She laid herself over his lap gingerly, ready to spring back up if she lost her courage. Tom prevented that thought from coming to fruition by putting a hard arm on the small of her back and a leg over hers. Brandywyn would not be escaping her punishment.
Tom lifted her skirt, baring her bottom as it had been bared before. Cool air tickled her skin and the silence in the cottage stretched with each passing moment. She began to think that Tom had had second thoughts, but that was not the case. She sensed him lifting his arm away from his body and a second later, his gloved palm came down with a resounding smack on her upturned rear.
“Ouch!”
“You will say your squeaks more times than that, I trow.”
Several more hard spanks landed on her bottom, first on one cheek then the next. This hurt much worse than anything she’d felt before, save her painful encounter with the kidnappers. She cried out with each stroke, but Tom cared not a fig for her torments. He continued spanking her bottom, one stroke, another, then a pause and three more. Oh, she could not keep track beyond the pain, the sting and burn on her bottom.
Tom plied his leather hand down her thighs and twice over the place where her bottom and thighs made a cross. And something happened with those slaps. The glove caught her secret lips and gave them a sting. To Brandywyn’s surprise, that sting felt good! A bit of the excitement she had felt while watching the prince Gammon in his bedchamber with the maid came back to her. She squirmed on Tom’s thighs, arching her back a bit to offer that tender spot anew. Unfailingly, Tom found it and stung it again.
“Brandywyn…” he began, but whatever he was going to say was lost as he struck her fanny several more times and her nether lips again, too.
The spanks on her behind brought tears to her eyes, and so did the spanks on her private places, but it was a mix of pain and pleasure, which confused Brandywyn greatly.
“Stop, Tom! It hurts so badly!”
“Aye, it should hurt,” he told her, his voice calm, his breathing even despite his exertions. Brandywyn started crying in earnest; the pain was so harsh, and her confusion so great. A part of her was blossoming, like a flower in the sun, and the sun was the spanking that extended to her secret parts. Even as she cried, the sensation grew, unraveling low in her belly. But the spanking on her bottom was horribly painful. Her bottom felt as though it was burning up, like a fever, but her face was no less hot as she considered what Tom might be seeing as he applied his hard leather palm to strike her lower lips.
“Please… please stop! I am contrite! I promise to be obedient and thoughtful.” Please, she told herself, please don’t stop, because I must know what this surging sensation, this pleasure within pain, will lead to. Might it be that exquisite sensation she experienced when she touched herself at the peep hole? She tried to squelch those contrary thoughts, and nearly did, but Tom struck her one more time in that tender spot and then pulled the awful glove off and threw it to the floor. She heard it hit the packed earth with a small thump. There was a pause, and after a time, Tom began to stroke her bottom gently with his warm hand. It stung, the heat from his palm heightened the heat on her bottom, but that feeling in her belly grew apace with his gentle ministrations.
Circles and crosses on her bottom marked the places he’d spanked her, and her tears were abating, though her sobs were becoming more like gasps. There was pleasure in Tom’s hands, and that pleasure rippled through until she could feel a cool breeze indicating that her womanly parts were wet. Brandywyn squirmed against Tom’s hold, for surely he could see her embarrassing condition. No man had seen her thus, not ever.
Still, the pleasure grew. Tom dipped a finger in that moisture and Brandywyn couldn’t hold back a moan. He slid that digit in and out shallowly, and Brandywyn felt no friction, she was so wet, but the feeling of pleasant invasion, of intimacy, was sweet.
Tom wriggled his finger as he poked her gently. “I cannot go further, no matter that you might want it, Brandywyn, or you will no longer be a maiden.” Some part of Brandywyn was grateful for his consideration, but that logical pathway was soon lost in a sea of pleasure, and once more Brandywyn gasped and moaned. It felt wonderful, almost magical that he could make her feel this way.
“I have found a secret, Brandywyn, a hidden well with sweet honeyed water, and the sounds of passion echo through it.”
“Tom,” she said on another gasp. “I do not understand how you make me feel.”
“You are a virgin, are you not, Brandywyn?”
“Of course. You are the first man ever to touch me as you are.”
His finger never stopped moving in and out of her. “Then we will have a first for you and me, for I have never fondled a would-be princess.”
The slight mocking tone in his voice should have made her furious, but her body was so bound up in the pleasurable sensations he caused, she had no will to fight him. Especially when he snaked that wet finger down further between her lips and touched the pulsing nubbin she had so recently discovered for herself. Her gasp and the arch of her spine were immediate.
Tom rubbed there, and soon Brandywyn could hardly catch her breath between moans and small cries of delight. He rubbed faster and Brandywyn though she might die from pleasure, but she did not. Instead, her being expanded, every tingle from her secret garden spiking at once to overwhelm her with sensation. She exploded on the inside, bursting like an apple shot with an arrow. All her fears, her yearning for home, her feelings of humiliation, flew away.
Brandywyn cried out.
Tom touched her there for a moment more, spiking her nerves from nubbin to nipples. She thought she could take no more, but Tom had more in store. He moved his hand back to her dripping slit and used the other hand to spread her bottom cheeks apart. Warm wetness followed as he slid her juices up to her bottom hole.
At first, Brandywyn could not comprehend why he would do such a thing, and her body flushed with embarrassment. It was not a place for male hands or eyes. But Tom was relentless. He slathered her bung with slippery moisture. “Relax,” he told her. “Know this pleasure.”
“But—”
“Shh. Feel, sweeting, just feel.” Using the same finger he had so recently plumbed her womanly passage with, Tom pressed against her bottom hole, circling, curling just inside, and then out again.
Brandywyn was shocked, but at the same time, she felt that squirmy feeling in her tummy again. How could that be?
Tom’s finger delved deeper, deep enough for Brandywyn to feel pressure as her opening irised out little by little. He wriggled his finger and Brandywyn could not stifle her moan. She gasped as he withdrew and returned, pressing in and out, wriggling against her insides as he’d done with her other opening. How could this feel so good? It was wrong, unnatural, sinful. But those thoughts did not stop Brandywyn’s excitement, which grew with each poke of his finger.
“I could take you here,” Tom told her, his voice rich and low. “I could take you and yet you would remain a virgin for your wedding night.”
Brandywyn’s confusion sprang to the fore. Would he… could he… mount her like a stallion mounted a mare, like Prince Gammon mounted the maid, but not couple in the usual way? Would he actually put his erect cock in her bottom? Sin had never sounded so good.
At the same time, Brandywyn could feel his cod growing beneath her belly. It was much bigger than his finger. Perhaps it would hurt. But that might be a hurt as sweetly poignant as the spanks on her nether lips had been. She did not know, and soon was beyond caring as his pace picked up, his finger delving deeper and faster.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Take me.”
Now it was Tom’s turn to make a small gasp. “You know not what you ask, Brandywyn.”
“I think I know. Show me. Teach me.”
“I thought you hated me,” he pointed out.
Indeed, she had hated him. That was changing, and she could not hate him for what he was doing to her body. It was too compelling, too powerful to resist. Her bottom felt full, em
pty, full, empty, tight, and then open. There was more to this, and she wanted it.
“I hate you no more, Tom. I… do not understand how I feel. But your touch brings strange sensation, and I like that well enough.”
Tom withdrew his finger slowly and stopped his light restraint on her legs, wiping his hand on a torn rag nearby. “Do you stand before me and remove your bodice and skirt. We will explore this thing, since you have a desire for it, and I have a need.”
Brandywyn did not hesitate; she shucked her bodice and skirt and stood in her borrowed shirt, Tom’s shirt, wondering what to do with her hands. She knew her nipples were poking the fabric of the shirt, she could feel them so sensitive where they touched the cambric.
Tom rose and moved her gently to the bed, where she sat down gingerly. Her bottom cheeks were tender and her bung felt funny. It all gave her a tickle in her middle that needed to be satisfied.
Loosening his codpiece and opening his trunk hose, Tom’s phallus was revealed. It was thick and hard, though the skin looked smooth and marbled with veins. “Kneel on the bed, sweeting, on hands and knees. We will make this sweet beast like mating horses, but yet, you will remain a virgin.”
Swallowing hard past the lump of trepidation in her throat, Brandywyn put herself in position on the bed. Her bum stuck out and she realized it was going to be the target for his arrow. Tom lifted her shirt, and it was a relief to have the scratchy fabric removed from her sore bottom. She gasped, feeling something slippery rubbing over her bottom hole. “What?”
“‘Tis butter, sweeting. I would do you no harm that can be avoided.”
“Oh…”
“Relax,” he reminded her, pressing the head of his cock against her virgin rosette. “Do not fight it, Brandywyn. This will be a pleasure for both of us.”
Slowly, he poked, pressuring her bung to cautiously open to him. He was patient, and for that Brandywyn was grateful. She could only imagine how violated she would feel if he stuck her quickly and with force. But he did not. After a minute of steady pressure, the head of his cock popped in. Brandywyn tensed instinctively.
“No,” he reminded her. “Relax. Relax, love.”
Tom rubbed her back, her hips, his hands gliding over her skin like gentle rain, and soon Brandywyn relaxed with his phallus barely past the entrance. He pressed again and the slippery butter did its job. Soon he was deeply seated and Brandywyn’s excitement was growing.
“More,” she breathed. “Show me more. My belly soars like a thousand blackbirds.”
He chuckled and began to withdraw, but Brandywyn whimpered. “Please do not go, Tom. Please. This cannot be all.”
“Nay, ‘tis not all by far. But to have the rest, I must withdraw a bit. I shall soon return.” He slid out halfway, and then pushed back in. “See?”
The pressure was so wonderful, the stretch as invigorating as the first stretch along her body upon waking in the morning. Brandywyn pressed back against his pelvis and he slid deeper.
“Ho, now she’s got a taste for it, she makes demands upon this poor huntsman.”
“Please, Tom, tease me not.”
“Nay.” He pumped in and out a few times, not too fast, but at a pace she could enjoy. “Is this better, love?”
She gasped with each push inward. “Aye, oh, aye.”
“Faster yet and you will find release, I think me.”
Brandywyn could not answer between her moans of ecstasy. The sensation had built in her womb, her nipples were aching where they pressed against the lumpy bed. The shirt felt like it caressed her everywhere, even as Tom’s hands were doing. He reached up and took hold of her braid, pulling it back, gently at first, then with some force, until her back was arched and her bottom high in the air.
He was breathing hard, and his strokes were forceful, though still slow enough for Brandywyn to appreciate each one. She was flying, like a hawk, floating on the currents, seeing the world from a lofty position where pleasure was so simple as a man and a woman coupling.
An unwelcome thought intruded. When she’d seen Prince Gammon and the maid, the prince had taken his pleasure of her and given none in return. Could Tom do the same? Were these feelings of growing sweet beauty about to be left forlorn?
Faster and faster they moved together. Brandywyn was desperate to steal her pleasure before Tom might find his, to make sure he could not leave her bereft. She focused all her attention on her nethers, feeling him inside her. Tom, breathing hard, snaked a hand under her and found her nub once again. That was all it took. She catapulted over the wall of her fears with a single leap. Stars peppered the vision behind her closed eyelids and she cried out, making a sound she never knew could come from her.
“That is my good girl,” he murmured behind her. His pumping had not ceased and now the pace was nearly frantic, Brandywyn enjoyed every thrust, and nearly reached her peak again when Tom thrust once hard and finally paused. She could feel the power of his spurts inside her bottom and it was a wonder. He rippled within her. What would that feel like in her womb?
Breathing heavily, they paused together to get their bearings. Eventually, he pulled free, gentle as could be. The soreness on her bottom cheeks had been forgotten, but was now brought back as he gave her a sharp spank on the rump and told her to wash at the basin. Unselfconscious, he walked out of the cottage, presumably to wash in the stream.
Tom was not gone long, but long enough for Brandywyn to feel clean again. He took her in his arms and rocked with her where they stood. Little kisses landed on her forehead and the part in her hair. “You give me great pleasure,” he told her softly.
“As you do for me, Tom.”
“Let we stay on this course for a while. All will be well, do we try.”
“I must go home sometime, Tom. I miss my home and my father.”
He pulled back from her, his blue eyes, softened with some emotion Brandywyn could not name, gazing at her face. “I shall find your father for you. In the meantime, stay well with me. We will part when he comes for you, and that will be soon enough.”
Brandywyn closed her eyes, a tear trickling down her cheek. She sorely missed her father, but court life was growing less and less appealing as the time passed with Tom. Although it was not easy learning to do homely chores, Brandywyn did take pride in each one she mastered. Tom’s praise made those moments honey-sweet.
“Aye, Tom. I shall try to be patient.”
“Good enou’,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled her in for more cuddles. “Good enou’.”
* * *
After a quiet evening and pre-dawn cuddles and fondlings, Tom left to see to the hunt, leaving Brandywyn to try to clean the cottage and wash their clothes on the rocks in the stream. The morning wore on, and although she had exchanged her borrowed shirt for another of Tom’s, she wore nothing else while she cleaned and washed the clothes.
She rested in the afternoon warmth and wondered where Tom was, but she did not venture out to find him, remembering the spanking she received all too recently for her wayward behavior. There was a tiny peep from the tree nearest the cottage. It was a big elm tree, with branches that spread far and wide, tall and stately and verdant. The peep sounded again, and Brandywyn looked all around for its source, following the peeping until she found a baby bird, fallen from its nest. It looked like a fledgling who had tried to fly too early. It was woeful, bringing pity to Brandywyn’s heart. She picked up the bird and took it to the cabin where she gave it water and tiny crumbs of bread. It ate everything she gave it and peeped contentedly. She gently rubbed its downy feathers, enjoying the commune they shared, human to bird.
A shadow fell from the cottage door, and Tom stood there, smiling when Brandywyn looked up. “I see you have a friend.”
“Aye. He lost his mother.”
“And found one in you,” Tom said, coming into the cottage and putting a pair of partridges on the table.
She looked from the baby bird to the man. “We must keep it, Tom. It will die if we do no
t.”
“Perhaps ‘twould be best do we find its nest and return it to its home.”
“Please, Tom? I would care for it, I promise.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Is it not beneath your dignity to toil over a demanding pet?”
The truth was hard to accept, but Brandywyn hardly felt like a princess anymore. She was closer to the earth now, less inclined to disdain work with her hands. Besides, Brandywyn had always loved animals. She had lost sight of that since her mother died. She had lost sight of so many things since that awful day.
“Please, Tom. I would like to try.”
He appeared to consider her request most seriously, then nodded. “Very well. But do not be surprised if it dies, Brandywyn. ‘Tis a hard world for an orphan, especially a baby bird. Where will you keep it?”
“I can…” Where would she keep it? “I can build it a nest out of rags and straw in your extra hat. Surely that will keep it safe here inside the cottage.”
“Mayhap. Or mayhap it will wander from its nest and get underfoot. We could stomp on it in the middle of the night.”
“Tom!” She clutched the bird in gentle hands. “Do not say it! We shall be cautious. Soon it will be old enough to fend for itself. It is a fledgling, and nearly able to fly away.”
Tom sighed broadly. “Very well. I shall keep my big feet out of its way.”
Brandywyn felt her heart expand. He was giving her a boon, and one she needed. Animals were dear and nothing would give her greater pleasure than nursing this one back to its freedom. “Thank you, Tom.”
“Now, from one bird to another.” He patted a fat partridge. “Let us get to making supper, or we shall starve just like that fledgling was wont to do.”
“Aye. Do you show me what to do and I shall do it. I can learn.”
Smiling, Tom gave her a lesson on roasting partridge.
Chapter Seven
The fledgling grew quickly, and within a week Brandywyn watched it fly away on its own. She smiled, but she was also sad to lose her little pet. Instead, there was Tom to see to. She had been steadily learning how to care for him, and to find joy in that caring. Brandywyn wondered at her own bitterness after her mother’s passing. There were miracles in the world—like her rescue from the kidnappers, and the recovery of the baby bird—and her focus should have been upon those things, not taking her hurt out on others by hurting them in kind. It was a hard realization, for she had wronged so many people in the past four years. She vowed to make up for all of that once she returned to the royal palace.
The Princess and the Huntsman Page 8