The Hunted Bride

“Sara, fetch it. Please.”

Sara scurried into the side room and reappeared with the harness. Gervais removed it from her hands and jerked his head to the door. “That will be all, Sara. You may leave your mistress in my safe hands.”

The maid curtsied and closed the door behind her.

Matilda hugged her knees. “I suppose you want to take me to the tower.”

“When my guests are departed, I shall. It is necessary and unfortunate, but you’ll not endure as much as I originally planned. My hand will suffice.”

She cast aside the picture forming in her mind, knowing it tantalised her when it should not.

He smiled. “Your face always betrays you, Tilda. It’s why my heart softens for you so easily.”

“It does?” She had not heard him mention his heart without coupling it to his baser needs.

She crawled toward him, catlike. “Will it not soften more if I submit to the harness again?”

“Soften? No, beat faster, most certainly. This time, you will assist me. The hoops around your breast will be tighter, but you will choose when I release them. As for the phallus in your cunt, I shall forgo it, because I have something else I wish to put there.”

She missed a breath. “What?”

“My cock.”

The second time he fitted the straps, she sighed with delight. She listened to his rapid breathing, noting how excited he was when her breasts stood out and hot blood rose to the surface of the skin. She expected him to toy with them using his mouth and fingers, and she wasn’t disappointed. He spent some time, his naked body pressed against her, with his lips and tongue working her into a frenzy, allowing her to come whenever she wished. Below, he had inserted the heavy phallus in her rear passage, and it stayed there even when she climaxed. What was different this time was that he had detached the phallus and used it independently. The strap that had tormented her clitoris hung loose and unused. The rest of the harness was coiled tightly around her and its purpose went beyond simply ensnaring her.

He commanded her to present herself on all fours, knees bent and her weight distributed down her arms onto her hands. He grasped the leather belt encircling her waist with one hand, and the strap pinioning her breasts with the other, and rode her exuberantly, using his cock to thrust in and out of her pussy. The harness would not yield to him, and consequently, she had no means to escape, and with the rhythm set, he pounded, ensuring each rock of his hips slammed against her bottom, and the constant pummelling knocked the wooden phallus back in place each time it slipped out a fraction.

Her saffron hair swayed, forming a curtain around her head, while underneath, her heavy breasts throbbed. She was fast approaching the pinnacle of an orgasm, when she realised what she must plead for.

“Please, my lord, release my poor breasts. They beg for your mercy.”

He chuckled, pausing a moment to catch his breath. “You think they will be forgiving? Well, perhaps you should find out.” He resumed his exertions, and slowly unbuckled the strap across her back.

The blood, far from channelling out of her nipples, pooled and the rush of heat scorched her. She screamed and came in a duet of confused sensations. The pain was creative in its use of her pleasure, drawing out the contractions that ferried themselves from one part of her body to the other. She hovered, unable to breathe, on a plateau, and through it, he fucked her using the phallus and his cock. The dual penetrations kept her coming for some time, and she lost all sense of earthly consciousness, only vaguely aware that he spilt inside of her and that the spurts endured long enough to splatter an excess over her bottom and back.

Ravished and defiled by his ardent lust to claim her, she had discovered something about herself that she barely could conceive. The harness had held her captive, and when he had released it, she had experienced an incredible orgasm. But it was only achievable because she had been captive and unable to relieve herself of the harness.

She wanted to experience captivity again, but the next time not in a harness. At some point, she would have to confess to Gervais that the more he controlled her, the harder it was not to admit to herself that she was falling in love with him.

Poor Geoffrey. How ignorant he was lying on his bed and waiting for her.

Chapter Nineteen

She rose early and lingered for a while alone in her bedroom. Gervais had left her in the middle of the night with her body exhausted, her mind spent of emotions. Her promised punishment awaited her later in the day. Gervais was out hunting with his companions and until they left, she had only trepidation for company.

In need of distraction, she summoned a minstrel, who wandered the castle precincts, and invited him to entertain her. He chose sprightly folk songs, which brought out a melancholy in her, so after Sara whispered in his ear, he changed his tone and sang of love and chivalrous knights, tunes that matched her mood.

He had travelled far and wide, she deduced, because she had not heard many of his songs, and the ones that intrigued her the most came from the dark forests in the east where people lived cheek by jowl with wilder creatures and retold myths as old as the mountains.

She stopped him. “What myths?”

“Ah, my lady, not for your fair ears.” He lay down his lyre.

“Oh, please. My lord has travelled to such places, what tales has he heard?” She offered the man a sweetmeat from her plate. Gauntly featured with a slightly crooked nose, he snaffled the food and scratched his tonsure. According to Sara, he had been a monk for a while.

“There’s the duke, of course, and his long crusades against the rabid folk of the ice plains who eat babies.”

She heard of that one and had it on good authority it was a lie. The duke preferred to fight closer to home where the spoils of war were rich. She rolled her eyes. “Have some sense, please.”