by Ashe Barker
* * *
That first morning set the tone for all that were to follow. I am usually roused from my slumber by one or both of them inserting some part of their anatomy into mine. It is a truly delightful way to meet the day. I play a private game of my own by keeping my eyes shut and seeking to ascertain which one is inside me.
Ralf likes to fuck me hard and fast. He prepares me thoroughly, then drives his cock deep. He does not usually see fit to make me wait, rather he forces the pace. He is a most dominant lover and there are occasions when his commanding approach is all that would satisfy me. He drags my submission from me. At those times I need him to pound into me, to use my body to the point of painful exhaustion and then to use me some more.
Piers is the one most likely to apply a spanking to my bare bottom if I fail to behave respectfully or if I am slow to obey a command, but in the matter of bedsport, he is altogether a more gentle lover. He plays with me, brings me to a state of need where I am pleading with him to enter me, to fuck me hard and only when I am close to desperation does he accede to my demands. Even then he takes his time, bringing me to the point of ecstasy again and again before finally allowing me to find my release. Those climaxes are hard-won and powerful, leaving me quivering with a wholly different manner of exhaustion. Piers coaxes my submission, teases it from me, then rewards my surrender with his own brand of exquisite fulfilment.
I crave both. I need them both. But, of course, the choice is never mine. It is always for Ralf and Piers to determine what is to happen in our bedchamber. My role is to submit, to obey, to accept whatever they decide to do to me.
We have been married for just over a month now. Ralf rose early this morning as his presence is required in one of the villages about five miles from here. He must resolve a dispute concerning the inheritance of several prize pigs, it seems. Piers could have gone, the villagers would have known no different but it is his turn to dispense justice here at Egremont, so he will be occupied for much of the day. Still, Piers finds time to rouse me with several long, slow caresses across my quim, suitably bared and spread for his attention. As I lie quivering in his arms, he slides his wide, long cock into me and rolls onto his back. His gaze holding mine throughout, he arranges me above him, my knees on either side of his hips, then rocks his erection inside me. There is a spot somewhere within me, which he finds inexorably, and it is there he concentrates the pressure until I am shaking with need and begging for release.
Of course, Piers will not be hurried. My climax is a long time in coming, the sensation coiling tight somewhere deep in my abdomen, hovering there, building in strength then receding only to grow and twist and clench again. And again. At last he relents and with a slow, sensual smile, he permits me to stroke my own special sweet spot in order to complete the task.
This is a skill I have but recently acquired under their diligent tutelage but I have discovered it to be a most rewarding exercise.
Piers leaves me sprawled across our bed, utterly spent. He pulls on his breeches, a loose shirt, and an overtunic, then shoves his feet into his stout leather boots. He appears to be preparing for a day in the saddle.
He leans over me with a sensuous leer. “Sweetheart, we will require you to be here, in this chamber, one hour before the evening meal, if you please. You will be naked, naturally.”
I attempt to sit up but he stops me with one upturned finger. “No, please remain there and take your rest. You will be glad of the respite—later.”
He is gone before I am able to formulate a response.
The day is slow in passing. I attempt to busy myself with an inventory of household linens, which is a somewhat superfluous task as Agnes has already completed all that requires to be done. I decide instead to discuss our winter food stocks with Mrs. Murching, our belligerent cook. I had not recognised her at first but now realise Annie Murching was here at the same time as I was in the past, though then she worked primarily in the laundry. She was always a bad-tempered scold but I have to accept she is an uncommonly good cook. Since my marriage and elevation to the station of mistress here at Egremont, she and I have managed to arrive at a position of mutual tolerance bordering on respect. It will do for now. We spend a reasonably amicable hour or so inspecting larders, and arrive at the conclusion that sufficient dried and salted provisions are already safely accumulated to suggest we will make it through the coming cold spell as long as the winter does not drag on too long. If the weather shows signs of being particularly severe, the men will need to take down a stag or we might elect to deplete our flock of live chickens. Whatever, we are guardedly confident the winter will not defeat us.
I make my way back up to the great hall to supervise the sweeping of dirty rushes from the floors and their replacement with clean, dry straw. This is another task which will proceed equally well without my intervention, so I leave Joan and the rest to their labours and take myself up two more flights of stairs to the seclusion of the earl’s solar.
It is at these times that I most regret my lowly origins. I am not a servant here but neither am I equipped for the pastimes more usually associated with elegant ladies. I am able to play several musical instruments but there are none here that I know of. I am unable to read or write, so I cannot keep a journal, nor can I peruse the household accounts and make much sense of them. I resolve to request a harp, provided we are able to spare the funds to make such a purchase, and perhaps even ask if we might secure the services of a tutor.
* * *
“My lords, I have a request to make, if I may.” I am kneeling on the sheepskin rug before the fire in our bedchamber. As instructed, I am, of course, naked, my head bowed, my hair loose and flowing across my shoulders and back. I am not certain that this is the appropriate time to beg favours but opportunities to talk to both my men, alone, are infrequent. Invariably, such occasions see me naked and on my knees.
“A request, little maid? You do not yet know what it is we intend for your pleasure this evening.” Piers lifts a lock of my hair to run the tresses between his fingers, then drops it in order to cup my cheek in his warm palm.
I lean into the caress. “My request does not concern pleasure, my lord… at least not pleasure of this sort.”
“Tell us what it is you would like, sweetheart.” Ralf has completed a circuit of the room lighting various torches and extinguishing others. The men appear to prefer subdued illumination for our play and often we manage with firelight alone. This evening it would seem more brightness is required.
Encouraged by his mild tone, I press on. “I enjoy music, my lords and have reasonable skill with the harp. Other instruments, too but the harp is my favourite. I would wish to play again… just when I have spare time of course, on those occasions when no household duties require my attention.”
“You play the harp? This is a rare talent, Linnet,” observes Piers. “Would you play to us, to the household, perhaps?”
“Of course, my lord. I would love to do so. Is there an instrument here I might use?”
There is a pause. My eyes are lowered so I cannot observe them but I imagine both men will be looking to each other for a clue as to whether or not they could lay claim to a harp. It is Ralf who replies.
“I do not believe we own such an item, Linnet. We will acquire one.”
I raise my gaze, unable to contain my excitement. “You will? Oh, thank you, my lords. Thank you so much.”
They exchange a puzzled look. Piers shrugs. “It is nothing, Linnet. You must know we would not deny you anything which is in our power to give. You have but to ask. Or, since you will be managing the household accounts, you could commission the purchase yourself.”
I shake my head in vehement denial. “I could not, sir. I would not. I would never spend your funds on frivolous items for myself.”
Ralf approaches to stand beside Piers, his expression more serious now. “Would it be frivolity, Linnet, if the instrument were to provide entertainment for all?” He frow
ns. “You should reconsider, my lady. You are our wife, the countess of Egremont, with all the authority and privilege which that station affords to you. There is wealth here, sufficient for all who depend upon us to live in reasonable safety and comfort. We expect you to work hard, as do we all but we also look forward to seeing you in fine clothes, enjoying your leisure time, and hopefully, growing large with our children. You are lady here, you should accustom yourself to that fact.”
I gaze up at him, at them, conscious of my vulnerability as I kneel at their feet. I am naked, they are fully clothed. I am to submit whilst they command and dominate me. I would have it no other way. “Yes, my lord. I will try harder, I swear.”
Ralf inclines his head. “I know. And be assured we are well pleased with your efforts thus far, Linnet. Now, would you climb onto the bed, please?”
I start to move, then remember my second request. “Sir, my lords, may I ask one more thing of you, please?”
They both regard me with interest, their arms folded, their expressions if not stern, then certainly bordering on that.
“Yes, Linnet? What is it?” asks Piers.
“You mentioned the household accounts, sir. I am to manage them, am I not?”
“Aye, we would appreciate that, Linnet.”
“Then I will require to learn my letters, sir. And something of numbers too. I have had no need of reading before, or of writing but things are different now. If I am to do as you require of me, I will need to acquire these skills.”
“Ah, we apologise. We had not thought and have no wish to humiliate you by exposing your lack of experience.” Piers looks uncomfortable.
I shake my head. “It is of no matter but I would not wish to fail in my duties now.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You have a wish to learn?”
“Aye, my lord. Very much.” I recognise the practical applications and, of course, those are my first priority but also I long to be able to peruse the shelves in the solar and select a volume to read for my pleasure or enlightenment. I am hungry for the knowledge that awaits me, tantalising and just out of reach.
“Very well, we shall engage a tutor. Perhaps Father Peter might accept the responsibility since he seems disinclined to take his leave of us.”
It is true, the elderly cleric has exhibited no pressing desire to return to Gloucestershire and if we can identify a formal role for him here, this would simplify matters. My lack of education is a good solution to that dilemma since we already have a priest to minister to our devotions and no one wishes to ruffle the delicate feathers of our own Father Francis.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I will speak to the priest at breakfast. No doubt he will be in evidence, as usual, in close proximity to the porridge jar.”
Joan makes fine porridge with or without my assistance, a fact not lost on the good father. I dare to hope that by this time tomorrow I may have my first lesson planned.
“So, are you quite done with your demands, little maid? Might we prevail upon you to cooperate with our requirements now?” Piers lifts one aristocratic eyebrow and I am not convinced it is entirely in jest.
“Yes, sir, quite done.” I get to my feet. “On the bed, you said?”
“Aye.” Ralf steps aside to allow me to pass. “Kneel in the centre, your back to us, then lean forward and rest your cheek on the mattress. Your arse will be lifted high, of course, since we require a good view of it.”
“Of course, my lord.” I clamber onto the bed, no mean feat unaided since it is unusually high. I position myself as instructed and will my thumping heart to slow down. Invariably when they instruct me to raise my bottom up, this will entail a spanking. Such treatment is not always meted out for disciplinary reasons. I have learned that a spanking can be pleasurable too, depending on the intent of my lords, though the switch is always a harrowing experience. I have committed no wrongdoing that I am aware of this day so I do not expect to be punished but even the prospect of an erotic spanking is sufficient to raise my heartbeat more than a little. It never occurs to me to protest or to disobey though.
“Ah, so pretty. Is our bride’s quim not the sweetest sight in Christendom, brother?”
“Indeed so. I adore that her cunt is always so wet and so tight.” As though to test the truth of his own words, Piers inserts two fingers right into my entrance, sinking them deep. I am already moist, my juices flowing in anticipation of the pleasures or pain to come.
“Oh… ooh,” I moan, squeezing around his questing digits.
Piers obliges me by sliding his fingers in and out several times as I thrust back against his hand.
“She is such a slut. Do you not agree, Ralf?”
“Ah, yes. We are most fortunate in our choice of bride.”
“Oh, please, I need…”
“Hush now. It is not time yet. You have much to accomplish before we will allow you your fun.” Piers slowly withdraws his fingers, only to slide them upwards between the cheeks of my bottom. He smears my juices as he goes, leaving a wet, sensuous trail. He reaches the tight pucker of my anus and pauses to toy with this secret entrance. He circles it with his wet fingertip, then presses on the opening until the muscle relaxes enough to allow him access.
“Ah, she has let me in. Good girl. Do you have the oil there, Ralf?”
“I do.” The words accompany a soft splash as slick liquid is poured directly onto my arse hole, to trickle around Piers’ finger which is still inside me.
I gasp. This is new but not completely unexpected. They have talked frequently about taking my rear hole. The prospect scares me but not so much that I would offer any protest. I resolve to keep still and allow them to do with me as they choose. This strategy has served me exceptionally well to date.
Piers works the additional lubrication into my arse, adding an extra finger to help ease me open. After the initial humiliation passes, I must confess the sensation is not unpleasant. He presses hard, soon working the entire length of his finger into me, then thrusting it in and out several times to ensure I am truly conquered.
“Is this hurting you, little maid?”
“No, sir,” I mumble. “It is fine.”
“Good. So you may like to take little more then?”
“You mean… another finger, sir?”
“Yes, that is what I mean. Or two.”
I gulp but manage a nod.
“She is tight but can manage this, I feel sure. Slide your fingers in alongside mine, one at a time.”
Now I cannot contain a low whimper but it does not deter my men from proceeding. I will my bottom hole to remain loose and receptive as Ralf inches his finger in next to the two already filling me. He takes it slow, pausing every few seconds to allow me to adjust or to beg them to stop. I am determined not to do that, though I dread to imagine how a fourth finger will feel. Surely that is beyond endurance.
“More oil, I think. Could you trickle it right inside? Yes, like that.” Piers’ instructions are calmly delivered, as though they undertake this sort of adventure on a daily basis.
I flinch as the cool liquid penetrates right inside me, flowing between their fingers. It does help though and soon they are withdrawing and thrusting their fingers in and out, each stroke smoother, slicker than the one before.
“One more finger, Linnet, that is all. Are you still all right?”
This is not quite the description I would have applied but I wrap my fist around a handful of the bedlinen under me and nod my consent.
They withdraw all their fingers. There is a splash of oil as they re-coat their digits, ready to penetrate me again. They start with just two fingers, one each, I suppose. I groan as they splay my entrance wide open, applying yet more of the lubricating oil. Then I scream as they insert the final two fingers. They pause, wait for me to settle.
“I cannot. Please, it hurts…” I am sobbing, mortified at the realisation that I will after all fail. I so wanted to succeed, to do as t
hey wished.
“Hush, love. Let us help you.” It is Piers’ voice, soft now and achingly gentle. A palm caresses my buttock, then works its way around my hip. “Open your legs, little maid. Offer your sweet spot to Ralf. You would like him to stroke you there, would you not?”
Oh, God, yes! I spread my knees as wide apart as I am able and squirm with delight as Ralf rubs my engorged nubbin with his fingertip.
“How would you like this? Harder?” It is Ralf who speaks to me now, seeking my direction.
“I think I may… Please, do not spank me. I cannot help it…”
“We want you to find your release, little one, good and hard. Does this feel nice, sweetling?” Ralf increases the pressure just a little but enough to drag a strangled gasp from deep in my throat. The pressure in my arse is less now, although their fingers are still embedded deep inside me. But my entire body is softening, relaxing, tension oozing from me with each wave of pleasure Ralf creates.
He continues to rub my engorged bud, circling then stroking the very tip. The sensitive nubbin is swollen, throbbing and I want him to just take it, squeeze it until my senses shatter.
“Is this what you desire, sweetheart? And this?”
Perhaps I spoke out loud, begging for my release. Ralf does exactly what I am wanting, as though he knows my desperation, can make sense of my frantic ramblings. He applies slow, steady pressure until I can take no more. I tumble into sweet oblivion, spinning on a sensual, weightless journey as I drift back into reality.
“Good girl. You did well. We knew you could manage this with a little extra encouragement. It is fortunate, indeed, that you are such a responsive little slut.”
This time it is Piers’ voice. I should bridle at his coarse words but I do not. One of them kisses the nape of my neck. I shiver, roll my shoulders to relax the tension there.
“Be still. We have not yet finished.” Piers, again, his voice now adopting the more familiar tone of command.
