Erik rubbed his stubbled face. “Consider it my wedding gift.” He smiled. “It’s my way of keeping you close.”
Barrett’s face reddened with emotion and he stood from the bed, clasping forearms with Erik, who also stood. “Thank you, brother. You honor me,” he said, bowing his head.
Epilogue
Daisy giggled and dashed ahead of her husband who thundered down the hall of their new home behind her.
Barrett caught her, as she knew he would, coming up underneath her and scooping her high into the air.
She shrieked like a child with fearful delight as he carried her, running, to their chamber.
“I told you to rest after dinner, did I not?” he demanded when they arrived inside.
“Aye, and I told you the garden should be weeded while the soil was still wet—ack!” She squealed as his huge palm landed on her backside.
“Little wife, when I give you a direction, I expect you to obey. And when you do not, you know perfectly well there are consequences.”
“I should think if you are so worried about my condition, you would not think of spanking me,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and attempting to look offended.
He swatted her again. “I’m not thinking of spanking you, I am spanking you,” he said, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and bending her forward while he landed several hard slaps to her backside. “Lift your skirts, little girl, and stand in the corner.”
She giggled, far more excited by his dominance than afraid. She loved to bait her bear, and gain some precious time alone with him, where she had his undivided attention. She stood in the corner, lifting her skirts above her waist.
“Hmm, which implement should I choose for a naughty wife?” Barrett said.
She peeked over her shoulder to see him standing in front of the box where he kept the little wooden paddle he’d made her, the strop—an old belt he’d shorted and split down the middle—the riding crop, and a wooden spoon from the kitchen. He picked up the strop. She ducked her head before he turned and caught her peeking.
“Come here, my naughty little wife,” Barrett said.
She turned to find him sitting on the bed, the strop in his hand. Despite the fact that she goaded him into this spanking, her stomach still did a somersault at the sight of him. In the two years since they’d married, she’d had every form of punishment out of him. Most were like this—he meant them, but his mood was light and they always included lovemaking.
A few times he’d been genuinely annoyed or angry with her. Those spankings were terrible. It wasn’t about how long or hard he spanked, but about her state of mind during the punishment. She would inevitably end up crying, sometimes even before he’d started. Barrett would make sure she did not sit comfortably for the next two days, then hold her and speak gentle reassurances until she knew he had forgiven her.
She stood in front of her husband now, her legs beginning to shake.
“Ah, now she takes me seriously,” Barrett said with a smirk. He tugged on her dress, which she still held up to her waist. “Take this off. I want you naked before me.”
She pulled off her dress and chemise and covered her belly with her palms. Her waist had only just begun to expand—it hardly showed in her clothes, but naked, the new shape stood out.
Barrett’s face went soft when he gazed at her. He pulled her between his knees and stroked her hips, bottom, and thighs. “How do you feel, really?” he asked, peering up at her face with concern. He’d been monitoring her like a hawk since the first day her courses were late. That day he’d forbidden her to return to her work in the garden, insisting she rest, instead. She had waited until he’d left and returned to her work, anyway.
“I am a little tired,” she admitted.
“You need more sleep. And more rest. I appreciate your willingness to work so hard, but when I give an order to rest, I expect it to be obeyed.”
She wrapped her hands around his face and leaned down to kiss his head. “I love you,” she said softly.
He caught her hanging breast and squeezed it. “Over my knee, you naughty girl. I’m going to whip you and then I’m going to punish your bottom hole.”
She shivered with the combination of fear and excitement. She bent over his leg, resting her torso on the bed beside him.
He brought his hand crashing down on her upturned bottom in swift, firm strokes, warming her flesh and sending sparks of desire off in her core. “Naughty, naughty girl,” he said, continuing his steady beat.
As if preparing for her its own punishment, she felt each spank in her bottom hole, the jiggling and jolts going straight to her most vulnerable orifice. By the time he paused and rubbed her heated flesh, she was panting.
“Who is the master of this house?” Barrett demanded.
“You are,” she said, her words sounding muffled in the bedcovers.
“That’s right. So who gives the orders?”
“You do,” she said, then gasped as the first stripe of the strop licked across her buttocks.
“What happens if my naughty wife doesn’t follow my orders?” He brought the strop down a second time.
“She—I—get spanked,” she choked out.
“That’s right,” he said. He struck her again. “And I do enjoy spanking you.” He laid a fourth stripe below the first three. “But in this case,” he said, slapping the flexible leather across her burning bottom again. “I would have preferred you obey.”
“Sorry,” she wailed. And she already was. Pregnancy made her more sensitive and the strop hurt much worse than usual.
Barrett never stopped just because she apologized, or when she cried. He had his own criteria for deciding when she’d learned her lesson, and it was always long after she believed she’d reached that point. Indeed, he continued to strop her, tanning her backside with neat rows that ran from the middle of her buttocks to the backs of her thighs.
“Ow, Barrett, please!” she wailed, starting to scramble in panic.
He held her clamped tightly, still administering the leathering. “Who is your master?” he demanded again.
“You are!” she gasped in a rush. “You are my master.”
He continued spanking. “When I give you an order, what should you do?”
“Obey it! Obey it. Forgive me, my lord!”
She felt real tears threaten, her emotions always close to the surface since she’d been with child. What had begun as a fun spanking now had her genuinely remorseful.
As if Barrett knew, he stopped spanking and rubbed her tender flesh. “It seems you don’t take my discipline seriously,” he said.
“I do,” she sniffed.
He rubbed her back. “You’re a good, sweet wife and I know you’ll work hard to please me the next time I give you instructions, won’t you, Daisy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I need to tell you what will happen to you if you don’t rest the next time I tell you to?”
“No,” she said. But then curiosity overcame her. “What will happen?”
“I will whip you at that moment. And then I will paddle you before bedtime. How do you think that will feel on an already sore bottom?”
She knew she must be blushing at his suggested punishment.
He rubbed her bottom. “Crawl up and lie on your stomach,” he said, his voice sounding rough.
She obeyed, a slow pulse beginning in her sex as she contemplated the next part of her punishment. Her husband arrived above her, naked, and covered her body like a blanket, his warmth cocooning her as he carefully held his weight off her. He kissed her neck and she pressed her bottom back, seeking more than the light touch of his cock between her legs.
He slid into her without requiring his hand to guide him and she groaned at the delicious pleasure. She’d been expecting her bottom hole punishment, so this reward came all the sweeter. He moved in and out, pressing his hips against her tender buttocks, shoving deeper, filling her completely.
She moaned at the e
xquisite pleasure of it. Her body had seemed ever-ready for sex since she’d been pregnant, and it seemed to be all she thought about. Their kitchen maid had told her if she craved lying with her husband during the pregnancy, it meant she carried a boy. She hoped so—the thought of a miniature Barrett running underfoot brought joy to her heart.
Barrett began to push more insistently, slamming into her on each upstroke.
She spread her legs farther and pushed back at him, her cries growing more excited.
Before either one climaxed, Barrett pulled out.
She groaned.
“Reach back and pull your naughty bottom cheeks open for your back hole punishment,” Barrett said.
Moisture seeped from her sex. She obeyed, reaching back to spread her cheeks for his plunder of her most intimate hole.
He rubbed the head of his cock, still slick with her juices, over her tight opening. “Take a deep breath,” he commanded.
She inhaled.
“Let it go and open for your master.”
She exhaled, willing all the muscles in her bottom to relax and allow his entry.
He pushed in, the head of his cock entering her.
She gasped at the intensity of the stretching, the feeling of fullness. The urgency to climax came immediately, from the very first in-stroke. “Please?” she begged.
“Not yet, naughty girl. I have to punish you thoroughly,” he said, though his own need was evident in his voice.
“Oh, please, Barrett,” she cried, fisting the covers, clenching her teeth in a silent scream of need.
He pushed in and out, torturing her with terrible desire, until she heard his breath grow ragged.
“Barrett, yes!”
“Good girl,” he said, burying his cock deep in her ass two more times before he let loose and came.
The muscles of her sex did not contract as they usually did during climax, but she experienced the after-effects just as if they had, her body turning to jelly, an overwhelming sense of bliss and relaxation pouring through every limb.
“Good girl,” Barrett crooned again, nibbling at her ear.
She sighed contentedly as he eased out and wrapped her up in his strong arms. “I love you, husband.”
“You are my everything, little Daisy. My entire world. I hope you always know that.”
She nuzzled against him, enveloped in his love. “I do, my lord,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed for the nap Barrett had asked her to take that afternoon.
The End
The Widow Is Mine
By
Ashe Barker
Chapter One
My feet pound the cold flagstones as I dash the length of the deserted great hall. The servants have already fled the palace, at least those who were able to discover a way out, past the besieging forces. Those less fortunate, or less quick off the mark, are milling in the bailey, confused, fearful, desperately seeking solace with loved ones. Such soldiery as remains in the castle linger on the battlements, or are preparing to surrender the besieged keep to the army now surrounding us. I have little time left.
Unseen in the shadows, secreted in the corner of the hall, I listened as my cousin Susanna conferred with Ulrich, the commander of our garrison. All is lost, this great castle is about to fall to the enemy. For all his youthful inexperience Ulrich knew it, Susanna too. And I see no cause to doubt that outcome either.
For the women of a conquered foe, surrender is a disaster. We will be seen as the spoils of war, our bodies, our lives at the mercy of a rampant, hungry, victorious army. Rape is a foregone conclusion, bloodshed and murder likely enough. The fate of children might be less precarious, but only marginally so. The little ones will be unprotected, afraid, and will likely witness atrocities that will scar them for the rest of their lives. I want to spare Sophia that. My dear, adored Sophia.
So I run. I run for my own life and for that of my stepdaughter. With the death of my husband just half a year ago, care of his orphaned daughter was wrested from my hands. Guardianship of the child transferred to the court of Hohenzollern, nominally to my second cousin, Princess Susanna. In truth, Lord Eberhard would have controlled Sophia’s fate, but mercifully one small three-year-old female who slipped into the palace nursery never attracted his notice.
Now, if I understood correctly what I overheard, Lord Eberhard is gone. He has disappeared. He fled to save his own hide. Susanna has ordered his execution and I doubt any will weep at his passing, though they have yet to run him to earth.
I would have loved to continue as Sophia’s mama, but as the penniless widow of the count of Chapelle, a childless third wife at that, I lacked any power or influence. I consider myself fortunate to have been invited to join the Hohenzollern court as one of Susanna’s ladies as this has meant I could remain close to Sophia. I see my stepdaughter daily, play with her, watch her grow. I had hoped our situation might remain thus throughout her childhood years, and later perhaps, when Sophia has no need of me, I could take the veil. I harbour no desire to marry again. Twice is enough.
But none of that will come to pass. Our world is upturned, our lives forfeit for the self-serving stupidity of Lord Eberhard.
Well, my life is lost, as will be that of Princess Susanna and the rest of the nobility here. But our conquerors will spare the children. Surely, they will not butcher innocent babies. If we are able to get the little ones to sanctuary, to the palace chapel perhaps, they might well be spared.
So I run for the stairs, charging up two flights to reach the nursery where seven frightened little faces await me. Their nurse is huddled in the corner with the two smallest ones; she at least has not deserted her post. Sophia rushes into my arms as I burst through the door.
“Mama, mama. Too much noise. Too loud.” She buries her face against my skirts and clings to the woollen fabric.
I crouch to comfort her, my heart twisting in anguish for the terror these little mites are experiencing. The screams from within the castle walls, the shouts of the army outside, the crash of rocks hurled from the enemy trebuchets breaching our outer defences. The din must be truly terrifying. And likely to get worse.
“Hush, sweetheart. You will be safe, I promise.” Please let it be so. “But we must leave here. We must hurry. Come with me now.” I stand and take her small hand in mine. “All of you, follow me. Quickly.”
“Where are we taking them, my lady?” The nurse stands, a baby in each arm.
“The chapel. We can seek sanctuary for the children there. Here, give me one of the babies. I’ll lead the way, you follow at the rear.”
The nurse—her name is Annis perhaps, though I am not certain—wastes no time in further discussion. In moments we have lined up our charges and the frightened children are filing between us as we scuttle along the empty hallways. The sounds of battle from outside are more muted as we pass through the bowels of the fortress, or maybe the fighting has ceased. If so, we only have minutes before the gates are splintered and the opposing forces overrun us. We emerge into the corner of the bailey and run the final few yards to the chapel entrance. I chance a glance sideways at the utter chaos surrounding us. The entire population of Hohenzollern must be gathered here, the scene one of panic and pandemonium. No one pays us any regard as Annis and I herd our small charges into the dark interior of the chapel. I slam the door shut and draw the bar across, then offer up a prayer that the commanders of the imperial army will show mercy to innocent children when the door is eventually breached.
“Where is Edmund?” One of the slightly older boys steps forward, his expression fearful.
Edmund? I gape at him.
“Edmund de Richy, son of the duke of Styria. He is fostered with us.” Annis explains, her tone matter of fact.
I applaud this servant’s calm in the face of such catastrophe. If we survive this ordeal I shall tell her so and do what I am able to seek her advancement.
“He was unwell and went to use the privy. My lady, if you would wait with the little ones, I will
go and seek him.” She holds the baby in her arms out to me, clearly intending to return to the nursery.
“No. Annis—is it Annis?” At her quick nod I continue. “You remain with the children. I will go.”
Annis is young, no more than seventeen summers. She is pretty, and will offer a tempting sight to the imperial foot soldiers who are probably even now flooding our courtyard. I am but a couple of years older and I have no illusions about my own likely fate. I am a member of the royal household, however lowly my station within it, and I can see no cause for optimism regarding the outcome of this day. I will not survive it. There is no need though for Annis to take further risks with her life. She has proven herself to be a loyal and diligent servant and the children will be as safe with her as it is possible to be. If one of us must return to the castle, it should be me.
I bend to hug Sophia.
“I will return soon, sweetling. Be brave and do as Annis says while I am away. She will take care of you.” I kiss my adopted daughter’s beloved, tear-stained face, praying it will not be for the last time. But I whisper my sweet lies in the grim knowledge we will probably not see each other again in this life.
* * *
Back out in the bailey the scene remains one of sheer madness. Servants, guardsmen, peasants from the village who sought safety within the castle walls all now milling together, their desperation etched on their faces. I see many more children. These too could be, should be sheltered within the chapel. Alas, the task is beyond what I can accomplish alone. I grab the elbow of a woman, a capable-looking soul who is at least not beset by weeping. I urge her to collect as many youngsters as she is able and see them safe to the chapel. She seems to understand what I want her to do, and starts shepherding the children together.
I am but halfway across the bailey when the huge oak door to the keep opens. Princess Susanna emerges, flanked by Ulrich on her right and Father David, the castle chaplain on her left. Their faces are grave as they descend the short flight of steps and start to make their way through the milling hordes thronging the yard. They pass close to me, and I reach out to touch my cousin’s white gown.
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