by Zoe Blake
Rhys turned to close the enormous wooden stable doors, placing the heavy wrought iron bar down to lock it. A small army would not be able to get through. She was alone with him.
“Bea, I’m not going to let you ride out unescorted, especially not astride.”
“You have absolutely no right to be giving orders to me. And don’t call me Bea!”
“As your husband, I have every right and I will call you whatever I damn well please…Bea.”
“You are not my husband nor will you ever be. You are nothing. Do you hear me?”
Rhys clenched his jaw, unprepared for how angry it made him to hear her deny what they shared.
“Just go back to whatever kingdom you came from, your highness, because there is nothing here for you now,” she furiously continued as she pulled the straps on her saddle tight.
Rhys let her continue to think she was leaving this stable on that horse while he went to the tack room to collect a few items. As he was quickly learning, Bea responded more to action than words. That was fortunate because he wasn’t a man who liked to stand around explaining how he should be obeyed, he would much rather show her.
He started by placing a hefty canvas bag filled with saddle blankets in the center of the stable after placing one large soft blanket on the floor. He then selected one of the larger saddles on offer. Black leather with a smooth wide seat. Placing the saddle over the canvas bag he returned to the tack room for several leather straps, careful not to choose any with buckles.
Beatrice watched him out of the corner of her eye. Having absolutely no idea what he was about. Refusing to feel slighted that he obviously didn’t care about her angry outburst. Apparently not, if he was continuing on with the subterfuge of being a stable master! Not that she cared. She was through with him. Through with the damn curse. To hell with the gypsy and to hell with her father. She was done with the lot of them.
Beatrice turned back to finish saddling the horse. She was unprepared for the strong arm that wrapped around her waist, pulling her off her feet.
“Let me go you…you beast…you liar…you prince!” she raged as she scratched at his hold on her.
“Congratulations, I believe you are the first person to ever use the title prince as a curse,” chuckled Rhys as he ignored her cries. Pulling her fighting and twisting form over to the saddle he’d prepared.
Despite her struggles, he managed to remove her dress and underthings. Beatrice was left in only her lace stockings and riding boots. Seeing her naked in such a wild, natural setting aroused him to an almost painful degree.
“On your knees.”
“You’re insane! Give me back my dress!” cried Beatrice as she crossed her arms over her breasts and thighs.
Rhys flicked his wrist, whipping a thick leather strap around her upper thigh.
Beatrice screamed in pain as she started to back away.
Rhys cracked the leather strap again, this time catching her on her right buttock.
“On your knees,” he growled.
Beatrice turned to run but the moment she got to the stable door, she realized she would be unable to lift the iron bar. It was too late, Rhys was behind her. Taking a fistful of her tangled locks as they tumbled out of her loose chignon, Rhys held her body still as he slapped the leather strap across her bottom cheeks several times.
Beatrice cried out as the hard leather made contact with her soft bottom. The pain was sharper more intense than when he had spanked her with his hand.
“Stop! It hurts! Stop!”
“On your knees.”
Seeing no other escape, Beatrice scurried over to the saddle he had prepared. Kneeling on the blanket.
“Good girl.”
“You can spank me all you want. It won’t change my mind,” she rebelled.
“Oh, I’m not just going to spank you,” said Rhys ominously. “Lay over the saddle.”
“But…you can’t…”
“I’m waiting, Bea,” he said with an edge to his voice.
Beatrice laid across the saddle. The cold leather causing her nipples to harden.
“Why am I punishing you?”
“Because you’re a brute and a bastard,” she seethed.
Rhys swatted her bottom with the leather strap. Watching as a crimson stripe rose on her creamy skin.
“Ow! Ow! Because I ran away!”
Rhys strapped her again, this time lower. The leather kissing her skin on the upper thigh just below the full curve of her bottom.
“Ow! Please! Stop!” she cried.
Rhys swatted her a third time, the leather making a threatening crack in the mostly silent stable.
“I broke my promise. I was going to ride astride,” she offered through her tears.
“You denied us. You denied this. I will be your husband. And not because of some trivial marriage contract and not because of my father and definitely not because of yours. Because of us. Because you need this. You need me. You need someone strong to rein in your tempestuous ways.”
Beatrice refused to acknowledge the truth of his words, petulantly keeping her lips shut.
Rhys applied the leather strap several more times. Not stopping till her bottom glowed a bright red.
Beatrice bit down on the thick leather saddle flap to keep from screaming out. The intense burning. Her bottom felt swollen. The skin tight and strained.
Rhys lowered the leather strap as he knelt behind her. Placing his hand on her bare bottom, he delighted in the heat radiating off her skin. Moving his hand in large circles, he felt her body shiver and wince from the contact.
Each sweep of his hand brought a fresh onslaught of agony. Beatrice tried to focus on the tangy taste of the leather in her mouth as she ground her teeth into the saddle flap.
“Bite down harder, love, because your real punishment is about to start,” warned Rhys.
Beatrice whimpered as she tried to look over her shoulder. Rhys spanked her bottom.
“Eyes up front. Shift your hips back and lean forward.”
Before she could even try to disobey, Rhys splayed his large hands over her smaller hips and adjusted her position for himself. She was now lying over the leather saddle with her head closer to the ground, her punished bottom at a mortifying angle in the air.
Rhys pushed two fingers between her thighs, sliding them along her slick passage. She could deny them, deny him, deny everything all she wanted, but her body would always tell the truth.
Beatrice moaned and unwittingly shifted her hips, grinding them down on his long fingers.
Rhys opened her bottom cheeks wide, exposing her pink, hidden passage. Rubbing the pad of his thumb in small circles, he watched as her passage clenched and twitched. Using her own dew, he pushed his thumb in till the first knuckle.
Beatrice whimpered. It felt strange and wrong. She tried to shy her hips forward away from the intrusion but his strong grasp wouldn’t allow it.
“You have to stop. It feels wrong,” she whined.
Rhys pushed his thumb in further, feeling the tight clench of her body. Knowing it would soon be gripping his cock.
“Oh! Oh! Stop! Oh god! That hurt!”
Rhys pulled his thumb free. Watching as her small hole, slightly opened from his thumb, clenched closed again. Placing a hand on her lower back, he pressed down, forcing her bottom up even higher. Rhys leaned down. Her pretty cunny was on display between her pinkened thighs. Using the tip of his tongue, he flicked her sensitive bud.
Beatrice gave out a startled yelp, once again squirming her hips.
Rhys swirled his tongue over her opened lips. Tasting her musky heat. Reveling in the undeniable proof of her attraction to him, to his punishment, to his authority. He shifted upwards, dipping his tongue into her slightly opened puckered hole. Preparing her.
Rhys lurched up onto his knees. Unlacing his breeches, he freed his engorged cock. Grasping the shaft, he ran the head of his cock through her arousal, caressing her nether lips. Once he was slick with her dew, he
pressed the tip against her back passage.
“Wait! No! You can’t!”
“You deserve every inch of this,” he growled.
Thrusting his hips forward, he watched as the head of his cock widened and stretched her tiny hole. The dark pink skin whitened as it was pulled open.
“Oh, god! Stop!” yelled Beatrice.
It was torment. The sharp piercing pain. Her body fought the intrusion. Clenching, Clamping. Wincing. Her breaths came in quick bursts. Her toes curled as her feet kicked out. Nothing would stop his slow steady push into her body.
Rhys groaned as the crest slipped in, her tiny hole closing tightly around the top of the shaft. Thrusting forward, his thick cock forced her back passage open painfully wide. Nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing her body forced to accept him, to see his cock disappear deep inside, against her will. When he was finally fully seated to the hilt, he reached around to cup her breasts. Pushing her torso up, he pulled her back to meet his chest, the movement impaling her even more fully onto his shaft.
Beatrice rolled her head back. Choking on her own sobs, it felt so much worse with her upright on her knees, tighter, more strained, more…full. It was awful.
“Please! Please! Enough! Oh, god. It’s enough,” she begged.
“I’ve only just started,” said Rhys darkly. Keeping a firm hold on her breasts, he shifted his hips back then forth, driving in and out. Each thrust deeper than the last.
Beatrice scrambled to brace herself. Her nails digging into the hard leather of the saddle. It was all too much. She felt overwhelmed. Over-powered. He was in complete control.
Shifting his right hand from her breast, Rhys caressed her stomach as he slid his hand further down. Plunging his two middle fingers between her clenched thighs, he vigorously started to rub her cunny. The friction creating its own heat. Taking his two fingers, he ruthlessly pinched her sensitive bud.
“No! Don’t!” Beatrice groaned as the sensations of pain mixed with pleasure.
Rhys could feel her back passage tighten around his shaft every time he tormented her clit. Rolling the bud between his fingers, he squeezed and pinched, glorying in her strained cry.
“I won’t stop punishing your bottom till you cum,” he roughly whispered against her ear.
Beatrice’s only response was a whimper. She was beyond words.
Rhys continued to thrust with agonizing ferocity. Her bottom hole began to redden from his onslaught. Despite his girth, her entrance was still restrictively tight.
Beatrice closed her eyes and let everything wash over her. The feel of his coarse hand on her breast. His fingers rubbing titillating circles around her clit. The tormenting, throbbing ache of his cock driving into her bottom. The disturbing swirl of stinging pleasure. The scent of cedarwood on his skin. Green earthy scent of fresh hay.
Opening her eyes on a shock of misery as he thrust hard, Beatrice’s gaze was drawn to the bay window. Out in the pasture, she watched in stunned shock as Rhys’ black stallion approached her chestnut mare. Despite her shying away, the stallion chased her around the paddock, refusing her rebuke. Finally, he pinned the mare against a fence corner. Beatrice watched in fascinated horror as the stallion reared on its hind legs before mounting her much smaller mare from behind. The stallion bit the mare as she tried to move away, forcing her to endure his assault. It was violent. Raw. Primal.
The room swirled and melted into a spinning trundle of color, scents and sounds. She tilted her head back on a deep-throated scream as a release was ripped from her body. She was only dimly aware of Rhys’ roar of completion as she collapsed onto the cold, smooth saddle.
“Say it,” he ground out near her shoulder. His cock still buried inside of her. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she breathed.
Chapter Nine
Three Months later, Dessin Animé Kingdom.
Rhys stood impatiently by his father, the King, on a red velvet covered dais. For the fifth time in a quarter hour, he checked his pocket watch.
“Son, she will be here. You know there are the formalities to be observed,” assured his father. “You act as if it has been months since you last laid eyes on the girl.”
If felt like years, thought Rhys. It was protocol to separate the bride and groom for several days before the ceremony. Rhys tried to argue against it. He chafed at the idea of being away from Beatrice for so much as a moment, especially as she was in a new land surrounded by strangers. His father’s ministers would have none of it. It was a royal wedding after all. There were formalities to be observed as everyone was forever reminding him.
“She is fine. I understand from my courtiers she started ordering everyone about and arranging things to her liking from the moment she entered the palace,” reported the bemused King. His father could not be happier his son approved of his choice of bride. The future of the Dessin Animé Kingdom was in good hands.
Finally, the horns sounded signaling her arrival. Rhys eagerly searched the arched doorway for a glimpse of his bride.
Damn, he loved this woman. She was his perfect mate. An intelligent, spirited woman who was strong enough to accept the dominance and control of the man she loves was a rare jewel indeed. He would spend his very last breath making sure she never regretted surrendering to his strength. He also knew he was an absolute beast for not giving her the same gift. Somehow he had held off telling her how he truly felt…how deeply he felt. There was strength in vulnerability. He learned that through her sacrifice. Yet, he had held off till this moment. Their wedding day. He wanted to wait till she was well and truly his. Then he would tell her, Rhys thought with a smile. But not here. Not among these strangers. He would wait till he had her naked underneath him. Till he was deep inside of her, sharing the same heartbeat, the same breath. Then. Then he would do more than just show her how much he loved her. He would say the words. The words he knew she wanted to hear but was too stubborn to admit it. Such spirit! Damn, he loved this woman!
Rhys watched with pride as Beatrice entered the ballroom. There was a collective gasp from the assembled crowd of dignitaries and royal guests. Beatrice was resplendent in a stunning gold silk gown. Accenting her small waist, it floated about her in large, sweeping festoons shimmering with captured light. Her beautiful tawny locks were swept high revealing her slim throat and the gentle curve of her cheek. Her amber eyes were large and bright but even from afar he could read a small amount of trepidation in their depths. No matter how bold and spirited his Beatrice was, facing such a crowd would daunt even the staunchest of soldiers.
The formalities be damned, thought Rhys. Breaking with protocol, he stepped down from the dais and moved with a determined step to her side.
Beatrice’s faced glowed with love and appreciation as Rhys arrived to take her arm. He looked so handsome and strong. Dressed in a deep, royal blue coat which emphasized his immense shoulders and toned chest. She felt a stirring in her belly at the mere sight of him.
Trying to compose herself as they continued with the long procession, Beatrice drew up her courage and finally voiced her last remaining doubt. “You know…you still haven’t said it.”
Rhys looked down into her uncertain eyes. “Said what, my fierce feline,” he teased.
Beatrice blushed at the intimate moniker knowing he now used it to tease her for her tendency to use her nails on his back when they made love. “You know what,” she purred.
“I have already promised to build you the biggest perfumery in all of Europe and to fill my kingdom with fields of roses and lavender. What more needs to be said?” he taunted, knowing full well what she wanted to hear from him.
“Jeanne-Marious Rhysmont, this is not the moment to tease or I swear I will turn and march right back out that door, prince or no prince, kingdom or no kingdom,” said Beatrice through clenched teeth.
“Beatrice Victoria Arbot de Villeneuve, you run and I will give chase,” he playfully warned. “And you will have a sore bottom indeed when I
manage to catch you,” he whispered darkly into her ear.
Beatrice blushed deeper.
Taking pity on her as they neared the Bishop who would finally make them man and wife, Rhys decided now was the perfect moment. Leaning in close, he whispered tenderly. “Beatrice, you know I love…have your coffee.”
“What?” asked a confused Beatrice, looking about her with alarm as the candlelit ballroom started to melt and swirl into a kaleidoscope of color.
“Wake up, Beautiful. Coffee’s ready,” said Rhys cheerfully.
“Coffee?”
Bea awoke with a start. Her legs tangled in the sheets. It was a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.
Chapter Ten
“Morning, baby. Coffee?”
Her husband, Rhys, stood by their bed holding two cups of coffee. The rich, chicory scent of tobacco and chocolate dragging her back to reality.
“I just had the craziest dream,” exclaimed Bea as she brushed an errant blonde curl away from her eyes.
“Was it the one where you are sleeping beauty and I’m the dragon?” asked Rhys. Before she could answer, he continued amusedly, “I never quite understood why I was a dragon in that one. Why not the prince? Shouldn’t I be Prince Charming in all your dreams?”
Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“You were the dragon because we had gotten into a fight that night,” Bea teased as she stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t worry. You were a prince in this one…sort of. It was so strange. I was Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”
“So I was the Beast,” Rhys playfully growled as he wagged his eyebrows.
“Not exactly. You could tell it was a dream because the Belle in my dream was all bossy and stubborn and everyone thought she was positively beastly.”
“Yes…yes…that is definitely an upside down world,” quirked Rhys as he handed Bea her Mrs. Always Right mug while taking a sip from his Mr. Right one.