. By the time he'd cleared the Great Hall of Benton's men, the battle was over. He paused and looked over the hall. It was ruined with blood and bodies and small fires. He had a fleeting thought that if the Duchess had not died years ago, she would have probably died from the sight of the horses and the carnage in her Great Hall.
He led the horse out and dismounted, looking for Phillip.
“He got away,” Phillip said bitterly when he found him.
“Ferrum! Phillip!” William cried. They followed the sound of his voice and found him crouching over the blood-soaked Duke.
“No,” he choked.
“Help me to carry him,” William said tersely, and Ferrum picked his father up gently, careful not to jostle him. They carried him to his chamber and laid him out on the bed. They removed his leather breastplate and his helmet, and then their own iron helmets to kneel beside him. “My sons… my three sons… one by blood, and two by heart… keep fighting for Briton…” he murmured. His eyes flicked wildly for a moment, his limbs twitched, and then he was gone.
“No,” Phillip said in a choked voice. “NO!”
Ferrum stood and walked to his brothers, pulling them both up by their arms and tugging them in for a simultaneous embrace. The three men stood in solidarity of grief and love.
“This is the way he'd have wanted to go,” William said, with tears in his eyes. “He's raised us our whole lives for this fight.”
They nodded in solemn agreement.
“Benton?”
Phillip shook his head regretfully. “He can't be found.”
William's face clouded. “Mayhap we can beat him back to Camelot.”
“Aye,” Phillip said heavily. He looked at Ferrum. “Will you fetch Danewyn?”
Ferrum headed downstairs, giving post-battle orders as he made his way through the disaster. The castle gates were still standing open, and when he stepped out, he saw Dani approaching. She ran to him when she saw him.
“I told you to stay where you were until I came for you,” he barked before she'd reached him.
She stopped short and took one step backward, looking wary. He had her trained well enough to expect a spanking when she disobeyed.
“Nay, come here, flower,” he said and held open his arms. She ran into them and pressed herself against him.
“You're not hurt?”
He pulled away and looked at her quizzically. “Did you think I was?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, sir. I saw the battle had been won, that's why I left before you came for me.”
She reached up and touched his face. “What is it?”
He shook his head, grief threatening to bubble up and spill out of him. “The Duke is dead,” he told her heavily.
“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I'm so sorry.”
He nodded, unable to speak and held her body against his, drinking in the comfort she offered. After a moment, he pulled away and led her inside. “Phillip needs you,” he said, stepping over bodies as they made their way in. Dani's face had gone pale at the sight of the gore, but he felt her stiffen her back, showing that unique female resiliency with which she continued to stun him.
Phillip was in the Great Hall, giving orders alongside William. When he saw them, he beckoned them into the strategy room. William joined them, and Ferrum introduced Dani as his wife and the Prince's Royal Seer. Dani blushed prettily and curtsied. Phillip began his questions immediately.
“Where is Benton?”
“Riding… back to Camelot,” she answered faintly, her eyes unfocused.
“Can we beat him there?”
She pause
d, then shook her head.
“Can we beat him at Camelot?”
She shook her head again. “Outnumbered,” she murmured.
“We're outnumbered?” Phillip demanded. He was growing agitated.
She held up her hand as if to ward off further questions, and she closed her eyes. He watched them move from side to side beneath the lids. When they flickered open they held fear. “You will die. All of your men and you.” She rubbed her arms, and he guessed the hair was standing up there.
“I will die if I go to Camelot?” Phillip asked sharply.
She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “He will hunt you down and kill you, no matter where you go. He will not stop until you are dead.”
“How will I take the throne, Dani?” Phillip asked quietly.
She met his eye squarely and shook her head. “You will die,” she said with a look of horror. “All of you.” She turned her eyes on him, and the grief he saw there sent a chill through his body.
“But you said differently before.”
“Futures change,” she said hoarsely.
The room was deathly quiet as they all stared at each other in dismay.
Dani couldn't sleep at all that night. She kept seeing the vision she'd seen when the prince had questioned her. All his men dead. Ferrum, dead. She spent the next several days in a daze, and the men went about making reparations to the castle walls and gates, burning their dead and restoring the castle from the wreckage.
On the fourth morning, she heard Ferrum get up in the early morning, whispering he had to attend to things. She still felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and tried to find the sleep that had been eluding her. Instead, she had a new vision of a future changed.
She got up, dressed, and found the Prince in the Great Hall. “May I have a word with you? In private?” She stood at the prince's side, her heart pounding at what she was planning.
He looked at her curiously. “Aye.” He led her into a small room with a round table and chairs—the strategy room, if she guessed right.