Derwent, Cumbria, The Middle Ages
Christabel ran for her life through the forest. Her frantic pace made her progress both difficult and dangerous. The snorts and pantings of the horses behind told her the army of knights were gaining upon her. They were determined to ride her down. If she were to be caught, there would be no rescue for her sister who had been captured for marriage against her will by the dark Lord John of Connolly. Worse still, Lord John’s men would undoubtedly take their fill of her body before either tossing her to the wolves Lord John kept around his castle or burning her at the stake for being a witch.
Christabel stumbled and tripped over a tree root. She found herself falling to the undergrowth face down. Desperately she scrabbled to lift her dress and restore herself to her feet as one of the knights pounded towards her on his horse. As she stood, the knight reached down to scoop her up into his arms, but she flung herself to the side and he was unable to manage the feat. With a growl, he turned his horse and began to follow her to attempt the action once more, his companions thundering behind him.
Christabel lifted her dress and continued to run for her life. Suddenly, out of the forest in front of her another knight approached at full speed. With a startled cry she dipped her head and turned right, only to find one of Lord John’s men galloping towards her in that direction. There was to be no escape to the left with the exit blocked by two knights. Was she to be trampled to death?
Tears gathered as the knight in front of her reached her helpless figure. But to her amazement, he ignored her and raised his sword to battle the four attacking knights. With a loud growl he struck at the first, the leader of Lord John’s men. None of the men were clothed in armor, and they had only their shields for protection. The mysterious rescuing knight’s sword cut sharp and deep into the leader’s arm. Ferociously he beat him back and attacked the second knight coming to the leader’s defense. Christabel moved behind him and took shelter and safety under the canopy of a large oak tree. She pressed herself back against the tree and watched the brave, chivalrous knight fight to defend both her honor and her life.
She feared for his safety and his lone fight when the men surrounded him, but he was strong and cunning, slicing through his enemy with deep, wounding cuts, using his shield skillfully to protect himself from the wounds they sought to inflict upon him. After a while, they were sorely beaten and forced to retreat. Breathless, she turned to view the handsome, dark haired knight dressed all in black upon his stallion and who had turned to walk his horse with purpose towards her. It was Sir Tristan, the brave knight she had been seeking to help her rescue her sister from Lord John. He was as handsome as she remembered when she saw him pass through her village not two years ago.
She watched Sir Tristan dismount from his horse and come towards her. She could not help her blushes.
She curtseyed. “Thank you, kind knight. I believed I was to be ruined.”
“It was a trifle, My Lady. What are you doing in the forest unaccompanied? Why are you here on my land? What distress has fallen upon such a pretty damsel for Lord John’s men to be chasing you for capture?’ he asked, frowning as he studied her bruised face with concern. Gently, his fingers reached out to probe the injury across her cheek with a soothing caress.
She felt her cheeks suffuse with heat. Unable to look at him, she lowered her eyes bashfully. She felt him lift her chin.
“Do not be afraid. I will not harm you. Please tell me who you are and why you are here,” he said with a gentle smile.
“I came to see you, Sir Tristan. You are the bravest and most honorable of the knights I have been told of. Many a night I have listened to stories told of your famous quests and your bravery. It is why I have come to you to ask for your help. My younger sister, Rosalie, has been kidnapped by the devil Lord John. He means to force her in to his bed and into marriage. He has already killed my father and two of our servants to take her.” An unexpected distressed sob breached her lips as she recounted her tale of woe to the knight. “I need you to rescue Rosalie. She is betrothed to another knight, a Sir Ancel. He is at war, fighting in battle for King Jonas of Lanchester. He is away at war and cannot come to her aid. Please, we must leave at once and waste no further time to ensure her rescue,” she urged.
“Shh, My Lady,” the knight whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes with his fingertips. “You are distressed. Calm yourself. I regret I cannot help you. My days of venturing on romantic knightly quests are long gone. I do not see myself as noble any longer. It is none of my business. I cannot help your sister, but I can offer you shelter and warmth in my home until you are ready to leave. I will have one of my servants accompany you home. You should consider your sister lost to Lord John, for he is a barbaric man who will always have his way.”
Unexpected and outraged disbelief coursed suddenly through Christabel’s young veins.
“But you must help my sister. You are a knight,” she insisted.
“I must do no such thing,” he said firmly as he took hold of her hand to lead her to his horse.
She snatched it away.
“I will not be denied. It is your duty, the purpose of your career and being to serve the disadvantaged and distressed. I heard you tell the people of my village two years ago. Those were your very words.”
“They were foolish words indeed. I have learnt my lesson well. Now come,” Sir Tristan’s voice now brimmed with controlled anger.
“No, I will not come with you! Unhand me! I demand you go to rescue my sister!”
“No. She is lost. Look to the safety of your own life. Her knight should not have left his betrothed unprotected. It is his fault and his task to remedy on his return. It is none of my business to interfere. She must face her fate. Nothing comes of a knightly quest. People die. People you care about are lost forever through recklessly noble and arrogant pursuits! No, I will not endure it again! I will not leave you alone out here! Now come, or am I forced to carry you?’ he bellowed, tugging her to his chest.
“Then I shall face Lord John myself and attempt Rosalie’s rescue,” she told him defiantly.
The knight laughed and made to lift her struggling body up into his arms.
“Do not laugh at me! You are a coward and should be stripped of your knighthood,” she snapped with ferment anger. She punctuated this by slapping her hand hard against the side of Sir Tristan’s face, whipping it to one side with force.
A dark, menacing shadow fell across Sir Tristan’s face as she stared up at him in horror.
“You dare to question my honor, my bravery, and my manhood,” he growled. “The last person to insult me in that vein was made to pay with his life.”
Fear froze any movement she wished to make to escape any punishment he wished to bestow for her action. Afraid, she put her hand to her mouth to stifle a frightened gasp.
“Your sex makes me lenient, but it appears you need a hard lesson in manners and humility, child. I will punish you until you are deterred from your willfulness and kneel before me in penitence and obedience,” he stated with a chilling, seductive coldness.
Christabel gave a squeal when the knight bent quickly and took her arm, pulling her neatly and helplessly over his shoulder. Struggling, Christabel was lifted atop the knight’s steed, and placed face downwards in front of his saddle, over the body of the beast. He moved the horse off. She squealed and kicked to free herself, but all was in vain as the dark knight moved the horse on. A surprised howl escaped her lips when she felt his heavy male hand strike her bottom with force.
“Silence, wench. Stop your caterwauling and remain still, or I will spank your bare bottom sore,” Sir Tristan instructed gruffly, raising his hand to give Christabel’s buttocks another firm slap for good measure. But that did not stop her from squealing and sobbing with fear.
With a heavy sigh of impatience, the knight stopped his horse and dismounted, wasting no time in pulling her from the horse to throw her over his broad shoulder once again. Moments later, he sat down on a fallen log, and Christabel found herself strewn across his leather clad knees. The knight rested his hand in the middle of her back to steady her and then lifted her dark red and white silk gown to her middle. Her bottom was as naked as the day she was born underneath her dress and bared to his sight immediately. She felt him rest a cool hand on her buttocks. With a gasp she fell silent and froze, suddenly realizing her fate—a sound bare bottom spanking.
She considered the masculine weight and firmness of his hand as it rested against her, allowing her to feel the knight’s strength and her vulnerability beneath it. Her punishment would be harsh, perhaps even brutal. He surprised her by caressing the skin of her bottom as it was warmed by the strong summer sun. Strangely, his firm touch, although preparing to chastise her flesh, felt reassuring.
“Hush, little one. You have a beautiful, plump rump for a beating. A spanking will settle your angry, fearful passions and make your temper more amenable to my tastes, wench. Then we will work out what further punishment it will be fitting for me to bestow upon you for your insults,” he told her in a deep, dark voice that seemed to caress her skin and melt her resistance, causing her to almost welcome him to beat her bottom sore. A curious, painful sensation between her thighs began to throb and produce a wetness she had never encountered. The feeling brought color to her cheeks and a needful pleasure in the pit of her stomach.
Her confused feelings collided with her fear, making her squirm and struggle to gain her freedom. But her actions were to cause the commencement of her chastisement without any further delay.
A rush of warm air pushed down and struck her buttocks before the knight’s firm dominant hand smacked her bare bottom with strength. Her body tightened, and she scrunched her eyes closed, breathing hard as she waited and anticipated the second blow to her vulnerable flesh. A loud sob from her lips startled her body into ceasing the movement that so annoyed the man. Her bottom burned and stung as the knight delivered another and yet another firm strike. Christabel’s buttocks quivered and shook as she howled and cried, yet the wetness grew and pooled between her thighs. The ache became pleasurable, threatening to burst from her body and consume her whole.
A steady stream of tears emanated from Christabel’s eyes, and a fresh series of yelps and howls began once more when the knight took it upon himself to move the punishment from her bare buttocks to the tender backs of her thighs, just below her bottom. Finally, she became silent and accepting of her chastisement from the knight and her body grew warm and pliant. She lay quietly and submissively, accepting each strike the knight sought to deliver upon her bottom to discipline her wayward temper.
Eventually, the knight appeared satisfied that she was penitent and soundly punished. As he finished her bare bottom spanking, his fingers resumed caressing her bottom, moving to tenderly gentle the soreness and smoothing the curve of her buttock where it sloped down into the shape of the back of her thigh.
“Now you are quiet, little one, and perhaps you will be more amenable. This is merely the first of your lessons in obedience and humility. You must prepare yourself for further punishments.” He gave a small laugh. “You spanking has suited you well. Wetness coats your thighs.”
Christabel felt the knight’s sturdy fingers begin to trace along the crease leading to the middle of her thighs. She closed her eyes, momentarily willing him to slip his digits inside her lustful sex and ease the needy ache dwelling there, contradicting the burning sting of chastisement across her sore buttocks. Only his fingers would quell the persistent wetness and pain. All disturbing thoughts of being fondled or touched by a strange man—let alone one who held her captive in his grasp—had flown from her mind. But she had to think of her sister. Somehow she had to persuade Sir Tristan to rescue Rosalie. She could not bear to lose her sister to such a vile man who would ill use her.
“Please, Sir Tristan. I beg your forgiveness. My passions are indeed wayward, but I am afraid for my sister’s virtue and life. I beg your forgiveness and understanding. I came to ask for your help as a knight and man of honor,” she was suddenly haughty, desperate to regain control of her thoughts and distracted by his arousing touch. Christabel wriggled uncomfortable with the very idea that something could make her so out of control.
The knight suddenly gripped the inside of her thigh in a determined manner, drawing a startled cry of pain.
“I told you to cease your movement. Do you want to me to punish you again? I will spank your bottom crimson, and you will be unable to sit if you continue to annoy me.’
A small sob escaped her lips. Her bottom still burned and pulsed with the pain as though it still felt the firmness of his hand striking it. She could not bear to be struck so hard again.
Christabel shook her head and at the same time pleaded with him not to spank her. She would be quiet and obedient. Halting all movement, she forced herself to remain calm.
“Please, brave knight help me to win back my sister. I beg you to reconsider your decision. I will take all of your lessons of humility and obedience. I warrant I will be a better woman for it. Please, I beg you, I beg you. My sister is also a willful creature, and I fear she will die at Lord John’s hand for it. I have lost my father, and I will have no one to care for or love if she dies. I do not wish to be alone.” Her voice was full of helpless tears.
Christabel looked upwards to see the handsome knight’s deep blue eyes flicker with intense emotional pain as though he were remembering something sad. His hair was the color of a raven’s plumage and long to the base of his neck. There was a soft curl to it. His jaw was roughly shaven, and his age appeared to be close to twenty-five years. His eyes were beautiful, haunted. Christabel found it hard to turn away from them. But when the knight caught her looking at him, they turned cold and cruel, shutting her out.
“I have told you, I do not engage in fanciful knightly quests anymore, little one. Has no one told you of my capricious nature? I do not care for the winsome world or the people in it. I detest their company and have no time for them. You would do well to find someone else to help you.”
“You should care. You are a brave knight. I have heard the stories of your battles, your quests, your chivalry…”
“Enough!” the knight shouted, gripping her thigh tightly, his thumb slipping further along the inside of her thigh to hold her. She gasped with pain.
The knight suddenly chuckled. “You are so wet. It has been a very long time since I touched a woman so intimately,” his seductive, low voice sounded wistful.
His thumb circled her wetness, lightly brushing against the lips of her pussy in a teasing motion.
“I am going to enjoy punishing you to teach you the beauty of humility. I believe you will come to like my efforts to reform your character. What is your name? By your dress it is clear you are a lady of birth and rank. Who was your father?’
As Sir Tristan gently continued his tantalizing caress, burning heat and need coursed through her body. She gave a sigh of relief and deep pleasure when he moved his fingers directly into her lush sex, stroking the small pulsing bud. Her wetness pooled around his fingers to ease their path as he moved one of them firmly inside her tight unexplored channel.
She found herself breathless when she spoke.
“My father is Lord Adrian of Hawick.”
“I am sorry for your loss, little one. You are very tight, just as a virgin should be, but the passion is upon you in strength,” he appeared pleased with her needful sex.
She could not help but moan with pleasure as he pulsed his finger back and forth, in and out of her, building a spiral of need.
“Lord John struck him dead with his sword when he bravely fought to defend my sister. I escaped capture. Lord John wants me thrown to his wolves. He did not approve of my willful nature when I sought to defend my sister at my own hand. If I had behaved he would have kept me a whore for his men and himself when he did not have need of my sister in his bed. When I was free, I immediately thought of you and I came to request your help. His men found my hiding place and began to pursue me on my journey. Please, Sir Tristan, you must help me.’
But Sir Tristan was to ignore her pleas.
“You are willful, yet I commend your bravery, little one. I also approve of your wet, needy, and lustful sex. It must be satisfied. I have not touched a woman for so long,” his voice was once again, wistful, soft, and dark with his own need. It appeared to surprise him and take him unawares.
As his thumb began to concentrate on stroking her clit, Christabel felt her captor place a second finger inside her. She gasped as he stretched his fingers upwards, forcing her sex to stretch and accommodate his fingers’ invasion. She moaned, intrigued by the small amount of pain along with the pleasure she took in his penetration, her hips bucking against his legs to accommodate their rhythmic movement through her slick channel. Her pussy felt full and dominated as it rubbed against the tantalizing warm leather of his trousers, dampening them. The urge to yield and submit to the knight and the pleasure he stoked inside her became overwhelming. So long had she dreamt of being sexually mastered by a man—to be taken, tamed, and taught wifely duty. And the man who filled her was so handsome, manly, older, and dominant—all she had dreamt of in her bed at night.
“Come for me, wench. I want to feel your passion,” he ordered.
The sudden slap of his palm, this time against her sore bare bottom was to enforce his command, and another strike caused her to come helplessly, bucking and writhing against his fingers, consumed by strong overwhelming pleasure. His spanking continued until her passion was spent and her sex flooded. She hung limp and spent over his legs as she felt him caress and soothe her bottom.
“You come well. Now I will take you to my home to begin the rest of your lessons. You will remain my prisoner until you bend to my will and improve your character. Your freedom will not be granted until I am satisfied of it. Perhaps in the future you will not dare to insult a man’s honor again, woman.’
Christabel struggled again on hearing his words.
“You cannot keep me. I must help my sister. I will not have this—”
Christabel found herself suddenly pulled to standing, her dress falling down to hide the evidence of her chastisement and taking. The knight wound his hand tightly into her blonde-red curls and forced her to reel backwards. He pulled her towards him in a cruel, heartless manner, angry at her outburst. His handsome face was merely inches from hers, the bristle of his unshaven jaw momentarily rubbing against the pale softness of her cheek. He had an earthy, exotic male smell that made her moisten again despite his rough treatment of her body and the fear travelling through her veins.
“I will do as I please. Forget your sister. Think only of how you can service my needs, wench,” he roared, bringing forth tears from her eyes as they widened in fear and torment.
Furious, he threw her to the ground and loosened his belt. Christabel made an attempt to crawl away, but the knight pulled her to kneeling before him. He stooped and placed the belt around her throat and fastened it tight. Christabel sobbed and begged for him to let her go, but he was to show her no mercy. He tugged on the length of belt left from the makeshift leather collar around her neck and forced her to rise to her knees. She had been leashed like the oxen ploughing the fields. However, her humiliation and torment were not to end there.
She clutched at the collar, desperate to relieve the pressure around her throat.
“I know you are noble. I will do all I can to make you remember, and you will help my sister,” she said with determination through her sobbing.
The knight’s eyes darkened. “You will do well to remember your place, wench, and your tongue, or you will not be able to sit down after the beating I give your bare bottom. I have no desire to help your sister. You will pay for your grievous insult with your body and its delights until you learn humility and obedience.”
She felt him pull on her leather leash, bringing her closer to him.
Without warning, Sir Tristan roughly took hold of the front of her dress and ripped it from her until she was naked before his eyes and the world. He lifted her against his side and deposited her onto the saddle of his horse, forcing her legs spread wide, her wet pussy pressing down on the tan leather-covered saddle. He mounted the horse behind her and pulled her naked body towards him, securing her tightly around the waist. He turned the horse and walked off, making the horse go into a gallop back towards his castle.
Christabel felt her sex rub slickly against the saddle, and the motion coupled awkwardly with the pain of her bare breasts bouncing uncomfortably with the motion of the horse. Her rescue mission for her sister had failed, and now she found herself abducted, stripped, and leashed by a rogue knight, with no opportunity for escape.