Then again, I just might be able to use my tools of passion and sublimation to turn the tables of power on him—in my bedchamber, at least.
I’m mulling over the possibilities when Bridget pops back in. “All is arranged, milady,” she beams.
“What do you mean?”
“All the—ahem—rather strange items you requested shall be delivered to milady’s chamber by midday.”
I’m impressed. “How did you manage it, Bridget? And so quickly!”
Bridget gives me a knowing smile. “When milady is Lord Verdigris’ new favorite in the Hall of Harlots, ‘tis easy to find most anything she desires.”
My heart sinks. “I’m Lord Verdigris’ favorite now? But I thought Madam Jasphet was!” I pause to clear my throat. “Lord Verdigris and I, we’ve only been—ahem—intimate once. And it was over so quickly—how—“
Bridget raises her hand. “’Tis only ‘cause yer new, milady. His Lordship is always most enamored o’ his newest acquisitions to the Hall of Harlots. But he grows bored fast. An’ when His Lordship gets bored with a Harlot, all his knights an’ vassals follow his lead an’ get bored with her, too. ‘Tis why ye always need to distinguish yerself, milady.” She gives me a wink. “An’ I must say, milady, with all yer strange requests fer lumber an’ leather, yer already doin’ a right mighty job at distinguishin’ yerself.”
I rise from my couch and head for the dressing table. Bridget follows me there and immediately begins brushing out my hair. “Is that so, Bridget?”
“Oh yes, milady. An’ ye might be interested to know that the handsome member o’ the Personal Guard ye had yer eye on ‘as been dispatched by His Lordship himself to ‘elp ye assemble yer new—ahem—workshop the moment the materials arrive.” She leans in and whispers in my ear. “Ye might ‘ave yer chance with young Master Pembroke sooner than ye thought.”
I do a double-take. “Who’s Master Pembroke?”
“Why, ‘tis the sad-eyed lad from the Personal Guard ye fancied back in the Hall, milady. Master Pembroke, I daresay he’s got eyes fer ye too, he has. Fer he went out o’ his way to make sure His Lordship assigned him to ye fer lookin’ after.”
My belly flutters, and I feel my crotch go a little warm. “Really?”
Bridget nodded. “Oh yes, milady. But I daresay, don’t be too eager. Make yer eyes at ‘im when he comes to ‘elp ye today, but keep yer distance, at least ‘til His Lordship ‘as his way with ye first.” She frowned. “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news, milady, but His Lordship’ll be ‘spectin’ to be yer main course this evenin’. He’s footin’ the bill fer all yer strange lumbers an’ leathers, ye know. An’ I do suggest ye give ‘im his money’s worth, like it or not.”
So it would appear that like it or not, I’ll be fucking Lord Verdigris again tonight.
I grit my teeth and strengthen my resolve. I suppose there’s worse things that can happen besides fucking a drop-dead-gorgeous man who really knows what he’s doing in the sex department—heartless, deceptive time-traveling sex-prison warden or no. At one level it’ll scratch an itch that desperately needs scratching.
And at another, it’ll be the first step at establishing Lady Louisa of the Crossroads’ reputation as the hottest, sexiest dominatrix the Middle Ages has ever seen. The Spanish Inquisition has nothing on me.
Or at least, they won’t once I actually figure out how to be a sex dominatrix. You see, I’ve never actually been a dominatrix before. All I know about S&M I read in my dog-eared copy of The Story of O back in high school.
I guess I’ll be flying by the seat of my panties.
Or to be more accurate, by the seat of my bare cunt, since we ladies in the Hall of Harlots aren’t permitted to wear any panties.
Maybe what I need most is some inspiration. Someone I can fantasize about while I’m mentally preparing to turn the tables on Lord Verdigris and make him into my sex slave, instead of the other way around.
And I know just who would fit the bill.
I settle back into my chair and relish the sensation of Bridget’s hairbrushing against my scalp. “So tell me about this Master Pembroke,” I say. “What’s he like? Where’s he from? He seems different from all the other men I’ve seen since I got here.”
Bridget finishes brushing my hair and begins braiding it. “Master Pembroke’s a mysterious one, he is. Lord Verdigris captured ‘im from somewhere far, far away, but nobody knows exactly where. Or when.”
My eyebrows raise. “So you know that Lord Verdigris is a time traveler, Bridget?”
Bridget laughs. “O’ course I know, lass! Where d’ye think I’m from?”
I shrug. She just laughs harder. “I’m from Edinburgh, lass. Edinburgh in the time of Queen Victoria. Lord Verdigris, ‘e snapped me up years ago when I was a-washin’ me laundry in the Princes Street Public Fountain!” Bridget smiles and blushes a bit. “I was but a wee lass back then. In me youth, milady, I’uz a pretty lass, I was. I spent many a fair year in the Hall of Harlots as a workin’ girl meself.”
Now I’m puzzled. “But if you’re too old to work in the Hall any more, doesn’t that mean Lord Verdigris captured you when he was just a little boy? I’ve seen him, he can’t be more than twenty-five!”
Bridget sighs. “Oh, His Lordship don’t age, milady. He’s immortal, don’t ye know. How d’ye think he can travel up an’ down th’ centuries without lookin’ it in the face?”
Lord Verdigris, immortal? Now my head is spinning.
“But back to Master Pembroke, lass,” Bridget goes on. “ I don’t know fer sure, but if I had to bet some shillings to it I’d guess he’s from me grandmother’s time, the time o’ the Regency in England. He’s got that kind o’ look about ‘im, at least. The lads o’ the Regency were the most romantic ever to live on the fair British isle, I daresay. Tho’ why Lord Verdigris captured ‘im an’ brought ‘im here to the Hall of Harlots as prisoner, I’ve no idea.”
I ponder this in silence while Bridget dresses my hair into an elaborate, braided over-the-ear looping style. Then she gets me into my afternoon gown and surcoat, preparing me for my first meeting with Master Pembroke. By the time Bridget is finished with me, I’m stunning in a low-cut lace-up gown in emerald-green silk and a pale cream-colored satin sideless surcoat trimmed in ermine. I could have walked off the set of Braveheart and no one would be the wiser.
Pembroke shows up at noon, right on cue. He’s equally stunning in his tight broadcloth breeches and flowing silk poet’s shirt—he’s wearing the romantic clothes of his own romantic time. And I say “romantic” in every sense of the word, too. Between the tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination in the crotch department and his flowing, tousled Second Empire locks (just like Colin Firth wore in the Pride and Prejudice miniseries I watched on PBS last year)—my heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
Pembroke strides past the threshold and gives both Bridget and me a gentlemanly bow with a flourish. “A pleasant afternoon to you both,” he says, a gorgeous upper-class British accent lilting his deep, husky voice. “I am Pembroke. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Louisa.”
I give him a ladylike curtsey. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, believe me.”
Pembroke reddens and clears his throat. He suddenly seems very interested in the floor. “I have brought the various and—ahem—sundry items required by Lady Louisa, as she requested this morning,” he says, his voice going a little squeaky. “The scullery staff is waiting in the corridor with the materials. May they enter, madam?” He peers at me with pale blue eyes, meeting my gaze for just a split second before breaking away to stare at the floor again. My own eyes pan his lean, lithe body from head to toe and back. I’m stunned when I notice that he’s trembling.
Trembling in fear, I wonder—or desire?
There’s no time to ponder the question, though. I have business to attend to first. “Yes, Pembroke, please do bring everything in,” I say, my voice dropping almost an octave as I take on the fi
rst vestiges of my new role as medieval dominatrix. “And be quick about it. We have lots to do. My sensual workshop of the flesh won’t build itself!”
I’m surprised by just how authoritarian I sound. But I suppose I need to get used to giving orders.
Pembroke bows again and then motions to someone in the hallway. “Come,” he says, prim and reserved and all business again—except for the fact that he’s trembling even more now.
And I’m not sure, but I think the already very considerable bulge at his crotch seems like it just got a little bit bigger.
A shuffling assemblage of scullery servants and field hands drag in, carrying several long oak logs, long leather straps, and some rusty lengths of shipman’s chain. A man in carpenter’s dress appears, carrying a long wooden box full of tools.
“These servants are at your disposal and await your instructions, Lady Louisa,” Pembroke says, his voice deep and steady despite the visible quaking of his limbs. “I am most excited to see how the building of your—workshop will progress, madam.”
If the look of his crotch is any indication, I’d say Pembroke’s more than just excited about it. Hats off to whoever invented those skintight Regency breeches. The view from here is lovely.
“As am I, my lord Pembroke,” I reply, casting another glance down south. “As am I.”
Bridget snickers.
I immediately take charge of the servant crew, shouting orders left and right. I use my CampFire Girl skills to the hilt when I direct the master carpenter to assemble my Cross of Satisfaction and suspend it from the ceiling just over my four-poster bed. Hell, I practically build the thing for him.
When all is complete, the Cross of Satisfaction is suspended from heavy chains at a steep angle over the foot of my bed, leather restraint straps attached and a set of rough-hewn wooden steps leading up to it. One of the scullery wenches braids the leftover leather into a cat-o-nine-tails with thin metal nails embedded into the ends of all nine strands, and at my order, the carpenter planes and sands some leftover lumber into a fine, smooth handheld paddle.
Now I have all the tools I need to become a mistress of sensual medieval torture. The only thing I need to do now is learn how to use them.
“You are a most unusual woman, Lady Louisa,” Pembroke says when the project is finished and all the servants ushered from the room save Bridget. “I say, wherever did you learn so much about these strange contraptions?”
Instead of answering, I just give Pembroke a sly smile. Some things are better left unsaid.
Besides, I doubt an elegant Regency English gentleman would understand how a bunch of CampFire Girls from New Jersey are directly responsible for a sex-and-bondage chamber built almost a thousand years in the past.
Pembroke meets my smile with one of his own. “You choose to remain mysterious, then,” he replies coolly. “Very well. So will I. But I daresay that I shall be following your career in the Hall of Harlots with a great deal of interest, Lady Louisa of the Crossroads. A great deal of interest indeed.”
With that, Pembroke gives me another bow and flourish, and even makes a show of flaunting his swollen crotch at me when he strolls out of the room.
Bridget chuckles. “That Master Pembroke, ‘e’s an odd one, fer sure.”
“Sometimes the odd ones are the best ones,” I say, and go to survey my new Crossroads Chamber. I run my hands along the smooth, sanded surface of my suspended wooden cross and try to imagine what Pembroke’s smooth, landed-gentry skin might feel like underneath my fingertips. “And I do think we’ll be seeing some more of Pembroke very soon.”
“I daresay yer right,” Bridget says. “That lad’s got eyes for you, ‘e does. Eyes on the back o’ ‘is head, even. And in ‘is knickers, too.” Her expression turns serious. “But pray be careful, lass. Not just because His Lordship’ll be watchin’ yer every move, either. I got a strange feelin’ ‘bout that Pembroke lad. Can’t quite put me finger on it, but it bears watchin’ out fer.”
I sigh and sink into a chair. “I’ll keep that in mind, Bridget. By the way, when should I expect Lord Verdigris to show up?”
“’Round nine, if he goes by ‘is usual habit,” Bridget replies. “An’ if ye know what’s good fer ye, ye should take a nice long nap. Lord Verdigris’ll have ye goin’ all night long, he will. Ye need to save yer strength.”
Tsk tsk, I think to myself. If I have my way with Lord Verdigris, he’ll be the one exhausted and begging for mercy at the end of a long night—not me.
Chapter 6
Lord Verdigris arrives at my bedchamber promptly at nine, just as Bridget predicted. And Bridget makes herself scarce before he even has a chance to cross the threshold.
“I’ll be just down the hall if ye need me, milady,” she promises, then dashes off, clucking like a hen all the way.
Lord Verdigris seems taller and broader than I remember. But if what Bridget says is true—that the man is immortal and does not age—I suppose he probably also has the power to make himself appear bigger and stronger, as the situation dictates. I don’t let on that I know—or even suspect—any of this, however. To do so might throw a wrench into my carefully laid plans.
“Ah, Lady Louisa of the Crossroads,” Lord Verdigris booms, surveying my newly built heavy equipment with a curious eye. “I see ye have made yourself at home here in my realm.”
I give him a ladylike nod and curtsey. “Yes, Your Lordship. And may I express my thanks for procuring the supplies I needed for building my chamber of pleasures for you so quickly.”
Lord Verdigris takes my hand, sweeps it up to his lips, and kisses it. “Where matters of pleasure are concerned, milady, I act most swiftly, always.” He sweeps me into his arms, and I can feel his hot and throbbing codpiece even through eighteen layers of skirts, underskirts, and petticoats. “And ‘tis time for us to partake of Pleasure’s fruit again, milady. My codpiece has desired your lady-softness all day long.”
I throw my head back and laugh. Time for me to start playing my new role as a powerful, table-turning medieval seductress. I’m glad I paid attention in Chaucer class back in college—I’ll be playing a combo of The Wife of Bath and Jezebel. “Ah, your Lordship, you remain as lustful as ever,” I coo. “But pray, answer me this. Is ever anything sweet that is too easily obtained? Or do you seek more of a challenge, for a sweeter reward?”
Lord Verdigris is taken aback by this remark. No doubt he’s not used to a challenge in the bedroom—I don’t doubt that most of his Harlots just roll over and spread their legs at first sight of their slave master. He ponders my cheekiness and loosens his grip on me just long enough so I can wriggle away from him. I dash to the far side of the room, making sure to put the huge suspended wooden cross between us.
“Why, ye are a sly one, milady!” He chases me around and around the room, but I always stay a step ahead. “Why do ye make me give chase so?”
I come to a stop in front of the cross, and snatch the cat-o-nine-tails from its hiding-place under my bed. “My Lord, if it pleases you, I wish to show you a new kind of pleasure this night. Something that will bring you lustful sensations not enjoyed ever before.”
Now it’s Lord Verdigris’ time to laugh. “Milady, I have traveled through countless eons of time. Think ye that I hath not already tasted every pleasure known in Christendom? If think ye do, then ye are mistaken.”
“Oh, I don’t know, milord,” I protest. “I think perhaps I can show you some pleasures from my own time that you have not yet tasted.”
Pleasures I haven’t yet tasted either, actually. I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. Or more accurately, by the hem of my skirt. I’m starring in my very own S&M porno movie, and I’m writing the script all by myself.
In desperate search for inspiration, my mind tracks back to Medieval Literature class in college when I first read The Wife of Bath’s Tale in Chaucer. When that bawdy lady was in a bind, she told a bawdy tale. And I suppose I can do the same.
“Good my lord, perhaps you shou
ld take a rest on my yonder Cross of Satisfaction,” I say. “I’ll bind and tie you there safe and sound whilst I tell you a tale that’s guaranteed to put your codpiece into a pleasurable state. And if perhaps my tale displeases you, I’ll release you to take my lady-softness any way that you wish. Will you agree?”
Lord Verdigris’ eyes twinkle. “Ye are a spirited one, milady Louisa. And a lady with spirit amuses me and my codpiece very much.” Before I can say boo, the strong, virile and mighty Lord Verdigris has prostrated himself on the vertical leg of my cross.
If I’d known it would be this easy, I would have had Pembroke and his crew build me a rack, and maybe even a Judas Cradle to go with my Cross. My History of Medieval Torture seminar senior year back at Rutgers sure is coming in handy. Now if I can just work in some Story of O along with it, I’ll be in business.
But I’m not quite ready to be O just yet. First I need to ply my soon-to-be sex slave with the subtle charms and delightful storytelling of the Wife of Bath. I loosely tie leather cords around Lord Verdigris’ wrists, strapping him gently to the Cross, and begin to tell my tale.
“Once upon a time in a land far, far away from Bellweather Castle lived a young girl named Apple, from the Kingdom of North Jersey. She led a rather dull life, with almost no excitement at all. She worked as a toll collector on the King’s Highway and thought that life had passed her by—she had no husband, no fortune, no prospects at all.
“But one day, a magic fairy happened along the King’s Highway. And when the little fairy arrived at the Royal Tollbooth, she confessed that she didn’t have the money to pay the toll.
“Since traveling upon the King’s Highway without paying the King’s Toll was punishable by death, Apple was about to do her duty as a royal employee and summon the guards. But the good fairy stopped her, offering a barter instead of the usual payment in coin.
“The good fairy took Apple aside. ‘Since I have no money to pay,’ she said, ‘And since I also dislike your King, perhaps you and I can make another arrangement.’ The fairy waved her wand, and a magical screen appeared in the air that showed many images of Apple’s own life. ‘I know you are unhappy and lonely, Apple,” the fairy went on. ‘But I possess magical knowledge and magic powers that can change your humdrum, dull and lonely life into one filled with love, laughter and excitement.’ The fairy waved her wand again, and a magical image of a happy, beautiful Apple surrounded by fawning lovers and piles of gold appeared. ‘If you let me pass, I’ll share that magic knowledge and those magic powers with you, and you shall never want for anything again.’
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 26
