Lords and Ladies: Two Medieval Spanking Novellas

by Renee Rose, Korey Mae Johnson

  “Come,” he said gently.

  He was surprised when she obeyed, walking through the castle and up the stairs to his chamber without a word. He shut the door and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Lady Camilla,” he said sternly. “What is the purpose of keeping a knight or men at arms to protect you, when you take so little care for your own safety?”

  She made a sputtering sound. “I do not keep a knight to protect me, I keep a knight to defend Falconworth.”

  “And where would Falconworth be without her Lady?”

  She started to roll her eyes and he interrupted the gesture by pulling her swiftly into position over his lap, lifting her skirts to bare her perfect, firm cheeks.

  “Some arguments are best solved with a spanking,” he observed, bringing his hand down on first one side and then the other, watching as her pretty cheeks flattened and sprang back under his palm. He ignored the disgruntled “Harumph,” that came from the target of his chastisement.

  “Do not…ever…stay away…from the castle…after dark,” he gritted as he smacked.

  He reddened every part of her bottom before concentrating his spanks on the lower half, where she sat. She was making little muffled grunting sounds, which his cock was unfortunately finding similar to the sounds of tumbling a girl. The way her hips writhed on his lap didn't help the matter.

  “Do…you…understand?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  He spanked harder, angry with his inability to keep his eyes from wandering to the moist pink heart between her thighs. Ah, God. It was no use.

  He stopped spanking and pulled her to stand, then to sit on his lap, feeling as flustered as she appeared.

  She looked down at him, her lower lip trembling as she glowered. “You have no right!” she spat at him.

  “I know,” he admitted miserably. “But you scared me to death.”

  She met his eye in surprise, the trembling in her lip stilled. They stared at each other for a moment, a current of tension running between them. Before he knew he meant to, his mouth claimed hers, his hungry lips devouring her soft ones, tasting the sweetness that he'd been longing to sample. She shocked him by returning the kiss, tentatively at first, then more aggressively, her own mouth seeking his, her little tongue darting out to tease his lips. He groaned and tightened his arms around her, changing hands so that he could cup her face, holding her in place for his onslaught. She welcomed it, opened to him, slid one delicate hand behind his neck to reciprocate.

  Oh God, this woman!

  His hand began to stroke the side of her thigh, finding skin where her skirts had never been smoothed down after her spanking. The shock of contact—skin on skin—made his cock surge with approval, and his hand eagerly stroked up and down her leg, indulging in the exquisite pleasure of feeling her silky skin.

  He wouldn't take her.

  He couldn't take her.

  Nay, but mayhap he could give her something to remember him by. Never in his life had he cared about a woman's pleasure before, but at this moment, his only desire in life was to hear this beautiful woman cry out with fulfilled desire. He leaned her back and bent his head lower, putting his mouth over her breast, feeling for her nipple underneath the bodice of her dress. Her fingers fumbled, unlacing the front of the gown and pulling it slightly open for him, so that the rise of her breast was visible. He dived into the opening she'd made, kissing the ripe apple of her breast until he reached nipple. And oh, what a nipple! It was wide and firm, ready for his tongue, which flicked and sucked and teased. She bowed up to meet him, offering an encouraging sigh. He grew bolder, his hand exploring the inside of her thigh and though her legs initially jerked together, she immediately spread them again, which nearly made him squirt in his leggings.

  He accepted the invitation without hesitation, cupping her mound with his hand, sliding his fingers up and down over her slick folds. Her breath was coming in little pained gasps now, and he did not slow the intensity—simultaneously torturing her nipple and the stiffened bud of pleasure between her legs. She rocked up and down, squirming in response. He allowed the moment to build until she began to whimper with need and then he slid two fingers inside her. She was tight. He faltered for a moment, worried that she was still a maid, but then he realized with eight year's absence from her husband, it was no wonder she was tight.

  He pressed his fingers in and out of her, filling her to the hilt, hitting her inner wall of flesh and feeling it harden under his fingers. He worked the stiffened spot with a determined focus, penetrating her deeply with each thrust of his hand. She cried out then, climax rippling through her in waves, her legs jerking and tightening, thighs clamping down on his hand. He kept his fingers wedged inside her, moving them slowly back and forth, continuing to tickle the area of pleasure that had brought on her finish. She panted, her head thrown back, eyes closed in what appeared to be ecstasy. A wetness in the corners of her eyes concerned him, but when she opened them and blinked it back, her sigh was pure contentment.

  “Lady Camilla,” he breathed.

  She swallowed nervously and looked down at her bodice, busying her fingers with its re-lacing.

  * * *

  Sir Balen cared for her. He cared enough to punish her and he cared enough to pleasure her. All her objections about the knight melted away in this new light. The armor with which she'd guarded herself all these years felt as though it had cracked, allowing a trickle of warmth to permeate her chest, flooding her with a sense of grace that almost made her weep.

  Camilla slid from his lap, half-fearing he wouldn't allow her to leave without his own pleasure fulfilled, and half-hoping the same.

  He allowed it. He looked awestruck, as if he had not meant to do what he had just done and was in wonder that it had truly occurred. She opened her mouth, but found there were no words to address the situation they were in.

  Instead, she managed a hoarse, “Goodnight, Sir Balen,” before fleeing his presence like a coward. She hurried to her chamber on trembling legs. Her bottom burned—a light, tingling feeling that did not pain her, but rather served as a warm reminder of what had just passed between them.

  She made it to her chamber and shooed her maid away. She needed to be alone to think. Except she could not think at all, it seemed. Instead, she pulled off all of her clothing and lay down on the bed, naked, running her hand lightly over her tingling bottom.

  So what if Sir Balen spanked? If he followed it with ministrations like he just had, she could easily adjust. Her body felt warm all over, relaxed and heavy from her release. She felt contented, mayhap even loved. Even the first time he'd spanked her it had ended tenderly. It had been far more painful than this chastisement, and she'd winced when sitting for two days following, but he had admitted and apologized for his own error, and had attempted to comfort her afterward.

  Aye, despite the humiliation of being bent over a man's knee, and the pain of the punishment she'd received there, she was feeling downright warm inside over it. God help her, she wanted his hands on her. Father Bernard had been right and she would marry Sir Balen if he'd have her.

  * * *

  She sought Father Bernard the following morning in the chapel. “Go ahead and write a contract.”

  The old man's face lit up. “In truth?”

  She nodded. “Aye. He's a good knight and I think he'd make a decent husband. You draw it up and I'll speak with him today.”

  Father Bernard beamed at her. “I'm so delighted,” he said warmly. “It takes courage to give up your power, Lady Camilla. I'm proud of you.”

  She returned the smile, her heart fluttering happily, as she knelt beside him for morning prayers.

  It was after supper when Father Bernard handed her the parchment. She took his quill and made her mark where he told her, then blew on it until the ink had dried. “I'll bring it to him now,” she said. She had little doubt that he'd accept the offer, even if she didn't believe he cared for her—to be a landed knight, rather than a hired mercenary, wo
uld be an enormous boon. Of course, she preferred to think that he'd accept the offer because he cared for her. She smiled a little, thinking of the gift she was giving him, and how well he deserved it. She walked brightly out to the bailey, and then stopped dead.

  Sir Balen was handing the village prostitute a coin.

  Her heart froze in her chest, belly lurching as if she were going to be sick. How could he? Tears burned in her eyes. He hadn't cared about her! He was just a lecherous snake of the worst kind! And to think of what she'd done with him! That she'd allowed him to bare her bottom and spank her. That she'd allowed the other thing as well.

  She watched as he gave the girl a playful slap on her backside, sending her off. So that's how he was—an afternoon romp with a whore while he should have been working. What a fool she'd been to have thought she was special to him! And how could she ever think of taking a husband like him? He'd be no better than the abhorrent Sir Edric. Nay, he'd be far worse, because at least with Sir Edric, her heart would never be on the line. Sir Balen…curse his savage sword… Balen she might have come to love.

  She spent the day fuming and avoided Sir Balen at all costs. Her relief came when a messenger arrived from the errant Sir Aelbert—he said they'd been delayed due to a plague, but would be arriving within a fortnight, at the latest.

  “Sir Balen, you heard the news, you and your troop may leave now,” she said stiffly, turning to the knight. He had escorted the messenger to her personally and had stayed to listen—as if her business was any concern of his.

  Sir Balen frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. “Nay, I will stay until Sir Aelbert arrives.” He eyed her cautiously, clearly taken aback by her cold demeanor.

  “That won't be necessary,” she clipped. “He will be here shortly.”

  Sir Balen's face darkened. “I will stay until he arrives,” he said firmly, his expression daring her to argue.

  She clamped down on her teeth. “I can manage without you.”

  “Nay, lady. You cannot.”

  “You tax my resources—feeding your troops.”

  “You'd be feeding Aelbert's if he were here.”

  “Sir Balen, I demand that you leave!” she exclaimed.

  Shock registered on his face, but his chest lifted in opposition. “No.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh and stomped away without another word. Clearly he would not be moved and they both knew that she could not force him to do anything. Sir Balen would stay and she would have to suffer his presence for another fortnight.

  She spent the next several days avoiding Sir Balen or treating him as coldly as possibly when she was forced to deal with him. She took her meals in her chamber, or skipped them, choosing to snatch a few bites when she went in the kitchens to supervise. On the fourth night, a tap came on her chamber door. She froze, knowing somehow it was him. Tola was in her chamber with her at the time for a chat, so she shooed her toward the door. “You answer it!” she whispered.

  Tola's eyes went wide, guessing, as she did, who it might be. She'd not told Tola of the intimacy she'd shared with Sir Balen, but she had confessed that she'd seen him with a whore, and refused to consider him as a possible suitor. Tola opened the door a small crack and peered out.

  “I wish to speak with your sister,” came the deep, resonate voice that was all too familiar. Despite all her anger, the sound of it still affected her, sending goose bumps racing across her skin.

  “My sister is not available,” Tola said nervously, but jumped back immediately as Sir Balen pushed the door open and strode through it.

  “Leave us,” he commanded Tola.

  “Absolutely not!” she exclaimed immediately. Tola scurried to her side, holding her hand protectively, as if she were the elder sister. She gave her hand a squeeze of thanks.

  Sir Balen ran a hand through his thick hair in exasperation. “I just want to talk to you,” he said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I have nothing to say to you, Sir Balen, and it is absolutely inappropriate for you to be in my chamber. Please leave. Now.”

  Sir Balen cast a disconcerted glance at Tola, then looked back at her. “Lady Camilla,” he began, shifting on his feet in a way that would make another man look nervous. “I just wanted to apologize… for—” he broke off, looking at Tola again.

  “It is not necessary,” she said primly. “But thank you, anyway. Now good night, sir.”

  Sir Balen stood a moment, looking lost, but did not move to leave.

  “Please, sir!” she insisted.

  He nodded slowly, looking disappointed, then gave her a small, wordless bow and left.

  She fell back onto the bed with an enormous sigh, tears burning her eyes.

  Balen tried, on several more occasions, to draw her into a private conversation, but she managed to dodge him every time.

  When Sir Aelbert finally arrived, Sir Balen seemed as cranky as she was, and she hoped he would leave without any further protest. She heard him quizzing Sir Aelbert when he met him at the gate.

  “The Lady Camilla expected you weeks ago. Why the delay?” Sir Balen demanded suspiciously.

  “We had a bout of illness—nearly half the men were puking. It delayed us a fortnight.

  “A fortnight, eh?” Sir Balen sounded unconvinced. “She's been waiting longer than a fortnight, you know.” He led the man toward her.

  “And who are you, Sir?” Sir Aelbert queried.

  “Sir Balen. It fell upon me and my men to defend Falconworth whilst you were delayed. This is your lady,” he said, formally bowing to her.

  “Lady Camilla,” she said, holding out a hand.

  Sir Aelbert bent over her hand with a flourish. “Sir Aelbert, at your service.”

  “Thank you, Sir Aelbert. Are your men hungry?” It was not yet time for the mid-day dinner, but they might be weary from travel.

  Sir Balen interrupted, “Surely not yet? They are needed immediately on the building of the defense tower.” He leveled a challenging stare at Sir Aelbert.

  Sir Aelbert frowned at him, but agreed, following Sir Balen back to the curtain wall gate to survey the task Sir Balen had begun. When the dinner bell rang, the two troops of men filled the Great Hall until it overflowed. Sir Balen did not take her husband's place at the table, but sat beside her, instead, across from Sir Aelbert.

  “We will leave on the morrow, Lady Camilla, which I'm sure shall please you.”

  Was it her imagination or did she detect a heaviness in his tone? Her heart beat an irregular rhythm for a moment.

  “Thank you, Sir Balen,” she managed to say.

  Father Bernard looked pointedly at her but she gave him a small shake of the head. She hadn't confessed her sin to him yet, nor had she explained her delay in proposing a marriage.

  He raised his eyebrows as if to ask “why not?”

  She gave another shake and then looked down at her plate when she realized that Sir Balen was watching.

  * * *

  Things could not have been worse with Lady Camilla. It would be a lie to say that he regretted his actions—pleasuring her had been the most exquisite experience he'd ever had with a woman. He had been able to think of nothing else since that night, and his chest ached knowing that it had made her so uncomfortable that she would no longer speak to him.

  He had tried to speak with her—he wanted to apologize and promise that he would not do it again, though he'd give anything for the chance to do just that. To see her head falling back, her eyes closed in bliss again. Those cries she'd made, the feel of her soft skin under his hands.

  He did not want to leave Falconworth or her beautiful mistress. Sir Aelbert was an absolute cad. And there was something about his story of why they were delayed that didn't ring true. Still, he could think of no excuse to stay, especially considering he was not wanted.

  Lady Camilla sent them off with provisions of salt meat and bread and cheese for their journey, but she would not meet his eye when she thanked him and bid them farewell. He
picked up her hand and pressed the back of it to his lips, feeling an undeniable current running between them. Her eyes met his with a startled expression, as if she'd felt it too, but then she pulled her hand away and the moment regrettably passed.

  He led his troop away at an ambling pace, reluctant to put distance between himself and Falconworth. They camped in the woods that night. He was ignoring his squires who were still talking about Tola, Lady Camilla's younger sister, for whom Aldis was professing true love.

  “Ack, you take the young lady, I'll take the whore,” Colton said jocularly.

  “So long as you don't tell Lady Tola that I had a turn with her! Did you hear her railing against Sir Balen? Lady Camilla saw him paying the woman and was quite offended by it all. Said he was a lecherous—”

  “What did you say?” Balen stood from the log he'd been slumped against.

  “Eh?” Aldis asked as the two squires scrambled to their feet as well.

  “What did you just say? About Lady Camilla thinking I'd been with the whore?”

  “Aye. She saw you paying her. Tola said her sister couldn't believe you'd ever been knighted when you were such a lecherous, uncivilized old boar!” Aldis was grinning, but his smile slid away as he looked upon his master's face. “Forgive me, my lord. I should have set her straight, shouldn't I?”

  “Aye,” he said grimly, rubbing his stubbled chin and beginning to pace. This news, somehow, was both a relief and a source of anguish to him at once. He would rather her coldness came from a misunderstanding than be a result of his actions. And that it indicated jealousy on her part gladdened his heavy heart. But what to do? He wanted to ride straight back to Falconworth and explain to the lady the mistake. Yet to what end?

  She was still married, and nothing he could do or say would change that. Mayhap their misunderstanding had been a blessing in disguise. Mayhap without her rebuff, he would not have been able to resist the lady and might have compromised her even further. Nay, 'twas better to let her believe he was a lout. Else they'd both be suffering from a longing for what would never be, so long as her husband was alive.