by Lee Savino
“You see? You need a wash. No one is about. Rinse off here and strip off your things and I’ll have a bath waiting for you inside.” Francesca indicated the large trough Ana used for everything from laundry to collecting rain and watering the garden. Sebastian frowned at the pig trough. It wasn’t used for pigs, but still, the principle of the thing.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” his wife sang out before disappearing into the house.
The promise made him speed up. He stripped off his boots and regarded the tub.
A few minutes later, Francesca found her ridiculous husband singing as he sat in the garden trough, completely nude.
“Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies…” he bellowed tunelessly at the top of his lungs.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?” she yelled until the awful noise stopped.
“It’s an old sea shanty,” he said. “I was in the navy, did you not know that?”
“Get inside.” She bit back a laugh as he rose like a lily white whale, ready to traipse buck naked and shameless into the house.
“Come, kiss me, wife,” he challenged, spreading his arms.
“No. Come inside, you fool.”
“You won’t come kiss me, I’ll come to you,” he said, and lunged.
She squealed as he caught her. “Sebastian, you are soaking wet…” her words grew muffled as he took her mouth. She gasped when he broke the kiss. “You prick…”
“Your turn in the bath.” He scooped her up, carrying her back to the trough.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
He dropped her into the water and she screamed as if it burned.
“You stupid—” her sentence finished with a string of Spanish curses. She reared up, splashing, looking like a wet, angry cat. Sebastian noticed her dress was even more lovely now. The wet drape clung to her skin, outlining her dusky nipples.
It gave him all sorts of naughty ideas.
“Inside, you said?” He tossed her over his shoulder and carried her inside, still singing.
She’d set up a tub in an alcove off the kitchen. Once he reached it, he shrugged her down and held her back to his front, his cock poking her bottom while his hand took liberties. He was larger and stronger and though she struggled, he easily held her.
“Mmm, a lovely water nymph. All for me.” His hand cupped her breast.
“You are a fool.”
“That’s not very nice.” He squeezed her breast a little harder and his other hand roamed until the wet dress got in the way. He stopped and peeled it off, then grabbed her again, his hands roving up and down her now naked body while his head bent and mouth did what it wanted to do the moment he first saw her in the garden: lick and suck on the sensitive skin of her neck.
He stroked her until she was wet and purring under him, then set her away. “I suppose I should clean up before the bath gets cold.”
“Sebastian,” she pouted. Now she was hot for him. Well, too bad. He’d decided she needed a lesson in who was boss. It was going to be a long night for her. He climbed into the tub.
“Come now, Francesca. You promised to help get me clean.”
Naked, her chest heaving and nipples tightly ruched with desire, she stared at him, frustrated, as if trying to decide whether to hit him or pounce on his cock. Finally, she obeyed. He sat in the bath scrubbing off the rest of the grime while his wife poured the warm water over him, serving him like a pretty Roman slave. After a few minutes, he couldn’t resist pulling her in with him, cradling her on his lap and rubbing the washcloth into all her delicious crevices until she panted for him.
“You want some pleasure, darling?” He rose, water sluicing off him, getting it all over the stone floor, though neither of them cared. “Perhaps you could see to this?” His tool pointed straight at her face.
With a nod, she reached for it.
“No hands,” he ordered, and her eyes dropped to half mast as she circled his cock with her ripe, red lips. Her pupils were deep and dark with submission. Sebastian noted her trance-like obedience, arousal overtaking her will. Or maybe a part of her found pleasure in serving him.
Whether she loved or hated it, a part of her needed him to be in control. It was up to him to find the balance that brought her the most intense pleasure, without breaking her will. As she worked up and down his length, he wondered how far he could go.
The sight of her on her knees, dark head bobbing, slavish mouth sucking, brought him to the brink in no time, and he raised her up.
“I don’t want to spill in your mouth.”
They left a wet trail all the way to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed his cock jutting up in invitation. “Ride me.”
She was a fine sight, her breasts bouncing and body curving over his. He let her do the work, encouraging her from time to time by pinching her nipples and then craning his head so his lips and tongue could soothe the sting away. She started to tighten around his cock and he slapped her ass.
“Now, on the bed. Hands and knees.”
She obeyed with alacrity, settling onto all fours and wriggling her bottom in invitation.
His cock throbbed with such need, he was surprised he’d lasted this long. She tilted her hips, offering her sweet pussy. As tempting as it looked, he decided now was the time to push their boundaries a little. Her little asshole winked at him from between two perfect, caramel nates, and he knew just what she needed. She’d love it, she’d hate it, she’d beg him for more.
He detoured a moment to the washbasin and grabbed a vial of oil she used on her skin. After slickening his cock with a generous handful, he knelt on the bed and set his cock at her tight bottom hole.
She tensed. “Sebastian.”
“It’s ‘Master’ to you, naughty one.” He slapped her ass. “And I suggest if you want any chance of cumming tonight, you work harder to please me.”
His fingers dipped into her pussy to check her response. Soaked, as he suspected.
“Face down,” he commanded, and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, pushing her head down to the bed. The resulting position pushed her backside out further. “Now reach back and part those cheeks for me. Show me what you have to offer. Show me what I own.”
Her breath came faster as her face reddened with humiliation, but she obeyed. His long fingers gripped her caramel lobes, drawing them apart to bare her sweet cuntpurse to his gaze. The little hoyden kept her lower lips smooth, and his mouth watered at the sight.
“Good girl. Next time I snap my fingers, you’ll lift your skirts and present.”
She growled and he smacked the side of her bottom hard. It made such a nice sound, he did it again. Then he couldn’t stop himself from bending down behind her and licking up and down her crack. His tongue probed her sweet nether lips, then slid up slowly, circling the dark star until her bottom shook.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Rising, he positioned himself and started to slide in. His hand stroked her.
“It’s all right, darling. I’ll go slowly.”
Her body relaxed and let him in. She moaned, but the sound didn’t herald pain. Then his hipbones touched her plump rear and he lost himself in the beautiful feeling. Her body gripped him, her asshole clenched tightly as if trying to squeeze his dick off.
Prostrate before him, she arched her back, her hands still holding her cheeks open for him.
She deserved a reward.
“Touch yourself.”
Once her breath started to quicken, he moved, rocking back and forth. The oil lubricated her back entryway, allowing his cock to push in and pull out. It was a beautiful sight.
“Faster, Francesca. Make yourself come with my cock up your ass.” He’d train her to feel good while he took her bottom hole. One day she would crave the act.
She did as he ordered, her face resting against the bed, her mouth open and drool leaking out. The sounds she made and the way her asshole spasmed as she came made him lose control. His fingers bit into her hips as he spent himself.
; “Why were you so muddy anyway?” she asked, after he’d cleaned them both up, and collected her into his arms.
“Wallowing all afternoon with the cows. Sneaky bastards. Push you over as soon as you turn your back.”
Her shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, Englishman, we’ll make a vaquero of you yet.”
His arms squeezed her tighter. “As long as I get to come home and wallow with you.”
She sighed, and he knew he’d satisfied her. Their honeymoon was over, the days blending into endless trials that soaked up all the daylight. But nights were all theirs.
“It must rain soon,” she murmured drowsily. “Otherwise the crops will die. The acequias will only last so long.”
“Shhh, my darling. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wire my father for more funds. We can float the farm as long as we need.”
“That is your money.”
“It is yours. Everything I have is yours.”
She angled her head to fix him with her sharp, dark gaze. “What about everything I have?”
“That is also yours. That’s the truth of it, my darling. When a man falls in love, everything he has becomes the woman’s.”
“That is not how Bishop Bernardo preaches it.”
“Has he ever married?
Again, her shoulders shook with humor. “You know he hasn’t.”
“One of those celibate types, eh?”
“Yes. Besides, what woman would want him?”
He conceded her point. She settled back and he could almost feel her hackles going down. The bishop wasn’t a restful subject for her.
“The church teaches that women belong to the men. My mother taught me otherwise, but even she had to live out her freedom in secret.”
Sebastian thought of Francesca’s grove and apothecary, the spaces she escaped to. He wondered if her mother’s marriage had been much like Francesca’s own. “Can any man truly possess a woman? I look at you and I am in thrall.”
“And yet you have me call you master.”
He scoffed. “That is a game we play. It excites you because you know it is wrong.” His fingers sifted through her raven dark hair. “The truth is, outside of this bedroom and our silly games, I am your slave.”
“Ha,” she said, but he could tell she loved this. She cuddled closer, making him think that it was worth it, to leave his selfish pride and everything from his old life behind.
The hardest thing for Sebastian to adjust to was waking before dawn. After a night of amorous pursuits, he found it especially sweet to sleep into the morning. In his bachelorhood he even made it a game to see how long he could wile away in bed.
No one at the ranch understood his well-cultivated laziness. Especially not Francesca. The woman practically buzzed with energy. Before dawn she was working in the garden, then riding about the fields or to market. She spent the hot midday hours in the apothecary, and he suspected that she snuck out to the grove during this time. He wasn’t keen on her traipsing about the woods alone, but overlooked it. As long as she brought a guard with her when she went about in town, or at night. She hadn’t been called out onto a healing visit yet, but he was almost looking forward to accompanying her. He loved watching her work, and besides, he was eager to spend more time with her. With his own chores, some days he was lucky to see her before dinner.
Which is why he was delighted one morning when he woke up early. For the first time in his life, he welcomed the restful pre-dawn darkness. If he acted fast, he could see his wife. Maybe even spend some of her endless energy. His cock was excited by the idea.
He reached for her, and frowned when he found her place was empty. A search of the house and grounds proved her absence. Sebastian found the guard sleeping and, cursing, shook him awake. “Have you seen my wife?”
“The señora? No.”
She’d snuck out at night. He’d almost have been excited at the prospect of disciplining her for it, if he wasn’t so worried. Something told him the lazy summer days spent with no sight or sound of the Royal Mountain Gang were only the calm before the storm.
After searching the grounds and doing a quick ride around the fields, he turned his horse to town. He was truly angry now, ready to whip her and then tie her to the bed until she promised to behave. Just because it looked like her persecution was over didn’t mean it was safe for her to go about alone. Not until he was sure how to keep her safe.
Francesca met the butcher at his shop and handed him the packet of herbs she’d gathered in the forest before dawn. Sebastian slept late; if she hurried, she could be back before he knew it. She scolded herself, telling herself that his fears were nonsense. She’d been going about alone all her life; there was no reason for her to stop now.
Still, a part of her felt guilty. And another hoped she’d get caught.
“Give this to your wife. She will know what to do.”
The butcher frowned but took the package. “She barely leaves the house these days,” he complained.
“That is because she is full of your child. Any baby of yours will be born big and strong.”
“All I ask is for her to help with the shop, and have dinner ready when I come home. She sleeps so much…I wonder if anything is wrong.”
“Soon… I know the baby will come soon.” She bit her tongue from saying anything else. Personally, she thought the town would be better off if his butcher’s knife slipped and chopped off the thing between his legs. Not that his children weren’t sweet, but he seemed such a selfish soul to be blessed with such a wonderful wife and now a second child.
Come to think of it, there were a few men Francesca wanted to take a meat cleaver to.
“Bishop Bernardo says that if the babe lays too long in her womb, it might be a sign of illness. Perhaps my wife has sinned and it is weighing on the child.”
Forcing her thoughts away from meat cleavers, Francesca took a deep breath. “The Bishop is right in one way. We will not let the babe lie in the womb too long. The herbs I give you will help excite the womb to release the child. And your wife’s fatigue is normal. Perhaps you could barter some meat with a neighbor for a portion of a stew? That way she can rest and you can eat.”
The butcher’s beady eyes squinted, as if calculating the cost of helping his wife.
“I will come by every day to check on her,” Francesca promised. “Send your son to fetch me. Morning or night. I will come straight away.” With a nod, she strode away before she said more on the subject. She felt her cheeks burning with anger at the bishop’s words. Sowing seeds of doubt in a father’s mind on the eve of his wife’s delivery?
“Señora De La Vega,” a pompous voice called across the marketplace.
Speak of the devil.
As she turned to greet the priest, Francesca felt her face settle into the haughty expression she always wore around the Bishop. She remembered her mother wearing the same expression whenever she had run-ins with a distasteful authority in the church.
There were several priests who respected Francesca’s work as healer and midwife. The large man now standing before her wasn’t one of them. Francesca had an equally disdainful opinion of him. Bishop Bernardo got fat off the labors of others, the gifts and tithes to the church, and doled out the tenets of love and mercy frugally.
Madonna help me. Francesca prayed silently as she faced the holy man.
“Bishop Bernardo,” she said. “I need a word with you.”
“With you, my child? I am glad to give it. Though I am surprised. It has been a long time since you came to confess.” The man raised his voice loud enough to attract the attention of people surrounding him.
Stalking forward, she drew herself up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. “I do not wish to confess. I must ask you to stop telling my families that a woman’s natural cycles, when and where she goes into labor, are a sign of sin.”
The man gave her a condescending smile. She hated the feverish light in his eyes, the excitement at the power he wielded.
&
nbsp; “Labor is a sign of women’s sin. It is the curse that fell first on Eve. Women are to labor in pain and suffering.”
“Yes, there is pain in labor. But it is over quickly.” It’s not as painful as hearing people go on and on about it.
“Of course there is. That is the curse,” the Bishop addressed some of the people listening. They nodded like sheep. “So you see, señora, it is my duty to pass on this teaching to my parishioners.”
“I do not see how scaring them is helping anything.”
“Better to scare them now than risk them losing their immortal souls.”
“You torment these people with fear, when you could make their lives easier. Life is hard enough. Perhaps you can talk of grace when you also speak of sin.”
“You should’ve been a priest, my child.” The Bishop inclined his head. “Perhaps you would’ve been, if you were a man. Since you are so quick to take on my profession, I’ll question yours…how is it that a woman who’s never born a child counsels other women on this?” A smug look crossed the man’s face as Francesca’s brow wrinkled. She hadn’t expected this attack. People around them were smiling to themselves and agreeing with the bishop.
“My mother taught me all I knew…”
Bernardo leaned forward, and said with in a pitying tone, “It is strange, that your union was not blessed with children.”
Fire poured into her cheeks at the man’s insinuations. “Cyro and I prayed but it was not to be.”
“There is an illness that rests on a woman’s womb when she has sinned. It is easily absolved.”
The crowd had mostly dispersed, content that their priest was extending the Church’s loving hand to a wayward woman.
Francesca kept on. “Forgive me, Bishop. But you are not experienced with a woman’s womb.”
The Bishop kept his tone pleasant. He knew he’d won in front of the crowd. “Ah, my child, you do not fool me. There was something wrong with your marriage. If your husband had any sense, he would’ve turned you over to me for a month of penance.” He moved uncomfortably close. “If you will humble yourself, I will intercede on your behalf, lead you through the stations of the cross.”
